Matilda looked at herself in Imelda's mirror. She was haggard and snaggle-haired. Her skin was sallow where it was not blotchy and sore. Her left eye was shut as the result of some infection that was evident in her open right eye, yellow and weeping.
"Thank you, Imelda," Matilda said, with a black-toothed smile, "for being so reasonable."
The axe was leaning up in the corner where she had left it.
"I'm going to make it easy for you," Matilda said and she walked towards the wall, stopping two or three feet from the axe, then she glanced back at Imelda. "Do it," she said.
The sisters waited in anticipation. This was their chance. This was their chance to be free of her.
"Do it!" Matilda said.
The dressing table was still as Imelda concentrated her effort.
"I'll stop you if I can," Matilda said. "But maybe you'll get lucky. Go on. This is the fighting chance you never gave me."
"Do it, Imelda," Katja said. "Kill her."
"Cut her in two," Hilda intoned. At first, she said it as though the words had come out unbidden, but then she repeated herself with more confidence and more fervour, until most of them were joining in. "Cut her in two. Cut her in two."
"Don't hurt her," Anna said. "That's our body."
"Cut her in two!"
"Anna's right," Sylvia said reluctantly. "What's the point? We have to find another way."
"Cut her in two!"
"Shut up."
"Cut her! Cut her in two!"
"Go on, Imelda," Matilda said. "You won't get another chance like this."
"What's going on?" Lara asked from downstairs, afraid that she would lose her chance to escape after all. "What are you doing up there?"
"Oh shut up, Lara," said Hilda.
"You had your chance and you blew it," Jocanta said. "Now it's our turn to give Matilda what's coming to her."
"You should be congratulating us," said Katja.
"Everything's going back to normal after this," Petra said, uncertainly. "Right, Imelda?"
"Is that right, Imelda?" Matilda enquired. "All you have to do is knock me out, right? Then you can shuffle over here and take the body. It might take you a few minutes, but if you hit me hard enough, it's possible, right? You can even use the handle, so you don't risk killing the body. Then you can take charge and everything can go back to 'normal'. So go on." She faced the axe again, hands at her sides. "I'm waiting."
The air in the room hummed and Matilda felt a tickle against her scalp.
"That's good," Imelda coaxed. "Now concentrate."
"You can do it, Imelda," Katja whispered.
"You can do it."
"Do it for us. Do it for all of us."
"Quiet!" Matilda said, glaring at them. "Imelda needs to concentrate."
The air buzzed. Everyone in the room was willing Imelda to succeed. If anyone could manipulate an object that wasn't directly touching them, it would be Imelda. She was not the oldest, but she was the most powerful and the most psychically gifted. If anyone could rescue them from their fate at Matilda's hands, it was Imelda.
There was light tapping sound and Matilda saw that the axe handle was trembling. She seemed surprised.
"That's good," Matilda said, watching the handle intently. "Focus now."
Tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap.
"Good. Now take it and hurl it at me."
The handle moved away from the wall by an inch and fell against the brick again. It did this several times, as though slipping from Imelda's grip.
"Is that it?" Matilda said.
Clank. Clank! Clank!
"Throw it!"
The axe trembled again, but hardly made it away from the wall.
Imelda cried out with frustration.
"No!" Katja cried.
Matilda gave Imelda a smile of consolation.
"Poor effort, Imelda. I expected more of you."
They were all expecting the axe to fly at her suddenly, the moment she let down her guard, but there was no such movement.
Matilda took another step towards the axe and reached for it.
Before her fingers touched the wood, the handle leapt from its resting position against the wall and slapped firmly into her palm where she tightened her grip around it. She enjoyed its weight as she walked back towards Imelda.
"How did you do that?" Imelda asked. Her voice sounded terrified and weary. "How did you make it move while in the body?"
"I've had a lot of time to practice," Matilda said. "I can do things in the body now that I couldn't even do in the chest."
There was a terrified silence.
"Thank you for giving me the opportunity to learn these things," Matilda said. "Without you, I'd never have become so powerful. Now it's time to say goodbye."
She adjusted her stance and her grip on the axe, so she could swing it over her head and slam it down into Imelda's marble top.
"No!" Petra screamed. "Don't!"
The axe was reassuringly heavy and her Matilda bent her knees as she swung it up. It was high above her head, hovering for a split second at its apex, when a key turned in the lock downstairs.
"Honey?" Roger called. "I'm home!"
Matilda lowered the axe and set it by the door before walking out onto the landing.
"How did it go?" she asked. "Still alive, I see."
"Yes," Roger said. "I wouldn't call that a rousing success, but they took the money. I need the rest within three days."
"Let's talk about that over lunch."
He hung his coat up on the hook. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you for helping me."
"Helping us," Matilda said.
"But I wish you hadn't had to. I'd have done anything to have found another way. I was trying."
"I know you were."
"I just wanted to be everything you thought I was. Strong. Calm. Independent. Wealthy."
"You are those things," Matilda said. "Except for the last, and I don't care about that, because I am."
"Well, thank you anyway." He sat on the step to take off his shoes. "You know ... I almost didn't give them the five grand. I almost showed it to them and told them to stick it up their fat arses."
"That would have got you a beating."
"It might have been worth it. To see the looks on their faces."
"And have them rearrange yours? It wouldn't have been worth it, to me."
"Thanks to you all this will be settled soon. Then we can get on with our lives. I just can't help feeling like they've got more coming to them; I don't want to give them the money I owe, most of which was interest incidentally. I want to give those crooks what they deserve."
"Sometimes you just have to walk away," Matilda said. "With your dignity and your limbs intact."
"Dignity," Roger scoffed.
"I'm sure you're capable of dignity. Get up. Let's have lunch."
"It smells wonderful."
Matilda thought of the axe and her unfinished business and the words she had given Roger.
She started down the stairs.
"It's burnt," she said in the kitchen, scraping the pan with a wooden spatula.
He sat down while Matilda slopped soggy spaghetti onto two plates. He couldn't hide his disappointment, but he laughed it off.
"What happened?" he asked. "Not like you to make anything but top-notch fare. I'm sure this is edible ... but it's not to your usual standard."
"I got carried away," Matilda said. "Lost in thought."
"What were you thinking about?"
"Eat."
Lara, of course, was still in the corner of the room where Roger had left her. She listened to the sound of their voices and the scraping of silver cutlery on blue and white China, wishing that she could smell the food, wishing that she could eat, wishing that she felt hungry, that she felt anything at all. She was eager for it to be her turn and to hold Roger and to tell him that she forgave him for lying, but for now it was all down to Matilda. She probably saved their relationship and so she des
erved his gratitude. She tried to let her enjoy it without feeling jealous, but it was difficult listening to them chat companionably over lunch. He was her husband, after all, not Matilda's. Matilda didn't even like him, though she was putting on a good show.
Roger pushed his fork around the plate and managed to get a forkful into his mouth.
"It's going to be different from now on," Roger assured her. "With those assholes off my back, I can pick myself up. Any money I earn will go in our pockets and I can start building up the business again."
"You're a salesman, right?"
Roger frowned.
"Well, yes, you know that. I can sell anything."
"Anywhere?"
Roger smiled.
"If I said snow and Eskimos, would that sound familiar to you?"
"Good," Matilda said, "because we're moving."
"Where?"
"We're going to rent a place in France. A village called Erjac. I don't like the city."
"Woah. I can't just leave. I've got my business."
"And you just said that your skills are completely transferable."
"Yes, but I'm not."
"Why not?"
"Well, I ..."
"I thought you liked being spontaneous. Consider this an extension of our adventure."
"Well ... yes. Maybe. When would you like to go?"
"We're leaving tomorrow," Matilda said.
Roger spat spaghetti back onto his plate.
"Is this a ruse?"
"The removal men are coming tomorrow morning."
The sisters clamoured.
"They're going to put my things in storage," Matilda continued undaunted. "We'll only take what we need."
"You've got it all planned, haven't you?"
"I've had a long time to think about it."
"What about your mother?"
"I'm only packing up what's mine. It's my right, Roger. I don't want to hear about my mother again."
"But you don't have your passport."
"I have it."
"Where did you find it?"
"In a drawer."
"Just like that?"
"Yes."
Lara could tell that Matilda was losing patience. It wasn't in her nature to discuss her movements or business with anyone. Being married was already wearing on her.
Roger reclined and almost fell from his stool.
"You work fast, don't you?"
"Yes," she said. "The sooner we get out of here, the better. For both of us."
She gave Roger the details. They would drive to Dover and take the ferry. From Calais, it was about nine hours drive to the Perigord Noir.
"You'll like it," she said. "There are trees. You'll be able to breathe there."
"We can't go tomorrow," Roger said, pacing the room now.
"Why not?"
"The loan sharks. I still owe them the rest of the money and it won't clear for at least three days. It's cutting it fine as it is."
"That money's not for them," Matilda said. "That's for you, to start a new business, in France."
He stared at her, stunned for a minute, and then got up, plunging his hands in his pockets and retrieving his cigarettes and a lighter which he lit with trembling hands.
"You're crazy!" he said. "I love you, but you're crazy."
"Can I have one of those?" Matilda asked.
"You hate that I smoke."
"And yet you're doing it."
"Because you've got my head in a spin, Sarah! I knew life with you would be exciting, but you've really stepped it up a notch."
Lara squirmed.
Roger tossed her the packet and Matilda lit one. Roger watched her, amused.
"This is not your first time," Roger observed.
"First time in two years," Matilda said, enjoying the smoky tendrils reaching up and spreading across the ceiling, as if seeking a way out, just like her, just like all of them.
"You're full of surprises," Roger chuckled, shaking his head.
"The best is yet to come," Matilda said, talking to Roger and their eavesdroppers alike.
*
It was as she said. The following morning, while Roger had his coffee, she opened the door to three burly removal men in blue overalls and gave them coffee and cursory instructions to go upstairs and pack up her things. It was all labelled, so they would know what had to go. They came in with packing materials trolleys and went straight to work, with Roger waving cheerfully at them from the kitchen doorway.
"Do you have a sat-nav?" Matilda asked him.
Roger tapped his head.
"Does that thing work?"
Upstairs, the senior removal man glanced at the axe by the door.
"No need for that," he said, bright blue eyes shining. "We're professionals. Don't worry."
The air was charged.
"Beautiful room," he said, but there was hesitation in his voice and a frown on his face, as if something were wrong, but he couldn't place it, because everything appeared to be as it should. Perhaps that was what was wrong. Everything was altogether too perfect-looking and yet there was an atmosphere of something about to happen.
Behind his back, the axe shivered and then rose into the air. It bounced and bobbed, as if it were being lifted by many, tiny, invisible hands. It hovered like this for a few seconds at eye-level, wavering, and then it snapped into a horizontal position and sped towards the back of the supervisor's neck.
Matilda put herself between the axe and its target and snatched it out of mid-air.
"I'll put this next door," she said.
"Well done," she thought to her sisters as she left the room. "You see what you can do when you work together?"
She put the axe in the room opposite - the handle was warm to the touch - and shut the door before returning to the noise of cutting and tearing, trundling, and boots on bare wood.
"What's first?" the head man said. "We've only got two runs today, so lots of room."
She'd tagged them all with plastic chains and labels, but some of them lay snapped on the floor. Only the weakest sisters remained marked. Petra. Anna. Hilda. Sylvia.
"I'll leave the order to you," Matilda said. "But I'd like the dressing table to go last. Please don't package it up until the end."
"Not a problem," the man said, eyeing Imelda's drawers warily before setting to work with his men.
Roger offered to help as the first of the objects came down the stairs.
"No," Matilda said sternly.
Two men came down with Katja all wrapped up like a mummy in white plastic and brown tape.
"Steady," they said.
And: "That's it, come on, son."
Matilda thought of The Piano, in which Laurel and Hardy attempted to deliver a piano up several flights of stairs over the course of half an hour, releasing it to fall all the way to the bottom several times.
Katja intermittently flapped around inside herself and coiled into a ball, her thoughts a mass of confusion and disbelief that this was happening to her.
Matilda smoked another cigarette as she watched them carry her across the landing and through the open doorway, out to where the removal lorry was waiting with the back down. It was the first time that the grandfather clock had been out of the house since it had arrived. It was a bright morning and chilly, but it would be sunny later and warm. The perfect day for driving with the top down. By this time tomorrow they would be in France, perhaps at the cottage itself.
Katja screamed as the men put her into the back of the truck.
The others yammered at each other urgently, begging Imelda to do something, realising that she was powerless to help them. All they could do now was seek leniency, but not all of them were capable of that. Olga also resisted her translocation.
"Cor, she's heavy," one of the men said.
They taped her doors shut and covered her in plastic.
The youngest man took Isla from the wall and placed her safely on a table in the hall, face up as if she were a dining tray, a
nd then ran back up to help the others bring Olga down.
"Woah, woah, woah! She's tipping!"
It took three of them to get her out of the room. They pushed and shoved her across the landing and then onto a trolley and to the top of the stairs.
"Ready, lads?"
Two men carried her from below, while a third, the eldest, guided her down from above.
"Get off me! Get off me!" she growled. Of course, they couldn't hear her, but their faces showed the strain of being near her, as if they could feel the anger and fear and malice rising from the wood.
"It's gonna go!" one of them warned.
"Hold her steady."
"Wait wait wait."
They elbowed and shunted and bashed her down the stairs, sliding her on her side, making the expansive staircase look narrow.
At the foot of the stairs, they tipped her up again and took a break, stretching their arms and backs.
"You wouldn't believe it was empty," one of the guys said to Matilda.
"I would," she said. Empty and soulless and dead.
"I'll get you for this," Olga cursed.
"How?" Matilda thought, blowing smoke at her. "How are you going to get me for this?"
Olga continued to rant, incoherently, unheard by the men drinking coffee who would drive her across London and lock her up in a storage unit.
She continued to rant down the drive and into the lorry, which was a testament to her strength and her anger. The others would protest on the stairs, but they almost all fell silent once they got outside. It was when they left the house that they felt at their most vulnerable and realised that something terrible really was happening to them.
"Don't you dare feel bad about it," Matilda told Lara. "They'd have done it to you and worse. Don't spare them a moment of pity."
Petra was whimpering as the young apprentice unscrewed her from the wall.
When Matilda checked on him, she found that Petra was leaning up on one side, all wrapped up like a cocoon. The young man was wrapping up her cups in tissue paper and packing them into a crate.
"Don't worry about those," Matilda said with a large smile. "They're not going."
"No!" Petra yelled. "Matilda, no! I never did anything to you."
The young man stopped what he was doing, got up from his knees and put Petra under one arm. He nodded to Matilda as he headed out to the lorry.
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