The Book of Eve

by Julia Blake

  ‘I’ll go and get it,’ offered Scott mildly. ‘It won’t take me long.’

  ‘Angel,’ breathed Mimi thankfully, and blew him a kiss, ‘I‘ll phone Martha and tell her.’

  ‘No problem,’ reassured Scott. He clambered back into his car and roared off, as Mimi hurried away muttering into her phone.

  Ferdie and I exchanged glances; then he danced after Mimi, gathering her up and waltzing her down the veranda, before forcing a glass of champagne onto her, flirting so outrageously a small smile appeared on Mimi’s face and the worry lines on her forehead smoothed themselves out.

  ‘I must change,’ she exclaimed eventually, draining her champagne. ‘The guests will be arriving at half four and it must be nearly that now,’ and she hurried away into the house.

  I sighed, brushed a hand lightly over my new pink silk dress, feeling with pleasure the rasp of expensive material over my thighs, the answering jolt of desire. Ever since my return from Jamaica with the decision I’d made to let Scott know how I felt about him, I’d walked around in a cloud of arousal, hardly able to look him in the eye, feeling the buzz of a heady secret not yet divulged, enjoying the sensation of possibly soon to be requited lust.

  The warmth of the afternoon intensified. Robert, Miles, Ferdie and I relaxed like cats in the sun, swigging champagne, enjoying the calm before the storm and waiting for the others to arrive. Caro had not yet walked up from the lodge, so I didn’t even have to contend with her usual glare of disapproval. Annaliese too had not yet emerged, presumably she was still changing, or dealing with last minute details indoors.

  Robert pulled himself up with a sigh, shaded his eyes, looking up as one of the catering staff, a young pretty blonde girl came out with a large bunch of pink glittery balloons clutched in one hand, followed by a young man carrying jugs of sparkling iced juice. Together they wandered down to the marquee as we heard the familiar roar of Scott’s car, looked to see him turning into the drive, followed by a police car. Puzzled, we glanced at each other.

  ‘What do you suppose...?’ murmured Robert, and got up, wandering down the steps as Scott drew to a halt and got out of the car. Behind him the police car also stopped and two policemen, looking hot and solemn in sober blue uniforms, climbed out.

  I rose with Miles and Ferdie, watched, unease dancing down my spine, as Robert reached Scott and exchanged quick, unheard words with him. We saw him blanch, stagger back, holding out a hand as if in denial. Scott shook his head; they both glanced up at the house, at me, I felt. Dread oozed thickly through my veins. Robert turned to the policemen, gestured for them to follow him into the house, and Scott walked slowly up to us.

  ‘My god, Scott,’ I heard myself cry, my voice thin and shrill. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘There’s been an accident,’ he replied. His eyes were blank, shuttered, his words precise and careful, as if having to think before he spoke. ‘The police were at the house when I got there, they were trying to find Mimi to tell her, to tell her...’ he paused, looked down and swallowed.

  ‘What’s happened, Scott? Why were they trying to find Mimi?’ Miles quietly asked.

  ‘Andrew,’ he replied flatly. I went icy cold all over. ‘A tractor pulled out of a concealed entrance, Andrew went into the side of it...’

  ‘No!’ I gasped in horror. ‘Is he alright?’ before he could answer a sudden thought gripped me. ‘He was on his way to pick up Essie, someone needs to go and get her, she’ll be standing at school wondering where he is...’ my voice trailed away at the look in Scott’s eyes.

  ‘Eve,’ he began gently, placing his hands on my shoulders. ‘He’d already collected Essie; she was in the car with him...’

  ‘Is she alright?’ I demanded, panic pounding in my temples and my heart. ‘Scott, are they alright? How badly hurt are they?’ I saw the truth in his eyes, but couldn’t... wouldn’t... accept it, backed away from him with a low moan of denial.

  A scream sounded from the house, coarse and guttural, like the death cry of an animal.

  I felt the blood drain from my cheeks, saw the answering looks of horrified realisation on the faces of Miles and Ferdie, as we stood, petrified and helpless, listening to Mimi’s pain.

  ‘Mimi!’ I cried, started forward, but Scott held me fast.

  ‘Don’t, Eve,’ was all he said, and I twisted in his grasp.

  ‘I must go to her!’

  ‘No,’ he said simply. ‘She has Annaliese and Robert, that’s enough for now.’

  ‘I want to help,’ I screamed. ‘I can’t just stand here and do nothing. Oh my god, Scott... Essie!’ I started to shake as the true horror of the situation began to sink in, ‘Andrew... both of them? No, it’s not true! Both of them?’

  I saw Ferdie’s eyes well, his hand scrub futilely at his eyes. Saw the frozen horror on Miles’s face, slapped furiously at Scott’s hands, unable to bear his touch.

  ‘The guests,’ Miles suddenly exclaimed. ‘They’ll be arriving any minute, expecting a party, we can’t... they can’t...’

  ‘No,’ agreed Scott. ‘Go and stop them at the gates,’ he ordered. ‘Tell them what’s happened, send them away. Ferdie, get Caro, we need her, she can help us get rid of all of... this...’ he gestured helplessly at marquee, bouncy castle, pink bunting. ‘If Mimi sees this, it’ll make it worse.’

  The two men nodded and loped off, plainly relieved at being given tasks to do, anything to help them delay having to think, feel. Scott and I were left alone, staring at each other.

  ‘How can you just stand there?’ I demanded in sudden anger. ‘Don’t you care? Oh god, oh no, Essie!’ I pounded on his chest in impotent anger at a world in which such things could happen. Patiently, he waited until my rage collapsed into dry howls that ripped at my chest and throat then gathered me up in his arms, quietly holding me as I trembled in shocked disbelief.

  Over his shoulder I saw the caterers, supremely oblivious to the tragedy which had occurred, laughing together in the marquee. She was trying to fasten the balloons to the throne and he was distracting her, whispering things in her ear that had her blushing furiously and pushing him half-heartedly away.

  They were young, plainly in love, and it seemed so obscenely wrong I wanted to scream at them, but didn’t, couldn’t. Watched with a growing sense of disjointed inevitability, as finally the string of the balloons slipped through her fingers and they sailed away from her outstretched hands, escaping out the side of the marquee.

  My eyes tracked their progress. Eight sparkly pink balloons, one for every year of her short life, soaring ever upwards into the heavens...

  It was later. The longest day of my life had finally ended. I was alone in my room, sitting on the edge of my bed, knowing I should try to sleep, realising the futility of even trying. Mimi had finally slept, sedated by the doctor summoned when Mimi’s screams became hysterical, her wild cries filling the Hall with outraged denial as she struggled to understand how life had so turned, why her passionately adored husband and beloved daughter were never coming home again.

  The rest of us crept around her grief. Silent, in shock, not knowing what to do or say, struggling to comprehend, powerless to help Mimi or ourselves. Annaliese had dealt with her, until white faced and in the grip of a savage headache, she’d collapsed bonelessly into Robert’s arms and he’d carried her off to bed, leaving a grim and stony faced Caro to sit by Mimi’s bedside in case she stirred in the night.

  I’d slipped away at that point, unable to cope with such sustained grief any longer, desperate to be alone, yet, once I reached the privacy of my room, found myself longing for the companionship of others.

  Apart from those few wild dry sobs in Scott’s arms at the initial news, I had yet to weep, could feel a sea of tears locked up tight in my chest. Unable to escape, they brewed and fermented, creating a large painful ball which choked and strangled. I clasped a
palm to my heart, knowing no amount of antacid could ever cure this heartburn.

  Dusk began to creep across the room. Still I sat, motionless and silent, on the edge of my bed, feeling my eyes grow still and wide, focusing intensely on a single spot on the carpet until it seemed I could almost see each individual fibre.

  A knock sounded at the door. I blinked, struggled to regain reality; slowly turned my head to stare, unable to move, to react. The knock sounded again, more insistent this time, still I could not answer, watched as the handle turned, the door gently creaked open and Scott’s concerned expression appeared round it. ‘Eve, are you ok?’

  I looked at him, slowly shook my head, continued my study of the carpet, felt the bed dip as he sat beside me and placed an arm around my shoulders. We waited, in mutual silence, until finally he sighed. ‘You should try to get some sleep.’

  ‘No,’ I murmured, ‘I’m not sure I’ll ever sleep again,’ looked into his still dark eyes. ‘How could such a thing have happened, Scott? What had Andrew ever done to harm anyone, and Essie, she was just a little girl, what had she done wrong?’

  ‘Sometimes there is no reason why bad things happen,’ Scott paused, and when he continued his voice was carefully neutral. ‘Sometimes people you love are simply not there one day and you never know why, they’re just gone.’

  I knew he was thinking of his mother, his nanny and of Samuel. I ached to comfort him, was unable too. Numb and disbelieving, my earlier plans to declare my love and seduce him seemed inane and meaningless compared to what had happened.

  ‘Try to sleep,’ he advised, eased me down onto the bed, pulling the comforter up and over me, tucking it round me, his face oddly gentle.

  He stood, as if to leave, and I heard my own voice, small, a little girl’s. ‘Please stay, please stay with me, I don’t want to be alone tonight.’ He paused, turning to look at me in the gloom, and then nodded.

  ‘Ok,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll sleep on the sofa.’

  ‘No,’ I insisted. ‘Please, come and lay next to me, so I can feel you’re there, I need someone to hold me tonight.’ Again, he hesitated, suddenly seemed to capitulate, sat on the bed and removed his shoes. I moved across to make room for him and he slid under the comforter with me, his warmth and presence immediately making things more bearable. I groped under the cover to find his hand and clutched it tightly.

  ‘Thank you,’ I whispered, snuggling closer.

  ‘Glad to be of service,’ he whispered back.

  We lay like that, side by side, holding hands, until the emotions of the day finally caught up with me and I dropped like a stone into a deep and dreamless sleep. When I awoke, sometime the next morning, he’d gone, only the faintest trace of his aftershave on the pillow beside me bearing testament to the fact he’d ever been there at all.

  I rolled over in bed, unwilling to get up and face the day, wanting nothing more than to stay, tucked tightly in my cocoon and not have to deal with the tragedy which awaited me downstairs. But knew I had no choice, it would have to be faced. Reluctantly I sat up and swung my legs out of bed, felt my feet touch something cold and foreign lying on the floor, half under the bed.

  Puzzled, I reached down and found Essie’s tiara, forgotten and unused, lying where she’d dropped it only the previous morning. It twinkled in the sun streaming in through the open curtains. I stared at it, felt my chest heave and finally, finally, the tears came.

  How do I tell of the seconds, minutes and hours that followed? How do I write of the days, weeks and months? Where are the words that can describe the funeral, when we stood in rows and watched in still-eyed mourning as the two caskets, Essie’s so heartbreakingly small, were carried out into the sun which obscenely, wrongly, shone down as though on a wedding day.

  How can I write of Mimi, bereft and devastated, her life ripped apart by a whim of fate and a farm worker who’d been in too much of a hurry to wait? Growing daily thinner and paler, we worried about her and about Annaliese, on whom the brunt of caring for her had fallen. I tried to help, I really did, yet lacked the certainty of always seeming to know the right thing to say and do that Annaliese possessed. Dealing with my own shock and grief, I found it hard to even look at Mimi, didn’t know how to be with her anymore, felt awkward and clumsy in her presence.

  The seasons turned and time passed, Christmas was nearly upon us, yet it was a pale imitation of Christmases past. We were a kingdom that had lost its princess and we mourned.

  I’d been working for Ruth, craving the distraction it offered, losing myself in the complexities of the job and only too pleased when my fact finding missions for her took me away from home for a few days. I dreaded being in the Hall, Mimi’s grief was so all encompassing at times I almost resented her for it, and then hated myself for being so self-centred.

  Ruth never mentioned Scott or the conversation we’d had that night. I wondered, given the amount she’d drunk, whether she even remembered it. I had still to act on her advice, the longer I left it, the harder it seemed to get. I would watch him, his patience and forbearing with Mimi filled me with admiration, but, in the five months since Andrew and Essie’s deaths, I had not seen him grieve at all. His coldness made me doubt myself, doubt whether Ruth could possibly have been correct when she’d claimed he loved me.

  Finally, in December, following gentle urging by Annaliese, I escaped, flying to Jamaica for a much needed holiday. Desperate to get away from the stifling and claustrophobic atmosphere at the Hall, felt my spirits lift as the plane took off and carried me far away to the other side of the world, where it was hot and sunny, where I could lie on a beach all day, mindless and solitary, with no one to please but myself and nothing more strenuous to do than work on my tan.

  I returned, ten days before Christmas, feeling the best I’d felt since the tragedy, but immediately found myself being sucked back into the morass of despair at the Hall. I longed to escape again. Most of all, I longed for something, anything, to break the monotony of grief.

  Two days later I received a phone call from Ally, of all people, wondering if I’d like to meet, exclaiming she hadn’t seen me in ages and it would be good to catch up. To say she hadn’t seen me for ages was a massive understatement, it was over six years and I felt a guilty flush at the thought. I’m ashamed to admit after I’d moved into the Hall, I’d quietly but determinedly severed all connections with friends from my old life, wanting to leave Melissa and everyone who knew her far behind me and concentrate on becoming Eve.

  So now, Ally’s phone call was a shock and, strangely, also a relief. It was an excuse to leave the Hall and get away from my normal circle of friends, all of whom knew of the tragedy. To spend time with someone who was totally oblivious of it, to enjoy an evening of aimless small talk, was a temptation too great to resist and I agreed to meet Ally the following evening.

  Feminine pride had me ensuring I looked my best. As I pushed open the restaurant door and caught sight of myself in the reflective glass, knew I looked amazing. My long legs, tanned golden by hot Jamaican sun, I’d refused to cover up, despite the freezing temperatures, and they were showcased nicely between a scandalously short pleated red skirt and long black leather boots. A white silk blouse billowed under a very expensive fake fur jacket and was cinched around my hips with a designer leather belt which matched my horrendously over-priced bag. It was small minded of me, I know, to deliberately set out to create an overwhelming impression of how successful I now was. I had no excuse for it other than being a woman.

  Ally was already at the restaurant. I caught the flash of envy in her eyes when she first spotted me, the tinge of malice in her tone when she kissed my cheek and we exchanged insincere greetings. The restaurant was busy with pre-Christmas revellers, its cosily decorated interior, the wine we ordered, helped me relax and drop my guard, becoming less Eve and more Melissa during the course of the evening. Later, as we were pulling our j
ackets on, she suggested.

  ‘How about you come back to mine and I’ll make us a cup of tea? You can wait there for a taxi, it’ll be ages before you can get one, being a Saturday and this close to Christmas.’

  ‘Ok,’ I readily agreed. ‘Where are you living now?’

  ‘Not far,’ she named a nearby street and I nodded, followed as she led the way out of the restaurant’s warm interior and into a frosty, frozen white world outside. I shivered in the frigid, below zero temperatures, cursing my stupid feminine pride and wishing for thick tights and a long warm coat.

  It was still reasonably early and the fair which came to town every Christmas was ablaze with lights and glitzy glamour, the old fashioned carousel with its brightly painted wooden horses whirling around and around. We stopped for a moment, watching as children clung tightly and waved to parents, who dutifully waved back. It was charming. I felt a lump in my throat at the thought that back at the Hall we didn’t even have a Christmas tree this year.

  None of us had liked to suggest having one, feeling, I believe, it would have been insensitive to Mimi. Now I was struck by the thought maybe we should instead have clung to the old traditions, that perhaps she would have found a little comfort in them.

  Ally lived on a street which led away from the hill and its cheerful reminder Christmas was so close. We were soon entering the small terraced house, grateful for its welcoming warmth as Ally firmly closed and, to my uneasy surprise, locked the front door behind us.

  ‘Go through,’ she urged, gesturing towards the lounge. I entered the room, reeling back in shock at the gaunt steely eyed man sitting in the armchair, eyes narrowed with grim satisfaction at my discomfort, as I glanced nervously back towards the door.

  ‘Hello, Mel,’ said Mike. I heard Ally enter the room behind me.

  ‘Mike,’ I replied, calm tone hiding the frantic pace of my heart. ‘What are you doing here?’

  He smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile, not the happy go lucky grin I remembered from years ago.