by Chris Curran
Maggie had dumped some food on the table. Cooked meats, a jar of olives, a lump of cheese, a half a loaf of bread. She was drinking red wine from a tumbler, and Stella couldn’t help smiling at how different this picnic was from Jill’s perfect meals. But then she thought of Jill sitting by her Aga feeding Eve and something sharp seemed to dig into the place where Eve had once been. She must have let out a whimper because Maggie grabbed her hand.
‘Now stop that. You’re going to enjoy yourself for a few days at least.’
She pointed to the wooden building over by the wall. ‘Is that the studio?’
Maggie nodded. ‘Yeah. Needs a bit of a clean, but feel free.’
From the outside it looked more like a garden shed than a studio, but as she walked over Maggie called, ‘Used to belong to a potter.’ And when she pushed open the door she could see it would be perfect. There was a clear roof mottled with smudges of green that diffused the light beautifully and one big window. It was smeared with grime, but when Stella rubbed a patch clear she could see hill upon distant hill spiked with pines, lemon trees and bushy herbs. These plants must be the source of the scent she had been aware of since she arrived. A dry rich fragrance, like Italian food. Very different from the lush damp of Jill’s garden.
Despite claiming she had chosen the house for its studio, Maggie had obviously done no work in there. And when Stella came out rubbing her hands down her jeans she said, ‘I’ve got an easel in my bedroom and some blank canvases. Use anything you want.’
Stella sat down and sipped her wine. ‘What about you?
Maggie yawned, arms stretched above her head. ‘Honestly I don’t know if I’ll work again. I’m bored with it.’ She lit a cigarette and tossed the match into the lavender bushes straggling beside the wall. ‘But don’t start work today. Let’s talk. You can tell me all about your problems and we’ll work out what to do. I’ve got some brilliant ideas already.’
Eve
Eve was shaken by the way her mum had behaved, and on the walk back up the hill she cursed herself for telling David. There was surely no way Maggie could find out, but it had been stupid. If she’d told anyone it should have been Alex, but for tonight she wouldn’t say anything to him. He wanted them to have a lovely New Year’s Eve and so did she. If she put Maggie out of her mind until tomorrow, she might have figured out what to do.
She could smell something delicious as she came through the front door; Alex already had the slow cooker going. Ivy was with him in the kitchen still in her pram and fast asleep. The radio was on, a soprano voice very loud, and Alex joining in with his tuneless drone. It was impossible not to smile, and she crept up behind him standing on tiptoes to dot a kiss onto his neck.
He whipped round and grabbed her, kissing her hard on the lips. ‘You little sneak. You can’t scare me. I knew you were there all the time.’
She eased back in his arms looking up into his glowing golden eyes; loving him so much it was painful. But he was laughing down at her and she laughed too. He lowered his head and kissed her neck, then gave it a tiny bite. Her shriek must have been louder than she intended because Ivy began to cry – jolted out of sleep.
‘Now look what you’ve done,’ she said. ‘And just when I was going to suggest a liedown.’
He grabbed the tea towel from over his shoulder and whipped it at her backside as she headed to the pram and Ivy.
‘Sort out your child, woman, and stop trying to corrupt me.’
She carried Ivy upstairs to feed and change her. Alex came up and sat on the floor beside the rocking chair, leaning his head against her knee.
‘Dinner’s on. Nothing to do for a few hours. So when she’s asleep again I might take you up on that offer.’
Later, they ate his special chicken and chorizo hotpot sitting on the sofa in front of the living room fire. The Christmas tree glittered in the corner and they turned off all the lamps and lit a few big candles. Eve rested her head on Alex’s shoulder and he kissed the top of her head.
The phone burst into life coming from the kitchen. He jumped up. ‘I’ll get it.’ She heard him murmuring as he walked back. ‘It’s your dad,’ he said and headed upstairs.
For a moment she was scared that something had happened. Her parents always rang just after midnight on New Year’s Eve and it was only ten o’clock, but David said, ‘It’s OK darling. I just don’t think we’ll stay awake until twelve. In fact Mum’s in bed already. Just wanted to wish you a Happy New Year.’
‘Is she all right?’
‘Oh yes, don’t worry. I’ll look after her. She’s a bit overwrought that’s all. Best not to mention the other thing again. At least for a while.’
‘I won’t, but Dad, I’ve been meaning to ask you about the picture that used to hang in our kitchen in the old house. The one of you and Mum. Was that a Stella Carr?’
A sigh. ‘Yes, it was. How strange you should remember it. You were only little when we took it down.’
‘What happened to it?’
‘It’s in the store room at the gallery. Been there for years. I’ll get it out for you if you want. Mum said I should sell it. Give you the money, but it didn’t seem right.’
‘Why didn’t you leave it on the wall?’
‘Ahh, maybe that’s why you remember it. You started having nightmares when you were about four or five and Mum said that picture was one of the things that featured in them.’
After he rang off she tried to recall those night terrors, but couldn’t. Were the fears she’d been having lately something similar? Then she realized how long Alex had been upstairs. Ivy must have woken again.
She went up to see them. Ivy was in her cot awake but lying happily looking up at her mobile. Alex was sitting in the rocking chair staring at her. He didn’t look at Eve.
‘Alex, what’s wrong?’
He still didn’t look at her. ‘When were you planning to tell me?’
‘What about?’ She spoke softly, very aware that Ivy’s lids were beginning to close.
Alex, his eyes still on the baby, stood and moved his hand slowly up and down to tell Eve to be quiet. She followed him into their bedroom. ‘What on earth is the matter?’
‘Your dad said you’d heard from that Maggie woman. He assumed I knew about it.’ He took off his watch put it on the bedside table then sat with his back to her on his side of the bed.
Standing by the door she felt like a naughty schoolgirl. And yet there was also a boiling sense of fury with him for being so ridiculous. What to say that wouldn’t make it worse? ‘It only came today and I didn’t want to spoil our New Year’s Eve.’
He turned to her, his face stony. ‘So you assumed I wouldn’t be sympathetic. Not like dear old Dad.’
She sat next to him and put her hand on his arm, but he turned away. ‘It wasn’t like that. You weren’t here when the email popped up and I needed to talk to someone.’
He shrugged her hand away. ‘You could have phoned me. Or waited an hour.’ He walked over to the wardrobe and started unbuttoning his shirt. ‘The truth is you trust your dad more than me.’
This was becoming ridiculous. ‘Of course not. I wanted a peaceful evening, that’s all.’
He ripped off his shirt and threw it on the floor, then picked it up and put it into the laundry basket. She couldn’t help smiling. He was always so tidy even when furious. But it was a mistake. ‘It’s not funny.’
She gave a noisy sigh as she walked over to the door. ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Alex, you are being ridiculous. Come downstairs. It’ll be midnight soon and we need to open that bottle of champagne. I promised myself one drink and that means you can have the rest.’
But he had taken a hanger from his wardrobe and was pulling off his trousers. ‘No thanks. I’m tired.’ As he climbed into bed she wondered how, although he was naked, she was the one who felt undignified.
He switched off the bedside lamp and she could only see his outline by the light from the hall. A flare of rage. ‘Sometimes I can see
why your first wife left you.’ She whispered it, but it was a fierce whisper and something about the way his shadowy hand jerked at the covers told her he had heard.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. As she walked slowly downstairs, still hoping he would call her back or bound down after her, she cursed herself and him, but mostly herself.
In the kitchen she took the champagne from the fridge, but she didn’t want a drink.
The living room fire was dying. The candles were still burning and the tree glittered just the same, but everything had gone wrong. She wished she’d done as Maggie had asked and kept it all to herself. This was her problem and no one else should be involved.
Sitting there alone, too miserable to cry, she switched on the TV to see the fireworks in London. She left the sound off, but could hear the same noises and see the same flashes through her own window. Was Alex lying in bed listening too?
Her mobile on the coffee table chirped with a message and she grabbed it. Alex saying sorry and asking her to come up. But it wasn’t him.
Happy New Year. Simon XX
She sent a quick reply. For one moment she had been tempted to let him know about the contact from Maggie, but stopped herself. That would only make the situation worse. Telling her parents certainly hadn’t helped.
She went to switch off her phone and hesitated suddenly realizing she was wrong. It had helped. Right from the start her parents had been against her probing into Stella’s life and death, so it was no surprise they didn’t want her talking to Maggie. But she hadn’t agreed with them at the beginning and knew they were wrong now. She couldn’t give up and only Maggie could tell her anything new.
She replied to the email:
I’d love to meet you. Just let me know when and where.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Stella
For the first couple of days in Italy it was difficult to avoid the feeling that this was a holiday. When Maggie wasn’t lounging in the sunshine she was begging Stella to play cards, have something to eat or share a bottle of wine.
This was only the second time she had been abroad. The first was a cheap package holiday to Spain with her grandmother and one of her nana’s friends when she was fourteen. This felt so different and she couldn’t help thinking how exciting it would all have been a year ago. Now it felt as if there was a huge gulf between that girl, Stella, and what she had become. She kept wishing she’d been able to travel here when she was first pregnant. It would have been incredibly hard, but at least Eve would be with her now.
Or would she? What if she wasn’t fit to be a mother at all?
On the third evening, Maggie suggested going to the town for a drink. It was an easy walk down the unmade lane, but much further than Stella had realized when they’d arrived by taxi.
‘If I’d known how far out it was, I would never have taken it,’ Maggie said. ‘I’m going to have to get a car if I stay.’ She kicked a stone and it tumbled down the lane. ‘When I can afford it that is.’
Apparently she had bought the place without visiting. Had seen photos of it at the estate agents in Milan and they had sorted everything out for her. ‘It’s all right now you’re here, but I was really scared during the night when I was on my own.’
In town they walked to a second bay smaller than the one they’d passed in the taxi. The beach here was a slender curve with a narrow outlet to the sea. They sat at a bar right next to the sand and ordered Cinzanos. The drinks came with a few plates of snacks that were apparently called aperitivo. Maggie picked up a piece of cheese, her fingers glistening with oil, and waved it at her saying, ‘These are just to stop people getting drunk, but I noticed in Milan that in some bars they’re so generous they can stand in for a meal. Looks like this is one of those. So eat up.’
Stella had told her right from the start that she wanted to pay her own way, but she was surprised Maggie seemed to be short of cash. In the London house Stella had given her some rent from her scholarship, but Maggie wouldn’t take as much as proper landlords charged. Although they never spent heavily on food then either, she was always buying new clothes or paying for drinks at the pub.
As if reading her mind Maggie said, ‘You know my dad has never given me a penny. That London house used to belong to one of his maiden aunts. Making it over to me was a way to salve his conscience when he went off to Texas with his new wife, the blessed Brenda. Basically told me it was all I’d ever get out of him. But when I wrote to let him know I was planning to sell he was furious. You’d think it was the ancestral home or something. I didn’t contact him at all while I was travelling and I’m pretty sure he made no effort to get in touch with me, so I shan’t send him this address. He’s dead as far as I’m concerned.’ She stubbed out her cigarette on the low wall between the table and the beach.
It looked as if the money she always seemed to have in London must have come from her various well-heeled conquests. So Stella asked, ‘Have you made any friends in Italy yet?’
‘No. I had a couple of flings while I was mooching round Europe, but from the little I’ve seen of this place it doesn’t look promising. Besides, to be honest I’ve not only gone off painting, but pretty much lost my appetite for men. Bloody Ben Houghton spoiled that for me too.’
Walking back was a lot harder than going downhill to the town and they were both getting breathless as they neared the house. But it was a lovely evening and the scents of pine and herbs made Stella feel relaxed enough to want to talk.
‘Pamela Houghton told David’s wife, Jill, that I was responsible for Ben’s accident.’
Maggie stopped and pulled her round to face her. ‘What the fuck? How did the mad bitch work that out?’
‘I went to see him that evening. Begged him to get back those drawings. Stupidly I told him I was pregnant. I thought it would help to persuade him. It was no good, of course. But he must have had the fall the same night or early next morning.’
They had reached the gate and Maggie stumbled through it. She’d only had two Cinzanos in town, but had been drinking wine steadily all day. Stella grabbed her arm. Hanging around her neck, Maggie said, ‘That Pamela is a cow. I told you she wouldn’t let me see him when he was in hospital, didn’t I?’
Stella, feeling suddenly cold, helped her into the house and to her bedroom. She collapsed on her bed and wriggled out of her skirt. Stella knelt beside her.
‘Maggie?’ Maggie looked at her with glassy eyes. ‘Were you in London when Ben was hurt?’
Maggie turned her face into the pillow. ‘Yeah, I told you.’ She sounded annoyed.
‘So when did you hear about the accident?’
Turning to face her, but with her eyes still closed, Maggie grabbed her hand and gave it a damp kiss. She said nothing for so long Stella thought she must be asleep. Then her lids fluttered and she gave a huge sigh. ‘I’ve had an idea.’
‘What?’
‘The bitch, Pamela, probably thinks you had Ben’s bastard.’ Her words were slurred and she seemed to be talking more to herself than to Stella, but it still made Stella flinch and pull her hand away. Maggie’s eyes, swimming with drink, focused on something over Stella’s shoulder, but her words were clear. ‘There’s no way they can prove he isn’t the dad. And if it got out, the bitch would be totally humiliated, which to her would be worse than death. So we can use it for leverage.’
Standing and rubbing her arms Stella said, ‘What do you mean?’
‘Use it to get some money out of them, of course,’ Maggie said, then turned away and was immediately asleep.
Stella didn’t wake until nearly noon. Her head was aching and she realized she must have drunk more yesterday than she’d thought. She pulled a jumper on over her nightdress, shoved her feet into sandals. She had expected Maggie to be in bed with a hangover, but her door was open, the bed rumpled.
Maggie was in the studio in shorts and a vest, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was cleaning the big window. ‘Thought I’d make a start,’ she said. ‘Can never
sleep properly when I’ve drunk too much.’ Her voice sounded hoarse and Stella wasn’t surprised when she said, ‘Could kill for a cup of coffee though.’
When Stella brought out two cups Maggie fished in the pocket of her shorts and took out a packet of aspirin, swallowing some with a gulp of coffee. ‘Already taken three or four of these, but my head’s still thumping.’
Stella said, ‘Come and sit down and I’ll get you some breakfast.’
Maggie shuddered. ‘No thanks.’ But she came out, plonking herself on the ground and leaning back on the wall of the hut. Stella carried a metal chair over and sat in front of her.
It was cool outside and Maggie must have been feeling the cold in her skimpy clothes, but she just drank down her coffee then put the cup on the ground. She reached into the front of her vest and took out a battered packet of cigarettes she must have pushed into her bra and a book of matches from her back pocket. Lighting up and sucking in the smoke, she closed her eyes and rested her head on the wall. ‘Don’t know what I said last night, but ignore it, will you?’
‘OK.’ What else could she say?
Eyes still closed, Maggie said, ‘Ben’s not that badly hurt, is he? I mean it was just a fall. When I tried to see him in hospital the wife made out he was half-dead. But Ben always told me what a liar she was.’
Stella could see it mattered. ‘All I know is she claims he’s paralyzed and will never walk again. But, like you say, we just have her word for it.’ She stopped then because Maggie had pressed her half-smoked cigarette into the earth next to her and tears were squeezing out from under her closed lids. She didn’t move, but Stella knelt beside her, taking her hand. It was still damp from the cleaning cloth. ‘Maggie? What’s wrong?’
A huge sob that made Maggie’s chest heave. ‘I love him, Stella. I love him, and we were going to get married.’ She rubbed her face with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of dirt on her cheek. Her eyes were open now, but she was looking away from Stella. ‘That was why he was playing the stock market. So he could make enough to be independent and get a divorce. It was when that went wrong that we thought of the forgery thing.’