The Mirrror Shop

by Nicholas Bundock

  A dozen cast members Luke has not seen before enter the courtyard. Cassie is with them. The brilliant designs of their tops and shorts make Russ’s Hawaiian shirt look dreary.

  Rhona squeezes Luke’s arm. ‘The rest of the contingent from the summer school. They went to Ajaccio last weekend and cleaned up on Desigual. I’ll introduce you.’

  Luke is exchanging handshakes and asking who plays which part when from the centre of the courtyard Alden silences everyone with a clap of his hands. ‘Act Two. Straight into the Lost Boys – no need to rehearse the mermaid dance.’

  Rhona and Agnes disappear towards the kitchen, pausing to talk to a man Luke assumes is Matthew. Bald-headed, wearing loose denims and carrying a Panama hat, he stands to one side scribbling notes in a small leather-bound notebook.

  Half an eye on Russ for whom stagecraft is second nature, Luke follows the other pirates, joining in the thunderous yo hos and finding Felix’s visceral Hook a terrifying experience at close quarters. He is glad of his early exit and a word-perfect cast who leave him blissfully unwanted for most of the act.

  Before Act Three Matthew, quietly-spoken with a Yorkshire accent, introduces himself to Luke, then to Russ with whom he strikes an immediate rapport. When the play permits, Russ gravitates towards him.

  As the rehearsal progresses, Luke’s eyes are focused more on the kitchen door and he wonders if it will be noticed if he slips away. But increasingly he finds himself drawn into the play. Josh’s Peter is impressively mercurial, while Lou’s Tinkerbell is both cunning and flirty, using her supple limbs and balletic skills in an uninhibited attempt to seduce Peter. She leaps in delight when Wendy is struck by Tootles’s arrow, and performs a jubilant dance when the pirates appear with the captured and bound Tiger Lily, played by a French student, Thérèse. Luke hopes that there will be a break in rehearsal after Act Three but Alden calls out, ‘Straight into Act Four.’

  ‘We must have a drink first,’ says Josh.

  ‘But you had time for that when you were offstage,’ shouts Alden.

  ‘Hey, chill out, man,’ calls Felix.

  ‘Two minutes,’ orders Alden.

  Felix, Cassie, Josh and Louise talk quietly to each other as they pour themselves some water. Luke cannot hear their conversation, but suspects some conspiracy against Alden.

  Agnes appears during the break with velvet coats for Luke and Russ. Luke’s fits perfectly. Russ’s is too tight. ‘I’ll let that out. Now you needn’t wear them until the dress rehearsal,’ she says, and walks over to the actor playing Michael, Dan, a sculpture student from Boston who kisses her as she helps him pull on a voluminous nightshirt.

  The cast race through the fourth act.

  ‘Slow up. Take this seriously,’ shouts Alden.

  ‘Hey, Alden, this is meant to be light-hearted,’ says Cassie.

  ‘But not a farce,’ says Alden. ‘Tinkerbell almost dying is a poignant moment.’

  The remainder of the rehearsal continues almost without interruption. Peter’s ‘And now to rescue Wendy’ signals not only the end of the act but also supper time. The summer school contingent, apart from Cassie, leave for their own canteen, while Josh grabs one end of the table, Felix the other, initiating a scramble to set supper – clearly a routine which over the last few days has established itself.

  Within five minutes bread, olives and various dips are on the table, with bottles of beer and wine in large pottery jugs. Luke sits between Russ and Cassie, looking out towards the middle of the courtyard. When Rhona and Agnes appear, they sit together at the end of the table. A little later Alden approaches the table with three enormous bowls of pasta, two with salami, one with shellfish. Bowls of salad follow. Alden sits himself opposite Luke and Russ, a position which, Luke guesses, allows him to be part of any of the animated conversations already echoing round the courtyard.

  Above the noise Russ shouts, ‘To our hosts.’

  After a clinking of glasses, Russ says to Luke, ‘We could be back at Saffold Farm.’

  Only, there is no Eva, thinks Luke, as he allows himself to catch Rhona’s eye. She blows him a discreet kiss. He thinks Agnes saw it, but doesn’t care. He watches Alden slowly dominate the banter and provoke repartie with all-comers.

  Mid-supper, Josh asks Felix, ‘Is Peter Pan just as popular your side of the pond?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ says Felix.

  ‘Who first called the Atlantic a pond, I wonder?’ says Louise.

  ‘Some twentieth-century executive, I suppose,’ says Felix. ‘When air travel had shrunk the distance.’

  ‘You’re years out,’ says Cassie. ‘It goes back at least to the 1800s.’

  ‘For example?’ asks Alden.

  ‘Any number of American writers.’

  ‘For example?’

  The table is hushed.

  ‘Too many to name.’

  ‘Name me one.’

  Cassie reddens. She claws her hair in desperate thought and looks down at the pine boards of the table, as if a name might write itself on the weathered surface.

  Opposite, Alden is triumphant. ‘Can I encourage your memory with a small bet?’

  ‘I don’t want to take your money,’ she says nervously.

  ‘We could bet something else.’

  ‘What are you after, Alden?’ says Josh.

  ‘He wants her body,’ says Felix in a stage whisper.

  ‘Make it a round hundred euros,’ says Josh.

  Cassie scowls at Josh, says nothing and again fixes her eyes on the table top.

  ‘A hundred euros it is,’ says Alden. ‘I think my money’s safe.’

  The smugness on Alden’s face makes Luke want to say to Cassie, ‘take your time, I’ll cover your bet.’ Luke looks round the table. Rhona’s stare says, don’t get involved.

  Alden looks up at the vine. ‘As my tutor at Oxford always said, “Never state facts when you can’t give your sources”.’

  Cassie slowly raises her head and looks Alden in the face. ‘Harriet Beecher Stowe. In the introduction to the novel Dred. 1850s.’

  Alden opens his mouth but remains speechless.

  ‘Seems like Cassie’s just won a hundred euros,’ says Felix.

  ‘I’d like to check the book,’ says Alden.

  Cassie stretches a hand across to Alden. ‘Want to make it two hundred. It will be there. Definitely. In the text.’

  Alden looks at her unblinking green eyes. ‘OK, you win,’ he says.

  The table is all smiles, followed by guffaws. Alden smiles last, but sardonically, unable to laugh, as slowly he realises that the whole conversation from pond to Dred has been orchestrated, leading him to lose a hundred euros. With difficulty he affects some good humour. ‘You bastards are better actors than I thought.’

  ‘And we’ll be even better come Saturday night,’ says Cassie.

  They continue eating, the table talk fuelled by free-flowing alcohol, but Alden has lost his bravado. As Josh is telling a joke, a loud bang echoes round the courtyard, followed two seconds later by another. Luke and Russ exchange startled looks. Luke is certain they were rifle shots, but to his amazement no-one else is concerned.

  ‘Only the locals having a go at the wild boar,’ Alden tells him. ‘The season started a few days ago. You’ll hear the odd bang, but it’s mainly dawn and dusk – Santa Marta’s version of the reveille and last post.’

  ‘So we might get noises off during the performance?’ says Russ.

  ‘Hopefully not. Lynton spread the word that we’d appreciate some peace during the play. Even better, they’ll all be in the audience.’

  ‘How many are you expecting?’ asks Russ.

  ‘Two hundred plus. A couple of coach parties are coming, one from Porto-Vecchio.’

  At around 10.00pm Luke sees Rhona and Agnes leave the table. A few minutes later he gets to his feet. ‘Alden, you must excuse me. The drive over the mountains sapped all my energy.’

  ‘But wasn’t it worth it? Ten o’clock tomorrow. Straight into
the final act.’

  Luke goes to his room, finds a towel, locates the primitive shower on the floor below, and spends the briefest time possible beneath its begrudging nozzle. Returning to his room, he finds Rhona on his bed, naked.

  ‘How tired are you?’ she says.

  Luke turns his head towards the window through which voices can be heard.

  ‘Forget about them,’ she says. ‘And Alden’s far more interested in Louise than me and you.’

  As he undresses Luke notices three purple-brown oval bruises on her left forearm.

  ‘Alden,’ she says. Then louder, ‘It’s always bloody Alden.’

  ‘He punched you?’

  ‘He probably wanted to. These are just his finger marks where he gripped me.’ She turns her arm and Luke sees a circular mark much larger than the others. ‘His thumb,’ she says.

  ‘He’s insane. Was he angry about us?’ Luke lies beside her.

  ‘It’s not about us. He got to bed late two nights ago. I was deeply asleep. The smell of the drink on him woke me before he slammed the door and kicked his shoes across the floor. He was obviously too drunk to realise what he was repeating aloud, “The cow, the little cow.” I knew immediately he had had some argument with Louise. It was her he was swearing about. I pretended I was still asleep. He was soon dead to the world, snoring like a pig. I barely slept myself. When I crept out of bed, he grabbed me by the arm. “Where the hell you going?” he snarled. I think he was still drunk, and probably thought I was Louise. His eyes were half closed. I banged my fist on his arm to make him release me. At first it had no effect, but he slowly relaxed his hold. When his eyes fully opened he looked daggers, not because of me,’ she rests a hand on Luke’s, ‘or us, but because I wasn’t the woman he’d been dreaming of.’

  Luke looks again at her arm. ‘It’s like you’ve been bitten by a dog.’

  ‘A mad one.’ She throws back her head. ‘But what are a few bruises if they get me away from him. And the good news is that they patched up the tiff yesterday.’

  ‘I saw them earlier in the courtyard – the best of friends.’

  ‘They’re more than that. They have plans to shack up together in London or Paris. Isn’t that wonderful?’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I’ll give you full details tomorrow. But now . . .’ She kisses him, lowering his head to the bed.

  Luke casts a wary glance to the window, but soon submits to her unspoken confidence that they are safe, while occasional bursts of laughter from the courtyard serve only to increase the excitement.

  An hour later, Rhona slips from the bed, pulls on her white dress, bends over Luke’s prone body and says, ‘I’ll be in the kitchen at six.’

  At the bedside, Eva looks at her watch and realises that it is twelve hours since Barbara last spoke. She wonders if her aunt will speak again.

  At 11.30pm a night nurse says to Eva, ‘You must get some sleep yourself now.’

  Eva kisses Barbara and makes her way to her own room where the sight of her bed makes her aware that she is exhausted through a day of waiting. After undressing, she checks her mobile. There is a text message from Annie: Checked garden. All OK. X to U & aunt. There is also an email from Agnes: Sorry to hear about your aunt. Thinking of you. Luke and Russ safely here. Nothing to report re L and R. Will phone tomorrow. X A. Too tired to reply to either message, she collapses on her bed.

  Shortly after 1am Eva is pulled from sleep by knocking at her door. Opening her eyes, she sees a night nurse silhouetted by the light from the corridor.

  ‘Eva, I think you must come to Barbara’s room.’

  Eva springs from bed and follows the nurse to her aunt’s room. The ward sister is sitting beside her. Eva sits on the other side. Barbara’s eyes are intermittently open, but she seems unaware of her surroundings.

  ‘She is breathing, but only just,’ the sister says quietly.

  ‘Has she been strong enough to speak?’

  ‘An hour ago she woke briefly. I said a few words to her and she said, “Thank you, thank you.” That was all.’

  ‘Is she conscious now?’

  ‘It’s difficult to know.’

  ‘Do you think she can hear us?’

  The sister comes round to Eva’s side of the bed and whispers, ‘The hearing is often the last faculty to go.’

  Eva bends over the bed. ‘Auntie, it’s me, Eva. I’m with you.’

  The sister returns to the other side of the bed. A nurse brings in Eva’s dressing gown. Eva looks at Barbara’s face for a response but finds none. A few minutes later she sees her aunt’s lips quiver and for a moment thinks it is an attempt at speech, but when Barbara’s mouth opens it is only to make a small gasp before the weak breathing resumes.

  For another hour she sits beside her. A few minutes later, the sister leans over Barbara and touches her head. She turns to Eva. ‘She’s slipped away now, darling, God rest her soul. It was as peaceful as we could wish.’

  For some time Eva sits motionless until, with great care, she rests a hand on Barbara’s forehead. It is still warm. ‘Goodbye, you old fighter. I love you.’ She kisses her head and feeling tears well up, falls back in her seat.

  ‘Stay with her for a few minutes,’ the nurse says. ‘We’ll bring you a drink.’

  Eva remains beside Barbara. The face in front of her seems so peaceful it is difficult to accept she has died. She kisses her aunt’s cheek. As soon as her lips touch the frail skin she knows Barbara is dead. Eva looks around the room as if wondering where her aunt has gone. Through her head play stories of out of body experiences of those seemingly near the moment of death, who, on recovering, tell of looking down at themselves from above. And she is reminded of her own parents’ deaths – the car accident, the identification of their bodies, the questions she had never been able to ask them. At least she has been beside Barbara. Her death has somehow atoned for those older regrets.

  ‘I’ve brought you some tea,’ says a nurse. She stays with Eva. ‘A fine old lady. We shall all miss her, as I’m sure you will.’

  ‘I’m so glad to have been with her.’

  ‘She was well prepared. The priest called on her Saturday evening – our chaplain, a locum from Limerick.’

  ‘The priest? But Barbara never went near a church in her life. She wasn’t even a Catholic.’

  ‘She was received into the Church two months ago.’

  ‘She never told me.’

  ‘She left a list of instructions. I can show it to you.’

  ‘I didn’t expect . . . ’

  ‘She was adamant the funeral was to be here in Corofin.’

  ‘A church funeral?’

  ‘That was her wish.’

  Eva looks at Barbara’s still face. ‘You were always inscrutable, one step ahead.’ She gives Barbara a final kiss on the forehead, then leaves the room.

  In the sister’s office, Eva is handed an envelope on which is written her name in Barbara’s unmistakable handwriting.

  ‘I had strict orders to give it to you only after she had gone,’ says the sister.

  Eva opens it.

  Dearest Eva, I have prepared for this day. Since I did not want you rushing about organising things on my account, the church, the funeral director and the pub have already been paid. A funeral mass and burial and a drink for my friends is what I wish. My coffin will rest overnight in the church, but you need not be there when it arrives or keep vigil. The following day will be tiring enough. The solicitors in Limerick will answer any questions you have. A copy of my will is in the drawer of my desk. It is simple. Everything goes to you. All other deserving causes have been attended to in my lifetime. Do not grieve, but live your life to the full as I have tried to. Start now. If I hear you’ve been mourning for more than a day I shall come back and haunt you. With all my love, Barbara.

  Eva smiles at her aunt’s power to be in control, even after death. She looks at her aunt’s signature. ‘I’ll do as you instruct,’ she says. ‘I shall liv
e life to the full. Like you.’

  ‘How soon can a funeral be arranged?’ she asks the sister.

  Luke is woken by the alarm on his mobile, but the sparse furnishings and the light stealing through the shutters tell him that he is in his bedroom at home. When reality breaks through, he thinks of the last occasion he and Eva spent a night there, a few weeks ago, but a time during which his life has irrecoverably changed.

  In the kitchen Rhona, in a black dress and sandals, is sitting at the table sipping lemongrass tea. Another cup is waiting for him. Yesterday’s flowers have wilted, but retain a scent which, blended with the herbs by the window, lingers in the atmosphere of the sunless room. He bends over her to exchange a silent kiss.

  ‘We’ll take my car,’ she says when they have finished their tea. ‘Happily, it’s an easier road than your nightmare drive yesterday.’

  At the top of the street, by the bollards at the corner of La Place des Pèlerins, Rhona pulls up. ‘If you want some amusement,’ she says, pointing, ‘look over there.’

  La Place des Pèlerins is deserted, but on the bridge over the dried-up stream he sees a curiously contorted figure in white.

  ‘Alden, doing his tai chi,’ says Rhona. ‘I don’t know what time he came to bed last night. One or two, I guess, but that won’t let him miss his precious exercises. How he survives on four hours’ sleep, I’ll never know.’

  The figure on the bridge now bends and turns towards the maquis, as if about to confront a creature from the forest. Rhona drives away. ‘It always looks faintly absurd,’ she says. ‘Oh dear, you’re not a tai chi addict are you?’

  ‘Gardening’s my main exercise.’

  ‘Alden insists on disporting himself in a public place. When we arrived here he took to standing in the middle of the courtyard every afternoon, taking his tiger to the mountain, or whatever it is they do, but the boys started leaning out of their windows to take the mickey, so now he performs on the bridge at 6am before anyone can mock him. And Friday is his running day, so he’ll soon be heading off to the hills. Unless his jogging route takes him up to Louise’s bedroom.’

  The road out of Santa Marta descends through the maquis, rises again among pine woods and after a few miles meets the main road. With the windows down, the car is suffused with mountain herbs, intensified by the cool, early-morning air.