by Adele Geras
‘They do!’ Eva smiled. ‘Well, that’s important, I think. I told Rowena when they were both very young that it was the most important thing … sisters. They should be friends. Look after one another. Rowena was an only child but as soon as Bridie was born, I did everything I could to make sure that the two of them got along well together.’
‘Not all siblings do, though, do they? Get on, I mean.’
Eva didn’t answer this but asked, ‘Do you have brothers and sisters yourself?’
‘No,’ I answered. ‘I’m an only child.’
‘Awful. It’s not good being an only child. I’ve always thought so. Sisters … well, that’s a very special relationship, isn’t it?’
‘Have you got a sister?’ I asked. Eva looked at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. She didn’t answer me. I didn’t feel I could repeat the question and was just about to say I was going back upstairs when she said, ‘No. No, I certainly don’t have a sister.’ She was almost whispering, as though she didn’t want anyone else to overhear but there wasn’t anyone there except me. She’d chosen an odd way of saying something simple. What was the ‘certainly’ about? It was almost as if having a sister was disgraceful.
She added, ‘I’m going to bed now, I think. Do stay and finish your hot chocolate. And help yourself to biscuits or something if you’re hungry. And could you turn out the light in here when you leave? We always leave the one on the landing on. Bridie likes to see it shining under the door. Goodnight, Megan.’
She left the kitchen, walking slowly. Once she’d gone, the silence that fell was broken only by underwater sounds coming from the enormous fridge. I looked at the dresser, where a collection of blue-and-white china was displayed; at a fruit bowl sitting on a marble work surface, at the clean white doors of the cupboards and nowhere could I see any sign of anything as mundane as a biscuit tin. What did a designer biscuit tin look like? In the end, I opened several cupboards before I remembered the pantry. Hadn’t Phyllis gone in there to fetch cakes and things when I first came to interview Eva?
I opened the pantry door. There, right on the shelf facing me when I came into the room, was half a chocolate cake on a cake stand under a clear plastic dome. I didn’t dare cut myself a slice of that. What if Phyllis was keeping it for a special occasion? I decided not to risk it and almost as though I was being rewarded, I noticed a tin on the shelf above the cake stand. I took three oat biscuits and went back to eat them at the table.
I hadn’t had more than one bite when I suddenly felt uncomfortable, as though someone I couldn’t see was watching me.
‘You’re being a bloody idiot!’ I said aloud, thinking that hearing my own voice would make things seem more normal. It was the silence, weighing down on me, that was what was freaking me out. As soon as I heard myself speak, I’d be okay, I was sure. Only I wasn’t. The feeling of being watched persisted and I turned round abruptly and looked to see if the curtains at the windows were drawn. Sometimes being in a lighted room when it’s dark outside makes me feel as if I’m on a stage with an unseen audience staring at me, but this room had curtains. No one could possibly see in. But what if someone is out there anyway? Not seeing me, but looking at the other side of the curtains? I wasn’t going to stay here. I put the biscuits in my pocket and turned out the light. I almost ran across the hall and went up the staircase as fast as I could without making a racket. When I got to my room, I glanced back downstairs, almost expecting to see someone following me. There’s no one following you, I told myself. You’re just tired, that’s all. The flowers in the vase on the hall table seemed to glow pale in the surrounding near-darkness. The hall was quite empty.
*
‘Come and meet my teacher. He’s called Mr Shoreley,’ Bridie said, dragging me by the hand into her classroom.
Mr Shoreley looked up when we came in and said, ‘Hello, Bridie. Is this your new nanny?’ To me he said, ‘She’s been telling me all about you.’
‘I’m Megan Pritchard. It sounds a bit odd to hear myself called a nanny.’ I wanted to add that I was a journalist but stopped myself. Instead I said, ‘It’s a super classroom.’
Bridie had gone over to talk to her friends. Mr Shoreley was quite nice-looking. If you needed a teacher for an advertisement, you’d probably have chosen someone exactly like him: tall, with blue eyes and wearing narrow rectangular glasses in silver frames. He was wearing a sweat shirt and trainers, which surprised me a bit. The dress code had clearly changed since I was at school.
‘Bridie loves coming to school,’ I said. ‘She was waiting by the door today, in her coat long before we had to set off.’
‘She’s a pleasure to have in the class. People are fooled by her quietness, but she’s often thinking, about stuff you wouldn’t expect. I think she’s a bit … overshadowed by Dee but deep down, I reckon she’s got a good opinion of herself. Quietly confident.’
‘Thanks,’ I said to him. ‘I don’t know either of them very well, not yet.’
‘Well, Bridie’s a bit of a dark horse. Dee’s such a star and so I sometimes think that she gets kind of overlooked. Did you know she’s learned her telephone numbers by heart? Her mother and father’s and she’ll soon have yours, no doubt. Tables are in her head already. Maths and Science are my subjects, so I try to make sure she’s progressing at her own rate. It’d be a shame if she got bored and turned off … right?’
I nodded. He was smiling at me and for the first time since before I met Simon, I felt … something. A kindness coming from him. And I knew, because you can tell, that he was attracted to me. It was like moving into the range of a warm fire, after standing in the cold for a long time. As for me, I was pretty sure that his face wouldn’t linger in my mind for too long after I’d gone home but I did know that I liked him.
8
‘Well, Ma? What do you think?’
Eva didn’t know how to answer. The house Rowena and Conor had made an offer on, the house that they’d brought her to see, was elegant and attractive and just what they’d been looking for. And Eva hated it. She said, ‘It’s a lovely house, really. I think … well, I can see that it will suit you perfectly. Very near Dee’s school, too, didn’t you say?’
‘It is. It’s near both their schools. We pointed them out on the way.’ Rowena’s voice was tight.
‘I know,’ Eva said. ‘I remember. But I wasn’t paying too much attention. Still, it’s a nice street.’
That was also true. There were trees planted at intervals in the pavement outside, which was more than could be said about a great many London streets. The house was tall and narrow. Four floors … she couldn’t imagine a life in which she’d have to go up three flights of stairs to get to the sitting room, but if she agreed to live in the basement then that would be exactly where she’d be put.
‘You haven’t seen the best bit yet,’ said Rowena. ‘The granny flat. I’ve deliberately kept that for last. Conor, you don’t have to come down with us.’
‘Give me a shout if you want me. I’m going to look at the garden.’
Transparent, thought Eva. She wants him out of the way for some reason. Maybe because he’s more likely to sympathize with me if I make objections. She won’t be able to bludgeon me so easily with her logical arguments.
‘Come on, then, Ma,’ Rowena said. ‘Follow me down.’
Following Rowena involved holding on to the hand rail very tightly indeed. The staircase down to the flat was almost a spiral. The drop between each step was incredibly deep, much more so than Eva was used to. I’d never be able to relax. I’d have to be on my guard constantly in case I fell down them, she thought. She could manage now, just about, but what if she lived another ten years? More?
‘What do you think of the bedroom?’ said Rowena. ‘See, you’ve got a window that lets in the light and you can see the railings on to the street. Plus, there’s a little paved bit out here which we could turn into a kind of garden area for you, if you’d like that. Hang baskets up and things.’
/> ‘Mmm,’ Eva answered, so as not to have to say anything else. How odd, she thought. The ceilings in the rooms upstairs, because it was such a tall, skinny sort of house, were, if anything, too high. She’d felt a little lost in each one. Even the kitchen seemed a bit cavernous. This basement made up for it. The ceilings were depressingly low, the window was tiny and the light wasn’t good. I’d have to have the light on during the day, she thought. What kind of electricity bills would that mean?
‘Come through and see the sitting room. And the bathroom. You’ve got a really lovely bathroom.’
‘Yes,’ said Eva, wandering from the very small sitting room (with its very small window on to a yard-like space and some treacherous-looking stone steps leading up to the back garden and not a hand rail in sight) into the admittedly luxurious bathroom. With no bath.
‘There’s only a shower here,’ said Eva. ‘You know I hate showers. I have a bath every night.’
‘Don’t worry, Ma! Of course we could put in a bath for you. That’ll be no problem.’
Eva said nothing. I don’t like it, she told herself. I don’t want to live here, but if I say that now, if I tell Rowena that I’m not prepared to go up all those stairs and be crammed in a dark basement, she’ll start on about sheltered housing and who knows if that would be better? Eva had two scenes in her head. In one, she was in among the rest of the old people in a beige sitting room with the television blaring because some of the ancients were a bit deaf. In another, she was in a room on her own, with no one visiting her and unable to go and talk to Rowena or the girls or Phyllis. Which would be worse: to be lonely, or to be among people you didn’t know and might not particularly like if you did know them?
‘You’re not saying anything, Ma. Does that mean you hate it?’
For a moment, Eva considered lying. Wouldn’t everything be easier if she simply gave in? But then she’d have to come and spend the rest of her days in this basement and how could she bear that? ‘Yes,’ she said finally. ‘I’m afraid it does. I can’t live here, you know. I’m very sorry.’
‘But why? It’s perfect. I don’t think you’re approaching this in a very positive spirit, honestly. You just said upstairs that it’s an ideal house.’
‘For you it is. For you and Conor and the girls, I can see it is. But it isn’t an ideal house for me.’
‘I don’t see why not. You’d be completely independent and right with us at the very same time. How come that’s not good enough for you?’
‘It’s not that it’s not good enough, Rowena. As far as it goes I can see it would be a very convenient arrangement. Of course I’d be happier living with my family than stuck by myself in a home or something but you must see that it’s impossible. The stairs would kill me. I’d have to go up three flights if I wanted to sit with you. I’m fine at the moment, obviously, but I won’t always be and this is not designed for someone old.’
‘Oh, come on, Ma! You’ve said it yourself. You’re years and years from being like that, so don’t go playing the old lady card now. You’ve still got the use of your legs. You drive. You’re perfectly healthy. It’s just that you’re being stubborn about Salix House and you really can’t afford to be. Luke Fielden might make an offer. He’s coming round again later on this afternoon. We’re going to sell the house at some point and whether it’s to Luke, or someone else, we’re going to accept it so you’d better get used to the idea.’
‘There’s no need to be angry, Rowena. You asked me what I honestly thought and I’ve told you. I won’t be able to live here. If you want to buy this place you’re most welcome but I’ll have to find somewhere else.’
‘Okay. Okay. I’m sorry. And you’re right. I did say we’d find you a place you liked. I did say that.’
‘Have you got any more ideas?’
‘There are a couple of possibilities very close by. I’ll arrange for us to go and see them soon. We’ll find somewhere. You mustn’t worry, Ma.’
‘I shan’t worry,’ Eva said, wondering whether it was true that as long as she hadn’t found somewhere to live, they couldn’t be evicted from Salix House, even if it was sold, either to this Luke person or someone else. She decided that for now, she would let Rowena do the worrying. Normally she was good at not letting unpleasant thoughts affect her, although recently she’d had difficulty in pushing them aside. Sometimes there was nothing she could do to stop them coming.
1938
This was what Eva knew: she was four years old. Her name was Eva Bergmann. She had to be good. She had to obey Angelika, who was older. She knew how to speak. Mama and Papa often called her a chatterbox. But now the words had gone suddenly, every one of them. She couldn’t remember how to say anything. She opened her mouth, wanting to speak, wanting to tell them what had happened and there was a great black space in her head and a silence filling her mouth. She knew she was tired. She felt sad and frightened but somehow she couldn’t cry. She thought: Why can’t I? What’s happening to me? Where am I? Eva was burning hot and whenever she moved, it hurt all over her body.
She was in small room with a wooden floor. There was a rug with orange flowers on it. Someone was kneeling next to her. Holding her hands. Stroking her brow with cool fingers.
‘Eva Bergmann,’ this person said. Eva nodded because that was her name. The woman, who was wearing a navy blue skirt and a pink blouse, kept on stroking her hand and smoothing her hair back from her forehead. She said something, but Eva couldn’t understand. These words were different, just as Mama and Papa had told her they would be. She couldn’t remember the name of this place, but she knew they’d been sent far away from home. So that you’ll be safe, that’s what Mama had told them. This must be where she meant. She’d warned Eva and Angelika about the funny words. ‘Maybe you’ll be lucky,’ Mama said ‘and there’ll be someone there who speaks German.’
A man did come who said things Eva could understand. He was a doctor. She had been taken ill, he said. He told her the lady’s name: Agnes. He explained that Eva would be living with Agnes. Eva didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything. She was tired. She wanted to do nothing but sleep and sleep.
Eva was ill for a long time. It was only much later, once she’d learned those strange words, that she realized quite how long. She lay in bed and there were bad dreams which she tried to forget when she was awake. This was hard. The worst bits clung to the edges of her thoughts and she spent the time when she wasn’t asleep looking at the room she was in. There was a big window. There was a chest-of-drawers with a mirror on it and you could see tree branches and bits of sky in the glass and Eva liked looking at it. When she heard Agnes moving about downstairs, in the kitchen, banging saucepans, Eva tiptoed from her bed and looked out of the window at the garden. A big square of grass. Sometimes the grass was frosty. Trees were black and spiky and Eva wondered what had happened to the leaves. There was no music. Eva longed for the sound of Mama playing the piano. She longed for Mama. And Papa. She tried to remember what their faces were like and it was hard to picture them and this made Eva cry. She tried hard not to think about Angelika because when she did, it was difficult for her to breathe and Eva’s heart began to thump too hard, so hard that it hurt her and she wanted to vomit and sometimes she did and that was horrible and stinky, so she stopped. Whenever her sister came into her head, Eva would close her eyes and hold her breath and push her to the very edges of her mind and then she’d fade away and be forgotten till night time. There were bad dreams then, but during the day, Eva began, bit by bit, to stop thinking about what had happened.
Eva refused to speak. For weeks not a word had passed her lips, even after she began to feel better, less tired, less hot. Even after she’d grown used to Agnes looking after her, even after she was allowed out of bed and downstairs.
Then one day Agnes came into the kitchen, carrying a basket. Eva was at the table, being looked after by Mrs Gregg from next door.
‘Look, Eva dear,’ said Agnes, opening the basket. ‘I’ve brought us
a sweet little kitty.’
She picked the kitten up and held her out to show Eva. The cat was white and ginger with a tiny pink nose and was so small that she fitted easily into Agnes’s cupped hands. Eva looked at the creature, who suddenly leaped out of the basket and landed on her lap. Amazingly, the kitten settled down at once and fell asleep. Eva thought: she knows I love her. I haven’t said a word and yet she knows I love her. The almost imperceptible weight of the kitten on her legs had warmed her, and she stroked the pale fur with one hand. Then, without even thinking about it, she repeated Agnes’s last word: Kitty.
‘That’s right, Eva,’ Agnes’s voice shook. ‘Kitty. Good girl. Kitty. This is a cat. Can you say cat?’
Eva said, obediently: ‘Cat.’
That was the beginning. Agnes said, ‘Oh Eva, darling. This is so exciting. You’re speaking again! You’ll soon be able to say everything. Anything you like. You’ll see.’
Kitty grew into a plump ginger-and-white cat. It was taken for granted that Eva loved her, but no one knew exactly how much. Nor exactly why. Telling would have been embarrassing and others wouldn’t have understood that she was more than a mere animal. She’d been Eva’s way back to life, back to normality, from the dark place in which she’d found herself when she first came to Agnes Conway’s house.
9
I was getting out of the car outside the girls’ school when my phone rang. I scrabbled in my bag and fished it out as I crossed the playground. I would have left it to go to voicemail but it was Rowena so I answered it.
‘Hello?’
‘Oh, Megan, so glad I’ve got hold of you. You must be at school, right? Sorry to ring now but I’ve got a massive favour to ask you. We’re stuck in traffic on the way home … driving in London is a complete nightmare … and I’m not sure I’ll be there in time. Could you possibly see to him without me? Just give him a cup of tea or something and tell him I won’t be long, okay? Only I said five and it’s not going to be five.’