The Book of Eve

by Julia Blake

  We walk, silently, almost companionably. I am forcibly reminded of other, happier times, when I’d stretched out my stride to match his loose, long limbed gait, desperately hoping he’d notice me and realise I was so much more than just Eve, Annaliese’s newest little pet.

  We reach the stile, pause, I hold out my hand to Scott. ‘Goodbye, Scott. It was good, seeing you again...’ he hesitates, places his hand over mine. I feel his heat through my skin. Once again, bitter regret and might have beens threaten to engulf me. Quickly, I pull my hand free, turn to go.

  ‘She asked for you... at the end, she kept asking for you...’ the words are low, calm. Each one penetrates. A poisoned barb, it spreads its toxin through my system, breaking down my defences, smashing through my barriers. I stand, head bowed, accept the inevitable. I still loved Annaliese, despite what she’d done, loved her as passionately as the day I’d first met her, mourned her death. Mourned the loss of the most extraordinary woman I was ever likely to meet.

  ‘Was it so very bad?’ I have to ask, to know. ‘Her end, was it...?’

  ‘Fucking horrendous?’ he enquires. ‘Oh yes, at the end she didn’t know us, any of us. She kept asking for you, not for Robert or Caro, who’d always been in her life, not for me or Mimi, who were there for her right up until the end. No, it was you, beautiful, treacherous Eve, you were the one she wanted, God only knows why.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I gulp, feeling the unwanted tear slip down my cheek, my body shaking with the enormity of his words. ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t. I had no choice...’

  With a muffled curse he reaches for me, his large hand tipping my head back to expose me, vulnerable and open. His face softens, and a fingertip traces the path of the tear.

  ‘Eve...’ he begins.

  ‘Melissa,’ I insist defiantly.

  He shrugs impatiently, angrily, then enfolds me in his arms, simply lets me cry. I realise it’s something I’ve needed to do for the longest time, since Ruth’s e-mail, all through the long journey home. Maybe even longer, since that terrible night, when Annaliese took my youthful dreams and confidence, twisted them into something dark and unrecognisable.

  Patiently he waits, until finally I am reduced to a damp hiccupping mess, patting frantically at my pocket to retrieve Dennis’s handkerchief.

  ‘Come on.’ At last he speaks; taking me firmly by the hand pulls me down the footpath towards the stile, towards the Hall.

  ‘No,’ my protest is minimal, half hearted. He ignores it, gently and solicitously helps me over the stile, as if I were some elderly and infirm spinster, instead of a perfectly capable woman in her late twenties. Again we walk in silence, only this time he holds my hand tightly in his, glancing at me from time to time, as if unable to believe I’m actually, really here, is half afraid I’ll try to make a dash for it.

  I consider it, am incapable of even completing the thought. A strange complicity floods my limbs, an intense weariness drains the energy from my very bones, rendering me weak and helpless, unable to do anything but allow Scott to lead me, unresisting, along the path to Annaliese’s home.

  We reach the Hall before the others. I wonder if Annaliese’s request that people not linger by her graveside was being honoured, or if her friends were hesitant to leave her alone in her narrow earthen bed, reluctant to turn their faces away from the dead and back to the living. As we enter, I gesture helplessly at Scott. ‘I need to tidy myself. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.’

  He surveys my ravaged face and his expression softens. Silently, gently, undoes the oversized buttons of my coat as if I were a small child, clumsy and incapable. Just as gently, takes the hat from my head. My hair springs free and he frowns, pushes his hand through the short springy curls. ‘You’ve cut your hair,’ his voice is almost accusatory. I feel myself flushing, immediately on the defensive.

  ‘I fancied a change,’ my tone is challenging, daring him to make an issue of it. He surveys me a moment longer, then his hand drops to his side and he shrugs. There’s movement, noise at the door and I flee upstairs as the first of the mourners arrive.

  It’s over a year since I was last here. Nothing has changed. The walls of the landing are still papered in pale golden yellow, glimmering in the strong midday sun streaming through large windows. Instinctively, I head for the room which for nine years had been mine, pausing in the doorway, looking, realising nothing has been touched, it’s all just as I’d left it.

  I remember when Annaliese had first thrown the door open. ‘This can be your room,’ she’d exclaimed. I’d cried out in wonder at its golden perfection, the beauty of the pale wooden four poster bed with its sumptuous drapes, the ornate little Queen Anne fireplace and pair of tall windows, open to breath-taking views of the surrounding parkland.

  Now, I slip gratefully into the adjoining bathroom, wincing at the strange woman’s face looking back at me from the large, brutally honest mirror over the vanity unit, her eyes wide and wild, her curls crushed from the confining hat, her skin blotchy and ugly from crying.

  I open the unit, shocked to discover my make-up and skin care products exactly as I’d left them, take out the expensive foundation, eye shadows and blushers, noticing my brushes and combs are still there too, arranged neatly by the sink, just where I’d liked to keep them.

  With hands that shake, for the first time in nearly a year I smooth artificial life onto my skin, apply colour to my cheeks, outline my eyes with my signature black kohl. With a few simple, automatic gestures I shed Melissa and step back into Eve. Donning once again her look, a look, that for so long had been the mask behind which I’d faced the outside world, a world that had seemed so ugly and pointless beyond the golden walls of Annaliese’s kingdom.

  Outwardly ready to face them, I slowly, reluctantly, leave the room to go back downstairs and greet my friends. Quickly realising in my absence Scott must have advised them of my presence, has probably warned them not to mention my gap year from their lives, perhaps, not to blame, accuse or condemn for my absence from Annaliese’s side during her fatal illness.

  Instead, I am greeted with warmth and effusion, Mimi gathering me up in her arms for a hug which leaves me reeling in a cloud of Chanel and French woman chic. Her tiny, bird like frame is clad in sophisticated and extremely becoming black, yet her immaculately made up face shows evidence of stress, the same stress, I realise, I can see on all their faces. Plainly, it’s been a difficult time for them. I feel ashamed, not so much I’d not been there for Annaliese, but that I’d not been there for my friends.

  The champagne flows. The food is served, as I’d predicted, delectable and delicious little mouthfuls of pure gourmet delight. Tentative, hushed tones become louder, as people reminisce, remember and regret. Finally, someone laughs aloud at a particularly outrageous Annaliese anecdote, immediately hushing themselves guiltily, but it’s too late, the laughter is out. Just as Annaliese would have wanted, the party gets into full swing.

  Somehow, I find I’ve consumed far too much champagne on an empty stomach. I’m floating on a cloud of immediacy. Unable to think of such mundane things as driving; the fact I have nowhere to stay that night, even of going to see my parents. Cocooned in the blanket of my friends’ presence, I allow myself, for the first time, to realise how much I’ve missed them all, how big a hole their absence from my life has created.

  The tree planting is beautiful, moving. Every single mourner troops to the chosen site on the edge of the parkland to watch Henry, the gardener, his face set and solemn, carefully, almost delicately, place the adolescent sapling into its new home, piling earth around its hopeful young roots, rather as the earth had been shovelled into Annaliese’s new home. The silver birch is watered in thoroughly with a bottle of champagne, its cork buried deep in the hole and we all pause, heads bowed, as the sun begins to set, tipping the slim branches with shafts of gold.

  Finally, Robert
sighs and walks up to the tree. Tenderly, gently, he touches its papery bark.

  ‘Goodbye, Annaliese,’ he murmurs, and sets off back towards the Hall. One by one, we all follow suit, some merely patting the tree, others letting their fingers linger on its trunk, seeing in its bright merriness and quivering leaves an embodiment of Annaliese’s spirit. I think what a good choice Caro has made.

  Caro. She alone has made no attempt at reconciliation. Instead, I feel her eyes, hard and accusing, as she works her way through the crowd, acting as hostess in Annaliese’s place, ensuring all are well fed and the champagne never runs dry.

  Just after sunset, I stagger outside onto the veranda for some fresh air. Awash on a sea of good quality champagne and caviar, I feel light headed and giggly, a feeling I haven’t had in so long. An indescribable sensation of intense well bearing and optimism, the sensation I’d always had in Annaliese’s presence.

  As I cling to the stone balustrade, drawing deeply of the chilly September evening, I become aware of a small glowing tip on the steps below me. There’s movement, and Scott steps into the dim light, a cigarette dangling from his lip.

  ‘I thought you’d given up?’ I hear my voice, shrill and unfocused, realise I’m drunk and how wonderfully, gloriously liberating it is.

  ‘I had,’ he shrugs and stubs out the offending cigarette on the wall, stuffing it back into the packet. ‘I started again a couple of months ago, when...’ his voice trails away and in my mind I finish the sentence, he’d started again when Annaliese reached the beginning of the end.

  There’s silence, he leans back casually against the wall, hands in pockets, staring almost moodily out into the gloomy park. The quiet stretches, expands, I can almost hear it; feel my heart racing to fill the silent void, thumping against my rib cage in a frenzy of anticipation.

  ‘I had my reasons,’ I suddenly say. In the darkness see his head turn, the glitter of his eyes, intense and focused. ‘For what I did,’ I continue. ‘You know, I had my reasons, good reasons. I didn’t just one day decide to leave. Annaliese... she must have told you she saw me; that I knew, finally understood.’

  ‘Understood? Understood what?’ he sounds genuinely confused. I realise, in a flash of realisation, she hadn’t told him, he didn’t know. A horrible reluctance to speak of it grips me, I step back from him.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say, taking a deep breath. ‘I don’t want to talk about it, Scott. I don’t want to speak ill of her, not now she...’

  ‘Can’t fight back?’ he snaps, and I hear anger in his voice. ‘Do you have any idea what it did to her when you disappeared, Eve? How worried she was, how worried I... we all were? Then that pathetic note saying nothing, that you were alright and we were not to look for you.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I interrupt desperately. ‘I had to go, I knew...’

  ‘Knew what?’ he demands, then sighs in exasperation at my mutinous silence. ‘Oh keep your bloody secrets,’ he mutters, and stomps past me up the steps towards the Hall.

  ‘Scott!’ I clutch at his arm. He turns and I smell him; that achingly familiar mix of expensive aftershave and cigarette smoke. For a second, I long for what might have been, when I was young and stupid, hoping beyond all hope he could care for me the way I cared for him. But he didn’t, he couldn’t, and so it wasn’t to be.

  There’s footsteps above us, we look up to see Robert, barely visible in the inky blackness which has crept upon us whilst we’ve been talking, his pale face appearing aged in the monochrome shadow cast by the Hall.

  ‘Scott, I’ve been looking for you. It’s time,’ he states flatly and turns to go. Scott pulls free from my grasp, moves to follow him. I shrink back against the unforgiving stone, my head a whirl of conflicting emotions. Robert stops, looking back over his shoulder. ‘This concerns you too, Eve, please come.’

  He leads us to Annaliese’s study, a generously proportioned room which during the day is flooded with golden sunshine from large French doors leading out onto a balcony. Now, with the curtains drawn and a small fire glowing in the hearth, it is inviting and cosy. For a moment, I think I see her, sitting at the antique rosewood desk, working at her latest book, writing slowly and methodically with one of her beautiful, old fashioned, fountain pens, her long hair escaping from its ribbon, a frown of concentration on her face.

  I blink away the vision and look around me, wondering why I’m here. Why we’re all here, I silently amend, as I see the other members of coterie already seated. Mimi, as graceful as ever, poised on the elegant brocade sofa. Miles, sitting beside her, warm brown eyes crinkling at the edges as he flashes a welcoming smile at us. Ferdie is busy opening a bottle of champagne, Caro hovering beside him like a hawk; as if afraid he will somehow get it wrong.

  Silently, Scott and I sit side by side on the other sofa, facing Miles and Mimi. Robert hovers near the fire, holding out thin, cold fingers to its welcoming warmth. Ferdie and Caro pour champagne into thin, elegant flutes and efficiently hand them around, Caro’s eyes narrowing fractionally as she hands one to me. I murmur thanks, notice a television set now stands in the corner of the room where a luscious pot plant used to be, and wonder why it’s there.

  ‘I’d like to propose a toast,’ Robert starts, our eyes swivel obediently in his direction. ‘To Annaliese,’ he proclaims, holding up his glass. We all follow suit, taking sips of the champagnes welcoming coldness.

  ‘You’re probably wondering why I’ve called you all in here,’ he continues, holds up a small remote control. ‘Well, Annaliese had a message she wanted me to give you on the day of her funeral, a message from her.’

  Amid our curious mutters, he points the remote at the television, it flickers into life and next moment she’s there on the screen. Even though the image is two dimensional, it’s as if she’s suddenly in the room with us. I realise it must have been recorded many months ago, before the final grip of illness. Although, looking closer, it’s possible to see lines of pain around her mouth, the sheen of drugs in her eyes.

  ‘My darling friends,’ she begins. It’s been a year since I last heard her voice and a lancet of pain stabs through my heart. How could I have forgotten that quick lilting accent; that tone which always seemed to suggest laughter was lurking mere moments away, ‘By the time you watch this,’ she continues. ‘It’ll all be over; I will have lost the battle. I have no illusions about the outcome. The doctors have been very honest with me and I know this is a battle I cannot win. So, I hope the funeral has gone well.’ We shift uncomfortably, catching each other’s eyes in a shared moment of awkwardness.

  ‘Caro, sweetheart, I’m sure you arranged everything splendidly, that it was all exactly as I wanted it to be and I thank you for performing this final task for me. You’ve been the most faithful friend and loyal companion and I wish to give you something. My final gift to you, my dearest, is the gift of truth. You’ll know exactly what I mean by that and will understand I entrust it to you completely, that it is yours to do with what you will.’ We turn curious eyes onto Caro, who flushes and looks down at the ground, mouth working furiously as she fights to hold back tears.

  ‘Scott, my angel, last year you asked me for advice. I recommended you be patient, that it was too soon, told you if you only waited a little while you would get your heart’s desire. That advice was wrong and I bitterly regret the consequences, as I know you do. My advice to you now, for what it’s worth, is to forget about waiting and being patient, but just seize the moment. I’ve learnt to my cost, that life is fleeting and simply too short to waste a single second of. So, Scott, my dear heart, if it’s still what you want more than anything else in the world, and I believe it is, then to coin a familiar phrase, go for it.’

  I glance at Scott, curiosity keenly aroused. His head is bowed. In disbelief, I see the glint of tears in his eyes. He scrubs furiously at them, turning away from me as if he can’t bear for me to see hi
s distress.

  ‘Mimi, my dear friend, I know life has been hard for you, that you’ve never fully recovered from the tragedy. My message to you is to look beside you, look hard, my darling Mimi. You will see life is not completely over, there is something precious, something overlooked, waiting for you. Don’t be afraid, my angel, grasp it with both hands and you will find true happiness.’ Annaliese pauses, smiles, a sweet smile of love directly into the camera.

  ‘Miles dear heart, now is not the time to be timid or a gentleman, you must be positive, assertive. I know what you want, what you’ve always wanted, but have been too afraid to try for. Don’t be afraid, you have so much to offer, be true to your heart and you cannot fail.’ Mimi turns to gaze at Miles, who shuffles in his seat and stares awkwardly at the ground, then resolve seems to grip, he straightens and returns her stare, chin high, his eyes challenging and questioning.

  Fascinated, I watch the elegant, composed Frenchwoman blink in surprise, then comprehension floods her features and she blushes like a teenager. Her breath quickens and I see a pulse flutter in her throat. For a long silent moment they study each other, then Mimi quietly holds out a hand, which Miles stares at incredulously, before a smile of pure joy spread across his face and he grasps it eagerly. Mimi nods once, as if something has been agreed and settled between them. Together, they turn their faces towards Annaliese’s gently smiling visage.

  ‘Oh my darlings,’ she cries, and I wonder in amazement how she could possibly have been so sure, so confident. ‘I am so very happy for you both. Now, then, Ferdie, for what it’s worth, I want to give you my blessing and to thank you, for being so patient, so discreet and before you ask,’ she went on, as Ferdie’s eyes widen and he splutters into his champagne, ‘Since the very beginning. You may have been able to hide it from everybody else, but I’m the person who loves you the second most in the world. I not only knew, but was happy for you, for both of you.’