On the Other Side

by Carrie Hope Fletcher

  Eleanor fixed Evie with her unflinching stare, her lips barely a line, but there was something there. A flicker of uncertainty. A moment of doubt. A hint of panic that maybe she was wrong. Evie saw it, took a breath and seized her moment.

  ‘I’m not coming with you, Mother. I can’t be married off to someone I don’t love, nor can you do that to Jim. I don’t care what family traditions say, nor do I care that the man I want to be with isn’t what you’d call a smart match.’

  ‘You can’t mean this … this …’ Eleanor fluttered the newspaper around, hoping to catch her words with it.

  ‘What? This what?’ Evie said, her anger flowing faster than her tears. ‘He’s a person. He’s a good man and he makes me happy, and as my mother, that is all you should want for me!’

  ‘Do not tell me what I should and shouldn’t want for you. I know exactly what is best for both you and Eddie, and—’

  ‘Not this time, Mother,’ Evie interrupted. ‘This time you’re wrong, and I’m not coming home until I’ve seen this through.’

  If Evie didn’t know Eleanor, the look on her face would have been enough to scare her – but she did know Eleanor and, knowing what was behind that look, despite her outward defiance, she was terrified. Looking at the expression on her mother’s face, she knew she was going to have to compromise somewhere, otherwise Eleanor would drag her out of the apartment by her hair, and even though Evie knew that was entirely wrong, she was still a daughter crying out for her mother’s approval, and, more importantly, for her mother’s love.

  ‘All I’m asking is that you give me until November to try to make this work. Like you promised. If I get a new job, a better one than the one I had at The Teller, a job that pays for this flat and for the life I want to live, then that’s the end of you controlling me. I’ll marry a man of my choosing and you won’t even have to come to the wedding.’

  Eleanor was silent, taking in Evie’s words. Finally she sniffed her agreement and Evie’s heart lurched downwards. You didn’t even fight for me, she thought sadly.

  ‘If you insist on playing this foolish game, then go ahead,’ Eleanor said, her face set in stone. ‘But I want to make it known that you won’t hear from me or your father again should you continue in this manner after November. Neither will you be entitled to any inheritance.’

  ‘Mrs Snow—’ Jim interjected, but Evie stopped him.

  ‘Fine,’ she said, a tear escaping.

  ‘And you’ll never see Eddie again.’

  ‘No,’ Evie whispered. ‘You can’t—’

  ‘You can’t honestly think I’ll have you anywhere near him, influencing him with your silly ideas?’ Eleanor looked incredulous. ‘No. If you make this life work, as far as Eddie’s concerned, he doesn’t have a sister.’

  Evie was stunned, and Eleanor took her silence as agreement.

  ‘So what happens when you fail?’

  ‘When? Mrs Snow, I don’t think you’re being entirely fair—’ Jim started, but Evie held out her hand, stopping him again.

  ‘If it doesn’t work out, then … I will come home without a fuss,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ll stay in the house, locked away so I can’t cause you any further embarrassment, and … and I will marry whomever you wish. My only request is that you don’t force Jim into anything. You’re my mother. Jim can make his own choices. Or rather … his mother can.’

  ‘Evie …’ Jim whispered.

  ‘Done.’ Eleanor sniffed her approval once more, then turned on her heel and left.

  As soon as the door to the flat slammed shut, Evie fell sobbing into Jim’s arms. As he held her, the sound of wings returned and made her heart lift out of her shoes just an inch. She ran to the balcony, where Little One proudly displayed the new message on his right wing.

  Would it be terrible of me if I asked to see you? I miss you. And your flat. It doesn’t smell like Sonny.

  ‘Evie? Is that a dove?’ said Jim, following her out on to the balcony, where Evie was kneeling on the floor, gently holding the bird’s wing between her fingers.

  ‘He’s a messenger,’ she said, absent-mindedly, her attention focused on the words in front of her and how she would reply.

  ‘Evie, look at me for a moment.’

  Reluctantly she turned her tear-stained face to Jim’s, which was etched with lines of concern. She hadn’t noticed before, but although Jim was still handsome, he was ageing. She’d always thought of him as that eight-year-old boy she’d met almost twenty years ago, but now she saw the lines that were starting to appear around his eyes and mouth. He was getting older. As was she.

  ‘How are you going to find another job?’ Jim looked awkward, like he wanted to go to her and hold her, maybe more for his sake than hers, judging by the amount of worry filling the wrinkles on his face.

  ‘I have no idea. I don’t even think I will.’ Her eyes glazed over and she felt everything going numb again.

  ‘Then why did you fight so hard to make your mother let you have three more months?’

  ‘Because it means three more months with Vincent. Saying goodbye to him today was just too soon.’

  Evie turned back to the dove, with no more tears to cry, and wrote:

  Come to me now.

  Jim left Evie after giving her a long and lingering hug goodbye. Once on the street, he got in his car and angled the rear view mirror so that he could see the balcony of her flat but she wasn’t there. Not long afterwards, Vincent arrived, dressed more smartly than Evie had ever seen him. He’d even ironed his black jeans and had run his fingers through his hair in an attempt to make it look a little less ‘mad scientist’. Evie had laid a cold wet flannel over her face to try to make it less red and blotchy but Vincent wouldn’t have noticed anyway. As soon as she opened the door to him, he held up a crisp cream envelope that had clearly been ripped open at the top. The return address in the corner told her it was from a music school. A good one.

  ‘Someone’s replied?’ Evie snatched it from him and started to take out the letter.

  ‘A couple of months ago,’ he said excitedly. Evie looked puzzled. ‘I was invited to audition. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to disappoint you if it didn’t go well, and I knew it would make me nervous too. But then this arrived yesterday. Read it!’

  Evie grinned and hurriedly pulled out the letter, scanning it for one word and one word only: scholarship. When she saw it, she burst into tears and threw her arms around Vincent.

  ‘Congratulations,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’ve missed you.’ Vincent brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers and smiled as if all was right with his world again now that they were together. Evie’s stomach twisted. She couldn’t find the words to tell him what had happened, so instead she kissed him like it might change their future.

  Life resumed. To Vincent, those eight days had merely been a pause in their indefinitely long life together. Evie had decided against telling him that things had already come to an end, and that these last three months were merely a prolonged goodbye. Knowing it made her miserable but what good would come from making him miserable too? Without her realising it, Evie had become more distant as she prepared for their inevitable goodbye, which confused Vincent no end and was the cause of many an argument. She pushed him away when she used to invite him in and she held back when she used to gush. Vincent went back home to his own flat every few nights, when they argued, and the next morning, Little One would turn up on Evie’s balcony so that Vincent could find out from a respectful distance how she felt, and whether she wanted to see him. The answer to which was always of course.

  The dove’s wings had become almost entirely black, so he’d started carrying their messages on his back and his chest, but he welcomed them with open wings. No one wanted their love to work more than he did. Their messages of love and kindness gave him strength and a purpose. When he flew past strangers, they felt an inexplicable sense of happiness. He’d become a beacon of hope, and Evie and Vincent’s mes
sages were the flames, but as much as Little One would read their notes, he could never know the thoughts in Evie’s head nor could he see her mother’s serious face as Evie did every time she closed her eyes. Evie knew her time with Vincent was limited but Little One, poor Little One, was as much in the dark as Vincent and the winged messenger couldn’t know that he was rooting for a love that had been doomed from the very beginning.

  6

  august

  Evie found herself looking up at the music school building on the campus of the university her son had attended. The building was old and majestic, and its tall clock tower stood ominous against the grey sky. The rain was icy and harsh and prickled her face if she looked directly upwards, so she pulled her coat collar up around her neck and skittered up the steps to the school.

  She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to behave in this world. She assumed, after having already crossed through one wall, that walking through doors and walls came with the package, but as a living, breathing woman, she had always knocked before she entered a room, and she didn’t feel like that should change now that she was dead. Lieffe had said she wouldn’t be able to make an impact on the world around her so opening a door wouldn’t be possible, so she waited for a few minutes in the downpour until finally, a man with a trilby, a beautiful grey suede waistcoat and a briefcase exited the building. While he fiddled with his umbrella, Evie slipped through the open door, and the man put the chill he’d felt down to the dreadful weather, though he couldn’t explain the whiff of treacle he’d caught as the door closed behind him.

  Inside was a reception desk, behind which a striking red-headed woman sat fiddling with the cord on the telephone as she talked in low tones. Evie had visited the university only once before, when she’d come to watch her son’s recital. She’d wept so loudly that the mother of another student sitting in front of her had turned to offer her a tissue. Evie couldn’t help it. August had played so beautifully. He had taken to music almost as soon as he was born into existence, and she had made sure to nurture it. She swore her children would have the chances she’d never had, to do exactly what they wanted to do. Whether they succeeded or not, she was there beside them every step of the way.

  When August had said he wanted to study music, Evie did everything in her power to help. She bought him his first violin, paid for his piano lessons and asked to hear him play almost every evening. August studied night and day all through school until he got a scholarship to the second best university in town (the best didn’t have a basketball team, and August’s passion for basketball at the time of applying was insatiable). He’d gone on to win composing competitions with his classical piano pieces, one of which brought the opportunity for one of his songs to be played on the credits of an independent movie, and his career in composing film scores was born. Now, at the age of fifty-two, his days of studying far behind him, the university welcomed him whenever he wanted to play the pianos in the music rooms he used to practise in, but August would usually only visit when he needed the space to think.

  Evie walked down every corridor on every floor, peeping in through the windows, hoping to see her son’s greying auburn hair and his fingers darting up and down the keys. When she finally found him, his hands were still, and his head rested against the ivories. He was snoring gently. The shadows under his eyes told her this was probably the most sleep he’d had in days.

  Since their second daughter had left home, something between August and his wife, Daphne, had been lost in amongst the emptiness and stillness of the house. A flame that had once burned with the heat of a thousand suns was now merely an ember, and the memory of what they had once felt for each other taunted them both. August still loved Daphne more than anything. The only women that competed for his affections were his two daughters, Gwen and Winifred, and Evie herself when she’d been alive, but August knew his and Daphne’s love wasn’t the same as it had once been, that something had been lost and he had no idea how to find it again. It was like something was blocking his heart. Like part of a machine had come unhinged and all the things he usually used to communicate perfectly had slipped out of the assembly line and got lost. Somewhere inside him, all the wonderful things he thought were piling up, left to fester in their own beauty. August and Daphne didn’t argue. They barely even spoke, because August had forgotten how, and their maddening silence had resulted in trips to the practice rooms at his old university where he would sit for hours at a time, usually until he fell asleep on the keys.

  Evie thought maybe she’d need to walk through this door in particular, just one, in order to speak to her son. It could take hours for someone to come this way and open the door so she could walk through. She stood back and surveyed the door carefully. She guessed it was just a case of aiming and walking. She sucked in a breath and stepped forward, and although it was only a short distance, she still shut her eyes tightly just as her head should have hit the door, but instead, her whole body went cold and rigid, almost like she had become the door itself for a moment, and then she felt herself softening into her own flesh again and she was on the other side. August’s shoulders shifted as the temperature of the room dropped slightly and the skin of his forearms prickled. Evie’s motherly instinct took over and she hushed him as she knelt down by his side. She wanted to stroke his hair, put her arms around him, but if her entering the room had caused his sleep to be disrupted, she didn’t want to find out what effect touching him could have.

  ‘August?’

  She wasn’t sure what he could hear or whether he would respond. She just had to believe what Lieffe had told her. She had to believe this would work.

  ‘August. My darling boy. In all that time we had together, in all those years bringing you up and watching you grow into a fine man, I was never entirely honest with you.’

  Evie’s ghostly heart raced. Saying these words in life would have killed her, and yet now that she was beyond the grave, she had to divulge the secrets she’d kept so securely or else her soul would never rest. She looked for some sign that August was listening, but there was nothing she could do except keep talking.

  ‘When I was younger, before you were born, I used to send love notes to … someone. I don’t suppose it matters who. We sent our messages on the wings of a bird I called Little One. When I first saw him, the bird, he was as white as snow and so beautiful but there was so much of our love for him to carry that his feathers soon turned as black as ink. I’ve heard rumours that he’s still out there somewhere, and that to this very day he still sits on the balcony of my old home, waiting for our story to be finished. If the rumours are true, then Little One hasn’t rested all these years. He’s just been ready and waiting.’

  Evie’s eyes glistened with guilt. She’d been so concerned about telling Vincent that things had to end, and how he would react, that she’d forgotten to tell Little One. He’d been so sure of their love that he’d waited for Evie and Vincent to return and while he’d waited, he’d continued to spread the love he carried on his wings to anyone he could. He’d grown tired and sometimes felt like giving up but he’d continued on all the same, always hopeful. Evie had always wanted to find him, but she had been a coward and just couldn’t bring herself to go looking for her past. She knew that asking August to do it for her would mean revealing the stories she’d spent most of her life hiding, but she also knew it was time to concede. It was time to set Little One free.

  ‘August, you must find him. Let your heart call to him, and when he comes to you, wash his wings. Relieve him of the duties he carried out so diligently when I was still alive. And tell him from me …’ she whispered, ‘thank you.’

  A tear spilled over and splattered on to the back of August’s right hand. It shimmered for a moment, like a pearl, and then sank into his skin, and he stirred. Evie held her breath and watched his eyes open just a crack. There was a moment of recognition before she felt herself being pulled by her heart backwards, and she didn’t have the strength to fight it. She closed her
eyes and let her limbs go heavy as a force gently picked her up and pulled her from the room. There was a sucking noise as she felt the atmosphere turn as thick as treacle, and then she thudded abruptly on to her backside on solid ground.

  Evie opened her glazed eyes and saw the vague shape of Lieffe’s concerned face peering down at her.

  ‘How did it go?’

  She blinked a few times until it no longer felt like she was looking through frosted glass. ‘OK, I think. I’m not really sure.’

  ‘You found him, then?’ Lieffe took one of her arms and helped her into the desk chair.

  ‘Yes, I found him. He was asleep, so I told him what I needed to tell him. Just as he was waking up, I felt myself being dragged back here, but there was a moment … a split second where he opened his eyes and it was almost like he could see me.’ Evie sniffed, not wanting to get emotional again.

  ‘Oh Evie. You’ve done well. Do you want to rest? Visit the others tomorrow? Time is at our disposal here, after all.’ Lieffe started to walk to the door, looking exhausted himself having spent his time wringing his hands with worry while Evie was on the other side of the wall.

  ‘No, I want to keep going, but—’

  ‘What is it?’ Lieffe spun to face her, his worries clear in his eyes: Was she having second thoughts? Was this all too much for her? Too painful to relive?

  ‘What are the chances of a cup of tea first?’

  When August awoke, he had the feeling he wasn’t alone. He thought he’d seen a familiar face watching over him, but when he rubbed the sleep from the corners of his eyes, there was no one to be seen, and he put it down to the strange dream he’d been having. He massaged his temples as he remembered a bird flying across his mind’s eye. It was black, but as it flew, words written in ink fell from its feathers and tumbled down, splashing to the floor, creating puddles, revealing the bird’s natural white colour beneath. He could still hear a soft but haunting voice repeating, Let your heart call to him … Wash his wings … Tell him … thank you.