by Adele Geras
‘Of course she comes first,’ he said in an interview in the Observer. ‘Yves Saint Laurent and Chanel are who they are, and of course I’m honoured to work with them both, but Eva Conway is my dearest friend.’
The first time Antoine kissed her, they were clearing up after a catwalk show. The models had left, it was empty backstage and most of the clothes had been packed away. Eva was looking round the cavernous dressing-room, gathering together hairclips and fallen powder puffs and a couple of bras … how could you leave your bra behind? She bent down to pick up a pink affair which was mostly lace and as she got up again, Antoine’s arms were round her and before she knew what was happening, he was kissing her. She felt as though she’d been asleep and had suddenly woken up. She allowed herself to be kissed and then she moved to bring herself closer to him, kissing him back, wanting to absorb him into herself, wanting to be sheltered, wanting the kiss not to end.
‘Come back with me,’ Antoine whispered in her ear, kissed her neck. ‘Come back to my place.’
‘Yes,’ Eva said. ‘Yes, I will.’
She hardly noticed her surroundings; was only dimly aware of white walls with huge photographic enlargements on them. They went straight into his bedroom, and Eva, dizzy with longing, felt herself pushed back on the bed. She raised her arms and pulled Antoine to her. ‘Wait,’ he said and undressed quickly. She had a glimpse of his smooth chest and white skin and closed her eyes as he removed her clothes, carefully, tenderly. He said, ‘I want us to be naked. I want to see you … see how lovely you are.’
Eva said nothing in reply. They made love for what seemed to her at the same time an eternity of almost agonizing pleasure and something that was over far too soon, and afterwards, when Antoine was already asleep, Eva lay awake for a long time wondering why she suddenly felt a little sad. I’m imagining it, she told herself. There was nothing in anything Antoine did or said that was not exactly what I wanted, needed to hear. Still, she had the idea, which she couldn’t shake however much she tried to, that she was the more passionate one; the one who lost herself in sensation; who forgot everything; who felt herself overcome with emotion, and she was uncertain about the strength of Antoine’s feelings. In any case, by the time they woke up together next day, Eva was lost. She loved him. Even if he was not in love with her, she wouldn’t mind. What did they say? That there was always someone who loved and someone who was loved? She would be the one who loved. She felt safe with him. Protected. Maybe she’d even tell him her whole story one day – talk about the things she’d never confessed before. Would he forgive her? And if he forgave her, was there a chance that she’d forgive herself?
Everyone in the fashion world assumed they were an item. Eva did nothing to contradict the gossip, because she revelled in it. Antoine, too, didn’t seem to mind his name being linked with hers in the papers or in Jennifer’s Diary in the Tatler. They did everything together: ate, worked, travelled, so that when he suggested that they live together, Eva was overjoyed. She’d been living in a small flat in Chelsea, which was slowly filling up with her possessions.
‘It’s like a basin with the tap left running, Eva,’ Antoine said. ‘One day you’ll get back from somewhere and find stuff seeping out under the front door. Let’s get somewhere bigger? Together. We can live together … I want to be with you, Eva.’
For a moment, Eva was speechless. He was serious. He wanted to live with her so that must mean … She couldn’t help smiling. She hadn’t ever been so happy before, but she said as calmly as she could, ‘Okay. That would be … it would wonderful. And we’ll have fun, won’t we? Decorating it? Making it our home?’
They found a large flat in a quiet street off one of the less grand squares near South Kensington. Doing it up turned out to be a series of small battles. Antoine liked everything plain; and preferably in neutral colours. Eva was the exact opposite, but she only resisted his wishes in a mild way.
It became clear, as they decorated and prepared the flat, that they weren’t going to be sharing a bedroom. They ordered two beds that were delivered to two separate bedrooms. Since that first time, in Antoine’s flat, they’d made love on several occasions, but if Eva were honest, not as often as she’d have wanted. Kisses, caresses, hands held and looks exchanged across a room … things that Eva thought would lead to other things, somehow didn’t. Or, she corrected herself, didn’t very often lead to them. She’d begun to think (and she chided herself for this thought), that when they made love, Antoine was doing it to please her, to make up to her for something. She interrogated herself for hours: what am I doing wrong? Why isn’t he keener? Is it me? Should I seduce him more often? How? She had no idea. With other men, she’d never been the one who took the initiative. She thought he ought to want her as much as she wanted him, and he didn’t … not as far as she could see. She needed to make matters clear between them before they began to live together.
‘We’ve got to talk, Antoine,’ she told him. ‘We’ve got things to discuss.’ She’d chosen a time she thought was perfect: they’d eaten well and were on the sofa. Eva was sitting up with Antoine’s head on her lap.
‘I’m too full. Can’t discuss anything now.’ And then, contradicting himself just as Eva was about to speak. ‘What sort of thing do you mean?’
‘Sleeping arrangements. Stuff like that.’
Antoine half turned and reaching up, pulled Eva down to him and kissed her on the mouth. Then he lay back again and said: ‘Oh, sweetheart. You know I love you, don’t you? I just can’t … I like to sleep on my own. Is that awful of me? I hate the thought of someone—’
‘You don’t like anyone seeing you when you’re less than perfectly turned out. You don’t want to be caught snoring. I know. I’m a bit like that myself.’
She didn’t add: Though I’d change in a moment if you said you wanted me to. In an eyeblink … though that was the truth.
‘You don’t mind, do you? Truly, Eva?’
‘No, it’s okay. I’ll live with it. We can visit each other’s bedrooms, can’t we?’
‘Course we can. All the time.’
That wasn’t how it turned out, in the end. At the beginning, when they first started living together, it was true that they made love often enough for Eva not to think there was anything unusual in their relationship. But no one told you what was normal. No one discussed such things frankly and Eva had told herself right from the start that she was the one who loved more. She was the giver and Antoine the taker. What do I have to complain about, Eva used to ask herself as she watched Antoine leaving her bedroom and closing the door behind him. Many women would be only too glad to be left to sleep on their own. No snoring, no funny smells, the whole bed to spread out in. She usually managed to cheer herself up in the end, because Antoine was easy to live with, as long as she didn’t make too many demands on him. Eva convinced herself that she was as happy as she could possibly be. He loves me, she told herself. In his own way. As much as he can. Till now, there hasn’t been anyone else who’s loved me even a little. She would lie on her back staring up at the ceiling, telling herself that everything was okay. Everything was blissful and fine.
*
‘Ma. Ma, you’re miles away. I’m going to ask Megan if she’ll take you to some of the flats I want you to see while the girls are in school. One day during the week after half term? Or maybe a couple of days. Conor can do the pick-up from school. I would like to see all this settled. I’d go with you but I can’t keep taking the day off as I did today.’
‘That’s fine,’ said Eva, feeling pleased at the idea of looking at flats with Megan and also instantly guilty. How disloyal of her, to prefer the idea of being with someone who wasn’t her daughter! ‘Sorry … I was thinking. I’m very happy to go with Megan.’
This, Eva thought is the reverse of being in gaol. She envisaged the days going by, crossed off a calendar one by one, not while waiting to be released but exactly the opposite of that. She imagined the time sliding past, going more and more qu
ickly towards something she dreaded: the last day at Salix House. She played and replayed a scene of them leaving. Everything she owned would be taken from here; sent to a sale room, or an auction or the tall skinny house in London and she’d be left with nothing. She’d step into a car. She could see herself with a couple of small suitcases which, oddly, looked just like the brown leather valise – Mama always used the French word – that she’d brought to England as a little girl. We’ll drive down past the salix trees and it’ll probably be late spring and the pretty whitish pointed leaves will be trembling on every branch and twig, and we’ll go past the eagles on the gatepost for the last time and I’ll look back and won’t be able to see the house for tears. Every time she thought about that day, and she’d been thinking about it a lot, Eva felt physically ill.
The girls came down in their dressing gowns to say goodnight.
‘When can we see the London house?’ Dee said.
‘We’ll all go at half term,’ Conor replied. ‘Come and give me a kiss, now.’
Bridie went to sit on Rowena’s lap. ‘Have you got more pictures?’
‘I’ll show you tomorrow,’ Rowena kissed the top of her head. ‘They’re on my phone which is in my bag and I don’t want to start explaining what everything is now. You go up with Megan and get to sleep. It’s very late for you.’
‘Will we be there in time for Christmas?’
‘I doubt it very much,’ said Rowena. ‘We still have to sell this house. There’s only Luke Fielden who seems keen at the moment, but it’s still on the market and we’re advertising it abroad now too, so there may be other takers. Also, we have to wait till the owners of the London house have found somewhere they like. It might take ages. Though I hope it doesn’t drag on for months. It’s so wearing.’
Wearing, Eva thought. That’s exactly right. That’s what I feel: worn. Worn out, too. It’s no wonder that the old dreams are coming back. All the old … what could she call them? Visions, perhaps. She’d known, ever since she was seven years old, that Angelika came when things were bad: when she was in trouble, or unhappy and when she did come, it wasn’t the sight of her so much as the idea that she might swim up through the silver at the back of the mirror and be visible, exactly as she used to be long ago: that was what made Eva cold with horror. That was what had led to a lifetime of making sure that every mirror she was likely to see was covered up, or else hung in such a way as to make it impossible for her to look into it. When Eva was relaxed and happy, Angelika hid away. She was always there – how could she not be? – but when things were going well Eva knew ways of hiding from her; ways of keeping her at bay.
‘If you don’t mind,’ she said now, standing up, ‘I’ll skip coffee and go up to my room. I’m a bit tired.’
‘But it’s early, Granny!’ Dee said. ‘We’re still up. You can’t go to bed before we do.’
‘I’m not going to sleep yet,’ Eva said. ‘But I do want to have a nice long bath and perhaps read in bed for a while. Goodnight, everyone.’
The girls came to kiss her and she made her way upstairs. Eva wanted to be by herself. All alone. As alone, she told herself, as you can ever be when you know there’s something which won’t give up; which will never stop following you. When you know that there is someone who won’t forgive you. Why should you be forgiven? What Eva had done was the worst thing and she didn’t deserve to have sweet dreams. As she went up the stairs, the voices from the kitchen grew fainter and after she’d closed her bedroom door, she could no longer hear anything except the sound of her own breathing.
10
Yesterday, I’d gone to fetch the girls from school for half term. There was tons of stuff to bring home: left over Hallowe’en cut-out bats and pumpkins that had been up on the classroom wall, even though Hallowe’en was still to come and would fall during half term. Bridie insisted they must be put up in their room for the actual day even though they were a bit curly at the edges. Dee had all her stories in a big folder. I’d brought along a big carrier bag to put everything into and it was overflowing. Tom Shoreley came into the classroom as we were about to leave.
‘Let me help you take that to the car,’ he said.
‘We can take it,’ said Dee. ‘I can hold one handle and Bridie can hold the other.’
‘Okay, but don’t rush. We’ll see you out there. I want a word with Megan anyway.’
The girls tottered out carrying the bag and Tom and I followed them. He’d told them not to rush but they seemed to speed up, or else he was hanging back and I slowed my step to keep pace with his.
‘Megan, I wanted to ask you …’ He stopped in the corridor and turned to face me. The girls were at the door that led to the playground and had turned back to look at us. ‘Are you coming?’
‘Go on out to the playground and wait for us there,’ Tom said. I was glad he’d taken charge because I was feeling confused. I didn’t know why, but I definitely wanted to catch up with the girls and get out of school as quickly as I could.
‘I wanted to ask you out for a meal sometime,’ Tom said, looking and sounding casual though he was actually blushing as he spoke. ‘The Jewel in the Crown is good if you like Indian. Are you free tomorrow night?’
I don’t know how long it was before I answered but I must have gone through all the reasons to say no in my head in a matter of seconds. Mostly they boiled down to one. It was too soon. Was I ready for a date with someone else? Then I said, ‘Thanks, that’d be good. I haven’t had an Indian meal since I came to work here.’
‘Great!’ He looked relieved. I could see he was wondering about the logistics of picking me up so I took pity on him. ‘Shall I meet you there? You can text me directions. You’ve got my number, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, it’s on the class contacts list,’ he said. Then he laughed. ‘I would come and pick you up but –’ he nodded briefly in Dee’s direction – It might be better to meet there, I agree.’
Dee had sometimes asked me about how I liked Mr Shoreley and did I think he’d be a good boyfriend but I was so convincingly uninterested that she soon got bored.
We’d arrived at the car by now. I opened the boot and the girls put the carrier bag into it. Most of the contents spilled out.
‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘We’ll pick it up when we get home. Say goodbye to Mr Shoreley.’
‘Bye, Mr Shoreley,’ they both called out. I got into my seat and said, ‘Bye, Tom,’ out of the window. He waved at us as we left. We were only about a minute away from the school when Dee said, ‘You called him Tom, Megan. Does that mean you like him?’
‘Yes, of course I like him. Why not? Don’t you?’
‘Not in that way,’ Dee said.
‘What way?’ Bridie asked.
‘In a boyfriend kind of way.’
‘Does Megan like him in a boyfriend kind of way?’ Bridie wanted to know.
‘Do you, Megan?’ Dee wasn’t going to leave it alone. I refused to rise to the bait. ‘No,’ I said. ‘Of course I don’t. He’s your teacher and a very nice man. That’s all.’
The girls’ questioning subsided after that and they chatted about the coming week the rest of the way home. Did I like him in a boyfriend kind of way? I had no idea. I might have considered him, I suppose, but I’m uncertain about everything. I’ve become unused to the whole idea of going out. It reminds me of Simon and I try not to think about him. That’s hard. Suddenly, when I’m in the middle of something ordinary and boring, I’ll remember him and in particular that last ghastly phone call and be filled with a kind of anguish which is three parts a combination of horrified guilt to one part remembered love.
Had I been right to accept Tom’s invitation? An Indian meal is an Indian meal but there was a part of me which suspected that a Gobi Aloo Saag could be the beginning of something more intense and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that. But still, I couldn’t help feeling pleased and found that I was looking forward to it. I realized that this meant that I was recovering from loving Simon a bit,
but even so, I wasn’t getting any better at forgetting what I’d done. Simon himself was shrinking, but my guilt seemed to be growing. If I let my mind stray to his phone call, I could almost physically feel a weight of unhappiness settle on me.
Tom was already there at the restaurant when I arrived. I hadn’t exactly dressed up for the occasion but thought I ought to wear something a bit smarter than my normal jeans and trainers.
‘Gosh, you look nice,’ he said as I sat down, and I could see he meant it. Perhaps, I thought, I ought to wear high heels, tights, and a skirt more often.
‘Thanks,’ I said. I thought of adding: So do you, but that would’ve been a bit odd, seeing that he looked exactly like he always did at school.