by Chris Curran
It was then, with a little jolt, that she realized something she must have known, but hadn’t registered. Maggie was actually a similar age to Alex and years younger than Eve’s parents.
It was a long way up. There were two flights of stairs between each floor and when they passed floor two Maggie stopped and leaned on the balustrade looking down. ‘So what did you want to ask me?’
It was so direct she couldn’t think at first how to answer. She paused. ‘About my mother. What she was like when you knew her. What you thought of her.’
‘Your mother was a naive young girl who made a few mistakes. And paid heavily for them.’ That husky voice sounded bitter.
Eve waited for more, resisting the urge to say, ‘And I was her biggest mistake, I suppose,’ which was maybe what Maggie was expecting. Instead she said, ‘Did you like her?’
A short sharp laugh. ‘Oh God, what a question. I don’t know. We were close is all I can say. And I probably knew her better than anyone else.’
This was useless. She had to ask it now. ‘Did she talk much about me?’
Maggie continued on up and, without looking back at her said, ‘No, she didn’t.’
Eve felt the tears rise into her throat. It hurt, but she forced them down. To make sure it didn’t show. Wasn’t going to let this woman know how much it mattered.
She felt sick and wanted the whole thing to be over. Everyone had warned her Maggie wasn’t to be trusted, wasn’t likely to help her; she had been a fool to come. But she must ask her questions even if the answers weren’t what she wanted.
Floor three housed the Stella Carr exhibition, but instead of going through the doors into the gallery, Maggie walked onto the landing and pointed into the stairwell. ‘Look down there.’
It was disorientating. Seemed as if they had climbed endless flights of stairs rather than three or four floors. The view down went on forever and when she looked up it climbed just as far. She felt herself sway and gripped the balustrade. Maggie moved so close behind her Eve could feel warmth coming from her.
‘It’s an infinity mirror,’ Maggie said. ‘Two mirrors. One at the top and one at the bottom of the stairs giving the impression of a never-ending shaft. The artist calls it Heaven and Hell.’ She waved her gloved hand and a tiny figure miles down waved back.
Looking down into that endless stairwell Eve shivered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Eve
They walked into the Stella Carr exhibition gallery and Eve went straight to her favourite picture: Maggie and Me. They weren’t quite alone now. There was a man wandering slowly round the room, so they stood looking at the painting in silence. Eve was struck again by how full of life and happiness it was. It was difficult to believe one of those girls had become the dour woman standing beside her.
Whatever she had heard about Maggie it was clear Stella had been very fond of her at this time in their lives. Without meaning to she said what she was thinking. ‘I love this one. You both seem so happy.’
Eve was sure she heard Maggie give a sigh. ‘We were. Thought we were starting out on a real adventure. In those days we were brave too. Something I haven’t been for years.’
The man walked out of the room, and Eve knew there was unlikely to be a better time. ‘Did she tell you who my father was?’
Maggie walked over to the glass case displaying the catalogues for the original Houghton exhibition. She tapped her gloved finger over the picture of all the artists together and said, ‘James Stone. They weren’t together long, but they were very fond of each other. You should be happy to have him for a father. He’s a wonderful artist.’
Eve’s breath caught. But she told herself Maggie must have known the question would come. She’d had time to prepare her answer. And the feeling she’d had right from the start was growing stronger and stronger. Maggie might be telling the truth about this, but everyone was right. She couldn’t be trusted.
‘So it wasn’t Ben Houghton?’
Maggie moved quickly away to stand in front of the Madonna? painting. The one with the faceless mother and baby on a boat. One of her hands hovered over the frame as if to wipe away a speck of dust. When Eve came close she said, that gruff voice sounding deeper than ever, ‘Did your parents tell you he was?’
‘No, I just wondered.’
‘Well he wasn’t. Stella hardly knew him.’
It was very definite and Eve believed her, but why was her first thought that it meant Simon wasn’t her brother? She had the strangest feeling about it. Almost as if he was here watching them and had heard it too. She wondered what he would be thinking.
She said, ‘Please tell me everything you know about the fire. About what happened to my mother.’
‘I remember waking up in hospital. Much, much later. They told me the studio had burned down and Stella was inside. Apparently the fire took hold really fast because of the oil paints and rags soaked in turps.’
She spoke in a monotone, but Eve’s own voice wasn’t so steady. ‘How did you get hurt?’
‘They said I tried to help her. The roof collapsed and we were both trapped. I’ve hated enclosed spaces ever since. But somehow I managed to crawl out.’ A pause while she pulled off one of the thick gloves she had been wearing all this time. Her hand was covered with puckered red and white scars and when she flexed her fingers she couldn’t spread them completely straight. ‘But she was still in there.’
Eve walked out of the room and leaned on the wall near the glass lifts trying to catch her breath.
Maggie followed still flexing her hand. ‘There’s something else I should tell you,’ she said.
When Eve glanced at her pale profile she had a strange feeling inside. Almost as if Ivy was still kicking and squirming in there. But that had been a good feeling. ‘What is it?’
‘When I came out of my coma they told me the fire was likely to be arson. But the case had been solved already and nothing could be done, because the person who was responsible was already dead.’ The squirm inside turned to a shudder. ‘They said it was Stella.’
Stella
When she got to the house everything was quiet. There was no sign of Maggie. She tried the front door. Locked. They needed to talk, so when there was no answer, she went round to Maggie’s bedroom. The shutters were closed. She circled back to her own room where she always kept the windows partly open. The shutters were fastened tight here too.
The day had been warm, but the evening was cooling fast. Hurrying up the hill had made her sweat and in her damp shirt and cotton trousers she was beginning to shiver. She pulled her sweatshirt out of her shoulder bag. There was nothing for it but to wait in the studio. At least that was unlocked and there was electric light.
The canvas where she had been trying to capture the colours of the rain was on the easel and, although she was anxious, she could see something could be made of it and was soon absorbed. Had no idea how much time had passed. After a while she checked outside, but the house was still shuttered fast. It was obvious Maggie had locked her out. Whatever happened Stella knew they had to talk in the morning and after that she wouldn’t be able to stay.
She sat in the old armchair she and Maggie had dragged from Maggie’s bedroom a few days ago. ‘Stinky old thing. I was going to dump it, but take it if you want.’ It was shabby and damp, but luckily the sleeping bag she’d taken in when she started work in the chill of this morning was still on the floor where she’d thrown it. Wrapped in it, and huddled on the chair, she flicked through her sketchbook for inspiration.
A noise from outside.
It must be Maggie, but when she looked out the garden was empty. As she closed the door she saw a flicker of movement through the big glass window. Switching off the light she stood staring into the darkness. It was probably a fox, a bird or even just the breeze, but all the same she was unnerved. She left the light off, waited until everything was still, then made her way slowly back to the armchair, for once sorry about that huge uncurtained window.
Everything was completely silent and after a while she could see fairly well in the dark. There was no one out there.
She was too tired to work anymore so she left the light off, put her head back and tried to relax.
Hot, she was so hot. She threw off the sleeping bag. She’d been dreaming about sunbathing and when she opened her eyes she thought she was still on a beach and a thick sea mist had come up.
But it wasn’t mist.
Scrambling from the chair made her gulp in a huge breath that filled her lungs with choking smoke. Pain in her chest so sharp she didn’t dare breathe again. And stinging eyes. Boiling tears on her cheeks. A salty taste in her mouth.
As she turned towards the door her foot caught in something. A fold of sleeping bag or a cushion from the armchair. She fell to her knees. Up, get up, get out. She tried to run but tripped again and her flailing hand hit something hard. It crashed down on her. The easel.
Falling on one knee this time, her back screeching with pain, she pushed away the easel. Didn’t try to stand again. Just began to crawl through the clutter on the floor. Sharp things piercing her knees. Screws, bits of metal or glass. It didn’t matter. Never mind, keep going.
Crawling through smoke and darkness.
Her head bumped hard against something.
The door.
Oh thank God. Reach up. Reach for the door handle.
Her hand flinched back. The metal was scorching. Pulling down the sleeve of her sweatshirt to cover her fingers, she took hold of the handle again and jerked at it. Nothing. There was no lock so what was it? Another push and a slide of movement. But not enough. Something was in front of the door.
Shoulder against it, she shoved. Shoved as hard as she could. Heard whatever was blocking it scraping the ground as it moved. But then the door stuck again. Still not even a narrow gap to squeeze through. Push again. Push hard.
It was no good. There was a small window along the wall and, thank God, she managed to get to it and force it open a crack to suck in some cool air.
Her watering eyes could just make out the grey night time garden. So peaceful.
Then a light. A light from the house. And Maggie. Thank God.
But Maggie wasn’t moving, and when Stella tried to call out her voice wouldn’t work. The words, help me, help, were only in her head.
A crash. Something fell from above. A fierce crack of pain in her leg. One of the ceiling joists had collapsed. She tried to move, to pull herself to the door, but her leg was trapped under the wooden beam. She forced out a scream, ‘Maggie. Help. Please help me, Maggie.’
Too late.
The blinding pain that struck her head told her it was too late. Even as the blackness swallowed her.
Eve
She had to get away. To think about what Maggie had told her. For some reason she ran up the stairs not down. And found her way out onto a balcony. Night came early at this time of year and the grey twilight was already deepening to black, the windows of the buildings opposite standing out as bright rectangles in the gathering dark. The curves of the Blinking Eye were lit up. It was still busy with people crossing back and forth.
She wanted to cry. She’d left her baby and Alex, wasn’t there when her mum and dad needed her. And all for this.
The balcony door swung open. Maggie. She was breathing heavily from running up the stairs, but probably also from the biting cold. No one else was likely to brave the place.
For a moment, looking down the stairwell, Eve had been frightened and maybe that was the point. To intimidate her. But Maggie was over twenty years older. She surely couldn’t be a physical threat. Still it was good to see the clear panels stretching above the actual barrier.
Maggie went to the front of the balcony pressing herself against it. Eve couldn’t see her expression and her voice was emotionless. ‘It wasn’t true, Stella didn’t kill herself, but it’s what you might be told, by other people.’ A little noise that could have been a laugh or a sob. ‘They tell so many lies about Stella.’
‘Will you tell me the truth then? About the fire?’
Maggie pointed to the side of the building. ‘In spring and summer those ledges are full of little seabirds’ nests. The kittiwakes treat the place as a cliff edge and come back year after year to lay eggs and raise their chicks. Nature is amazing, isn’t it?’
She mustn’t allow herself to be distracted. ‘Please tell me.’
A headshake. ‘I only have sketchy memories of it. I was injured and spent a long time in hospital afterwards. Haven’t wanted to think about it since.’
Looking at Maggie’s back as she stood so calmly staring out over the Tyne, Eve knew she had to try to jolt her into being more forthcoming. The closest she had come to a normal response was when Eve asked her if she liked Stella. Something she probably wasn’t prepared for. So she said, ‘When you blackmailed the Houghtons was my mother involved as well?’
Maggie half-turned towards her. Eve could see the white plumes of her breath. She waited, forcing herself to keep quiet. Finally Maggie said, ‘Who told you about that?’
‘Does it matter?’ She could be cagey too.
‘It had to be the Houghtons. Who did you talk to? Pamela or Ben?’
‘I spoke very briefly to Pamela.’ It seemed best not to mention Simon. ‘And I just want you to tell me if Stella was involved.’
Maggie shivered and squeezed her gloved hands together. ‘She wasn’t. In fact she tried to stop it.’ The hint of a laugh and a mumble under her breath. ‘What a fool.’
Eve clenched her fists. ‘You thought she was a fool for trying to do the right thing?’
‘She was. Pamela called her young and naive and that was one thing she was right about.’
‘I’ve been wondering if the money you sent my parents was what you got from the blackmail.’
Maggie walked to the other side of the balcony, stamping her feet and pushing her hands deep into her pockets. ‘After the fire it felt tainted. I offered to return it, but Ben, naturally enough I suppose, thought it was a trick. So I decided to do some good with it.’
If she was expecting a thank you Eve was going to disappoint her. ‘Then Stella didn’t inherit it, like you told my parents? Did she actually make a will?’
‘Why would she? At twenty-one you don’t think about things like that. And she had nothing except her paintings, which as far as she knew might turn out to be worthless.’ A long pause during which Eve could hear her breathing harder, as if the climb up the stairs had suddenly caught up with her. ‘The only thing she had in the world was you.’
Eve almost blurted out, and I was something she didn’t even want. But she stopped herself. Instead she said, ‘In case you’re thinking I might want to claim her work, you needn’t worry. I’ll never be able to get to know my real mother, but you were her friend and the only thing I want from you is to learn as much about her as I can.’
Maggie turned away again, gazing down towards the Tyne Bridge and the other bridges crowding the river. A train was passing over one of them. She spoke so quietly Eve could only just hear. ‘What did your parents tell you?’
‘That she was young and alone and couldn’t support a child.’ If Maggie didn’t know about Stella almost killing them both, she wasn’t going to reveal it.
A long silence. Eve could hear Maggie breathing hard and fast, but she fought to stifle the sound of her own breath. Something important was coming. She knew that. Finally. ‘You mentioned the pictures. Well, they belong to you. Stella wanted you to have them. They were painted for you.’
Eve forced back the exclamation she had almost let out, sure there was more to come. But Maggie seemed to freeze, staring over the river, remembering something or perhaps seeing something that Eve was too far back to spot.
Then, in one swift movement, Maggie was in front of her grabbing hold of her forearms. Her grip was incredibly strong despite those scarred hands, and Eve heard a gasp of fear. It had come from her own throat.
>
Maggie’s eyes were twin slivers of pale brown glass and she spoke in a gush of chilled breath. ‘You wanted to know if your mother ever talked about you and I told you the truth. But the reason she didn’t talk about you was because it was too painful. And I know, I absolutely know, that not a moment went by when she wasn’t thinking of you.’
It was so surprising Eve felt almost as disorientated as when she’d looked down the stairwell into the infinity mirror. As quickly as she’d done it, Maggie let go, talking even faster. ‘Wait here. I’ll be back.’
And she was gone. Through the balcony door and away.
Eve rubbed her hands over her forearms. Feeling a tingle where Maggie had gripped her. What had just happened? The words and that touch had been so surprising. Even Maggie’s accent seemed subtly different. It was as if she had suddenly become another person.
But no.
No. It wasn’t possible.
Her mind went back over the last hour. Over everything Maggie had said, everything she had done. The way she had looked. The way she’d avoided looking at Eve.
She ran down to the Stella Carr exhibition. To the Maggie and Me picture. In her mind they had always come as a pair: Stella and Maggie.
The catalogue in the glass case. Just now when they stood together looking at the group photo Maggie had been pointing at James Stone. Her thickly gloved left hand was flat on the glass so it covered the opposite page. The photo of Stella and Maggie together.
Stella and Maggie. Maggie and Stella.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Ben
Didn’t drink like he used to. Couldn’t imagine anything less dignified than falling out of a wheelchair because he was soused. Scrub that, there were plenty of things less dignified, but falling out of the wheelchair drunk would be just the excuse Pamela needed to deliver one of her lectures. But he needed a Scotch now.