Dr. Tucker lives in Barbican, in one of those ugly, but oddly beautiful, brutalist blocks of flats: forty one floors of hunking, great concrete. Her dark-wood, seventies style furnished flat on the thirty-ninth floor has one of the best views of London I’ve seen. Well maintained plants are ubiquitous throughout and beautifully looked after by a lady who lives nearby. This very kind lady visits many lonely people in the building. Floor thirty-nine has three flats, floor forty, has two and on the top floor (the forty-first) is just one, the penthouse.
Dr. Tucker was a radiologist. Her husband was a radiologist too but she ‘always earned more than him’ she is pleased to report. Her husband also played rugby for England. You didn’t earn money playing sport back then so all international players had a profession as well. Her husband died ten years ago and now she lives with a live-in carer my lovely cousin, Janine. The surfaces of her flat are scattered with framed photos of her rugby playing (and very dishy) husband. I almost wanted to ask for one or ask to take a photo, but this would have definitely sounded weird.