The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton

by Catherine Alliott

  ‘Oh, no, not at all. It's just…’

  ‘Is everything all right, darling?’ Ant looked concerned. Much as one would about a maiden aunt, I felt.

  ‘Well, not entirely. I've just had a call from Caro,’ I lied.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I'm afraid someone's ill.’

  ‘Oh Lord, who?’

  It couldn't be one of the cousins. I never, ever used a child, not now. Not after using Anna once, claiming she was sick and we couldn't go to dinner with Ant's terrifying faculty head and his fearsome, moustachioed wife, and then the very next day – the very next day – she'd been so sick, with a raging temperature and a thumping headache, which I was convinced was meningitis and God's finger pointing, and I'd rushed her to the doctor's, heart in mouth, Anna's chin welded to her chest where I made her keep it for days on end… no, not a child.

  ‘It's – Hector.’

  ‘Hector?’ Bella frowned.

  ‘Oh, thank God. The horse,’ Ant explained.

  ‘Yes, but he's really bad,’ I urged. ‘Been terribly sick all night, and Caro's so worried.’

  ‘Can horses be sick?’ wondered Ant, aloud.

  There was a reflective moment as we all tried to remember if we'd seen horses quietly vomiting at the side of the road. Dogs, perhaps, but not…

  ‘Nay, luv, you mean colic!’ said Terrific Ted, galloping heroically to my rescue.

  ‘That's it! Very bad colic. He might die. Is dying. I must go, Ant.’

  Ant scratched his head. ‘Really? I mean – is there actually anything you can do? Surely Caro's the best person. Or the vet…’

  ‘Oh, they've called the vet, he's been there all night, but I'm responsible for him, you see.’

  ‘He's not actually our horse,’ Ant explained. ‘We've borrowed him.’

  ‘Oh, well, surely the owner—’ Bella began.

  ‘She'll be livid,’ I gasped, quaking at the very idea of Camilla discovering Hector's colic, fictitious or otherwise: beginning to believe my own lie. I went quite prickly with fear. ‘She's besotted with him, you see. She'll kill me. Ant, I must go,’ I trembled.

  ‘She's a grand woman, your wife,’ announced Ted suddenly in a broken voice. His arm went round my shoulders. He squeezed, gently breaking them. ‘A grand woman. She's all heart.’ Oh Lord, he was misting up again. ‘All heart. And if it was a tiny kitten, maybe even a mouse, you'd go, wouldn't you, luv?’ He regarded me keenly, this living embodiment of Francis of Assisi.

  I didn't know what to say. ‘Yes,’ I croaked into his swimming blue eyes.

  ‘See?’ He turned to the others triumphantly.

  ‘We'll all go,’ Ant said decisively. ‘I'm not having you go back on your own, Evie. I'll ring Anna.’ He whipped his mobile out. ‘Tell her to come back.’

  ‘No!’ I stayed his hand as I saw Bella's face fall. Ted's too. ‘No, she'll be so disappointed, everyone will. Stay, Ant. I'll get the train. And don't tell Anna Hector's so ill, just say – he's caught a cold, or something. But honestly, darling, I really can't dump this on Caro.’

  Ted was gazing at me dreamily now, loving me. Ant looked uncertain, but I could tell he was halfway there.

  ‘There are trains to London from Sheffield, surely?’ I turned to Bella, who was looking distressed, her fingers in her peasant blouse. That fidgeting might, eventually, drive me mad, I decided.

  ‘There are, but then on into Oxford…?’

  ‘Oh, that's easy, I've done that loads of times. Straight from Paddington. Padders to Oxford – simple. Where's the bus stop?’ I glanced around, as if half-expecting a friendly bus stop on a pole to bend over the hedge and wave cheerily at me. ‘I'll do the same as the girls.’

  ‘No, no—’ began Bella,

  ‘I'll drop you, luv,’ said Ted, gruffly. ‘I live in town. I'll give you a lift.’

  ‘Oh, perfect.’ I beamed. ‘Thank you so much. And thank you,’ I turned to Bella, on a roll now, powering on through, home and dry, practically back in Walton Terrace. ‘You've been so marvellous,’ I gushed. ‘With all your hospitality and everything.’

  ‘No, no, you've been marvellous—’

  ‘We're all marvellous!’ I trilled as I kissed her goodbye, and then kissed my husband, in perpetual motion, all smiles. ‘And give my love to Stacey and Anna,’ I warbled, making for Ted's car around the front of the house, forcing him to follow. ‘Bye, darling!’ I sang to Ant, giving him a jaunty backward wave. ‘Bring my things with yours. I've got all I need.’

  ‘Evie,’ he caught up with me, jogging anxiously at my side as I strode off. ‘Are you sure? Sure you don't want me to come with you?’

  ‘Perfectly.’ I patted his cheek as I got in the car, something I'd never done. ‘You stay till Tuesday as planned, and I'll go and sort old Hector out. Give him a good – I don't know – rub down.’ I shut the door.

  ‘OK,’ he was saying doubtfully as Ted started the car. I buzzed down the window to smile broadly. ‘If you're sure…’

  ‘Of course I am. Really. Toodle-pip, my darling – have fun!’

  And off we purred, Terrific Ted and I, with Bella and Ant standing together on the crunchy gravel drive, waving us off uncertainly. The bright morning light streamed through the canopy of frilly yellow beech leaves above them, casting a delicate pattern over their blond heads. When they were out of sight and I could legitimately wave no more, I turned and rested my head on Ted's sheepskin head rest. Shut my eyes.

  ‘Oh God, what a nightmare,’ I whispered. ‘What a complete and utter nightmare.’

  22

  Happily Ted was too busy leaning out of the window calling his own goodbyes to catch my heartfelt aside.

  ‘Good.’ He smiled, facing front and shifting in his seat, a regrouping gesture. He pulled his seat belt across his ample stomach and snapped it in with a decisive click. ‘That went well. She'll be pleased, our Bella. She's been that nervous.’

  ‘I bet.’

  ‘And as I say, it's all down to you. You made it work.’ He reached across and squeezed my hand, giving it a little shake.

  ‘Nonsense,’ I murmured absently as we drove on up the lane, following its snaking course to the top of the hill. I felt quite weak with relief. Felt I'd sneaked into this wooden horse of Ted's, this chariot, at the very last minute and escaped. My head lolled sideways on the rest and blinked out of the window. It was a heavenly morning, touched with frost, gilded with sun, and now that we were out of the shelter of the valley, the landscape spread about us frigid and ghostly white, the sky above as blue as the Costa Brava's.

  ‘She's a lovely girl, your Bella,’ I said at length as I dimly admired the dull sheen on a glistening pond.

  ‘Aye, she is that.’

  ‘Gorgeous-looking, too.’

  He swallowed. Reached for his hanky. ‘Aye.’

  O Lord, here we go.

  ‘I'll bet she has masses of men chasing after her, doesn't she?’

  He smiled. Tucked his hanky back in his pocket. ‘She's not like that, luv.’

  ‘No, no, I'm not suggesting she is. But surely, well, a lovely girl like that, all on her own, would attract men even if she's not interested!’

  ‘Oh, aye, she's had her fair share of admirers, if that's what you mean.’ It was very much what I meant.

  ‘And any,’ I persisted nosily, ‘that she's tempted by? You know, gone out with?’

  ‘Aye, she's had a boyfriend these last three years. Mike Hathaway, a local solicitor.’

  ‘Oh.’ I perked up no end. ‘A solicitor. That's good, isn't it?’

  ‘Aye, he's done well, Mike. Pulled himself up the greasy pole. Didn't come from much, neither – his dad was a butcher. Hathaway's, in Alshot.’

  ‘Gracious, good for him.’ I liked the sound of Mike. ‘Good-looking?’

  ‘The girls like him.’

  ‘So why wasn't he…? I mean, we could have met him, surely?’

  ‘They split up six months back. He buggered off.’

  ‘Oh. Shame
. Did you like him?’

  He shrugged. ‘I did, but I don't now. Like to punch his lights out.’

  Right. Things were obviously done slightly differently in Yorkshire.

  ‘Yes, of course you would. But maybe he'll be back? Maybe it's just a blip? I mean, three years is a long time – you don't just walk away from that sort of investment.’

  He turned to me. ‘He ran, luv. And no, he won't be coming back.’

  ‘Would she have him back?’ I went on doggedly. ‘I mean, hypothetically speaking?’

  ‘Not now she wouldn't.’ He glanced in his mirror as he indicated off onto the spur of a dual carriageway, turning the radio on, and perhaps indicating too that this little interview was at a close. We drove for a bit in silence, Classic FM gently easing our path.

  ‘He's a grand chap, your Ant,’ Ted remarked as Clair de lune tinkled up to its closing chord.

  ‘Yes, he is.’ I licked my lips, dug deep for courage, or neck, even. ‘Although I don't suppose you thought that seventeen years ago.’

  He shrugged. ‘He was young. He made a mistake. We've all done that, haven't we? And he's more than made up for it now. He could have run too, couldn't he? But he didn't.’

  ‘No, you're right.’

  ‘And don't forget, he didn't know back then, did he? Didn't know about Stacey. Who knows what might have been?’

  My throat constricted. What Totally Truthful but verging on the Tactless Ted was indirectly saying here, whether he realized it or not, was that Ant might have stood by Bella and Stacey. Might? Would, I thought with a jolt of horror. Honourable Ant? Yes, like a shot. So where would that have left me? High up on the stale bun shelf, that's where.

  We drove on in silence, both lost in thought. When we'd left the bypass and negotiated a sprawling, but strangely captivating city with a startling juxtaposition of old and new architecture, which had even my distracted eyes swivelling around, we pulled up at the station.

  ‘Thank you, Ted.’ I leaned across and kissed his cheek.

  ‘My pleasure, luv. Now don't forget to keep him upright. Don't let 'im lie down, or his gut will twist.’

  I stared at him a long moment. ‘Oh! Hector.’

  ‘Tha's it. Me dad told me that, with colic. He knew about ponies.’

  ‘Did he?’ How extraordinary. Oh, wait: ‘Pit ponies?’

  ‘Nay, luv,’ he laughed. ‘He rode a lot as a youngster. Hunted mostly. Me grandfather farmed.’

  ‘Really? So did mine.’

  As I got out, he leaned across the seat to smile up at me under the door. ‘You see? What a lot we've got in common!’

  Yes. Although not too much more, I hoped, as I waved him goodbye. Didn't want any more skeletons clambering out of the Edgeworth/Hamilton closet: any more charming brothers and sisters with high cheekbones and winning smiles looking up at me under Shy Di lashes whispering, ‘Hi, I'm Ant's progeny.’

  With the sort of luck that is never habitually on my side, a train bound for the south was waiting, expressly it seemed for me to secure a ticket and race breathlessly aboard. Then, by some small miracle, and with the sort of ruthless efficiency one usually only associates with a German, or perhaps Swiss, rail transport system, a connecting train was patiently biding its time at Gosport to deliver me to Paddington, where another spookily convenient train whisked me to Oxford in record time. It gave me, in effect, only a scant four hours to reflect on why I had left Yorkshire in such a tearing hurry, and then to come to the startling, but alarming conclusion that, as usual, I'd not only acted impulsively and foolishly, but also imprudently. As I got off the train and it pulled out of the station, I had to stop a moment on the platform, put a hand to my brow; wonder what the bloody hell I was doing. Standing on Oxford station like a middle-aged waif, clutching a handbag containing a toothbrush and two jars of L'Oréal Revitalift for mature skin, one Day and one Night? Why not a hastily scrunched-up pair of pants too, Evie? Why not go the whole knee-jerk hog? And what had I really been afraid of back there in the Peak District? The sparking of Ant's latent emotions for Bella, or the sparking of all sorts of unattractive emotions in me, all sorts of jealous rants and possessive outbursts I'd have bitterly regretted later? I let out a low sigh. The latter, I suspected. With a bit of the former thrown in just for good measure.

  But I was here now. Could hardly go back, could I? Could hardly turn round and get the four fifty-two, which, I discovered, as I whipped the timetable from my bag and scanned it feverishly, would take me back via Gosport to Sheffield, then a taxi from the station to burst back into the kitchen saying – ‘Ta-dah! I'm back! Hm…? Oh, yes, much better thanks. Made a miraculous recovery. Anything I can do for supper?’

  No. Of course I couldn't. I put the timetable away. I'd made my bed and I jolly well had to lie on it. I walked slowly out of the station. But by the same token, I couldn't go home either. I stopped abruptly on the forecourt outside. Felt a bit wobbly. Because now that I was here, I knew I didn't want to be alone. Didn't want to get a taxi to my own home, to open up an empty house, walk from room to room, arms tightly folded, imagining the rest of my family in that idyllic rectory in Yorkshire, bonding seamlessly in the knot garden – so stupid to leave – whilst I laid the first fire of the autumn and wondered, fretfully, what time on Tuesday they'd be home, my family: wondered, now that I'd lit the blue touchpaper and stood well back – a hundred and fifty miles back, in fact – just how long that fuse would take to gently smoulder and reach my husband's heart?

  My hand shot up in the air impulsively and two minutes later, I was in the back of a taxi bound for the river. Not to weigh my pockets with stones as I'd once darkly hinted to Malcolm, but to avail myself of his company, which, right now, I decided, I badly needed. I knew he wasn't working today, wasn't in the shop, and as I paid the driver on Hythe Bridge and hurried down the steps and under it to the canal, I was confident I'd catch him at home.

  I hastened along the dusty towpath by the side of the meadow behind Worcester College, the sun, doggedly bright for the time of year, but low in the sky, glancing through the seed heads in the long grass and glinting on the water and the brightly painted longboats slumbering peacefully at its edge. A few occupants had been drawn out of their boats by the unseasonable weather and were sitting by the towpath in deck chairs, chatting and smoking. I looked for Malcolm but couldn't see him, although… I craned my neck around the next boat… yes. I could see Cinders, lying on her side, asleep in a sunny spot, beside Malcolm's very idiosyncratic barge: navy blue with red and yellow tulips painted in bold sprays. Quite the prettiest, I always thought, and as close as Malcolm got to life on the ocean waves. Cinders slowly got to her feet to greet me and wag her tail. I stroked her silky head. Her being here was a good sign but by no means conclusive. She'd lie by her boat unattended, waiting for her master to come home, come hell or high tide.

  As I crouched down and knocked on the window, a freshly washed blond head and an eager smile popped out of the trap door.

  ‘Oh.’ His face dropped. ‘It's you.’

  ‘Oh, thanks.’

  ‘Sorry, petal.’ He clambered out on deck and came to greet me. ‘It's just I was expecting someone else.’ He shaded his eyes when he'd kissed me and peered anxiously down the towpath.

  ‘A date?’

  He sighed. ‘I thought so. He should have been here an hour ago, though.’ He glanced ruefully at his watch. ‘And anyway, I've promised to relieve Ludo in the shop at five, so he's too late,’ he said petulantly. ‘Ah, well, it was only going to be Earl Grey and perhaps a strategically placed Wagon Wheel if things went according to plan. Can I interest you?’

  ‘Please. Although I might pass on the Wagon Wheel.’

  ‘I wasn't offering,’ he said tartly. ‘It'll be Garibaldis all the way for you.’

  He went to reverse back down the ladder; stopped to peer up at me halfway down. ‘You look a bit peaky.’

  ‘So would you if you'd just sat on a train for four hours.’

  �
�Where from?’

  ‘Yorkshire.’

  ‘Ah.’ It dawned. ‘The wicked witch of the North. Well, come on down, as Jeremy Beadle used to say. We may as well be miserable together. How was she?’

  I followed him down the steep wooden ladder, ducking low to achieve the main cabin: a long tube of yellow with green checked curtains at the tiny windows, and at the far end, benches upholstered in the same check around a little table, laid, I saw now, with a heavily embroidered cloth, plates of cakes and biscuits, and a gleaming Minton tea service.

  ‘She's hardly wicked. In fact quite the opposite.’ I slid in and sat down heavily. ‘She's Snow White. Sweet, beautiful, kind, successful – oh, Malcolm, how can he not fall in love with her again?’

  ‘You've left him there?’ he said, horrified, slipping in beside me.

  ‘I had to!’ I wailed. ‘I certainly couldn't stay – although I bloody wish I had now – but at the time, oh, I so, so couldn't.’ My voice dropped dramatically. ‘I made a feeble excuse and fled.’

  He blinked. ‘Interesting decision.’

  ‘I panicked!’ I pleaded. ‘Thought, I've got to get out of here, can't do it. I nearly did a runner at supper the night before. It's just so weird, Malcolm, you've no idea!’

  He shrugged. ‘Well, yes, I can imagine. And you've put in a token appearance, which, if they lived closer, is perhaps all you'd have done anyway. You've got to leave them to it to some extent. See how it plays out.’

  ‘You think?’ I said eagerly.

  ‘No, I'm just trying to say the right thing. It's what friends do. Earl Grey or builders'?’

  ‘Builders',’ I said miserably. ‘Good and strong.’

  ‘You'll have it as it comes,’ he said primly. I could tell he was in a bad mood too. ‘But I don't doubt Ant for one moment.’ He eyed me as he poured. ‘I just think you've made it harder for him, that's all. Taken away his natural support system. Sugar?’

  ‘No. Actually, yes.’

  He didn't doubt Ant. No one ever did. Ant could do no wrong. Ant would never be sitting under a cherry tree tenderly brushing hair out of another woman's eyes, oh, no. I mean, how familiar was that? Or perhaps it wasn't? Impulsively I unleashed a lock of hair from behind my ear and let it fall over my face.