Cover Your Eyes (4 page)

Antoine placed Lissa in an empty classroom, leaning against the skeleton of what once was a desk; sitting on a wooden chair near a blackboard that had come adrift from whatever had kept it on the wall, looking out of cracked and grimy windows; under a salix tree, her thin face surrounded by a halo of pale, pointed, fragile-looking leaves; standing by the gate posts at the bottom of the drive gazing up at the flying eagles; looking lost under the domed roof of the hall.

After everyone else had gone home, Eva and Antoine drove to the estate agent's office to return the keys.

‘I'm going to buy it,' Eva said. ‘Salix House.'

‘Come again?'

‘You heard me. It's going so cheap, Antoine. I love it. I've fallen in love with a house … can you believe it? ‘

‘You're mad. You've taken leave of your senses. Think, Eva. It's a wreck.'

‘It doesn't have to be. We could do it up.'

‘We? I'm not ready for this Eva. Really. Do think before you do anything rash.'

‘It's not rash.' Eva had never been so sure of anything. ‘It's an investment. It'll be beautiful.'

‘It'll be crippling, financially.' Antoine was beginning to waver, Eva could hear it in his voice.

‘And if I told you it wouldn't? If I told you I could afford it, all on my own even if you don't want to come in on it, what would you say then? If money wasn't an issue?'

‘You're determined, aren't you?'

‘You're beginning to agree with me, aren't you? I can tell.'

He smiled. ‘You know me too well. But okay. The place is certainly … well, I'm the one who found it and told you about it. I think you're right. I think it could be fabulous.'

‘Then let's make it fabulous. Help me with it, Antoine. Please.'

He put out a hand and stroked her knee. ‘How can I refuse you, Eva? You must have anything you want. If you can. You know I'll help you. Though what's going to happen to our flat? And how can you work from the middle of nowhere?'

‘Oh, God, don't be a killjoy! We'll sell the London flat. We could get a much smaller place to stay in when we need to, but why would we? Why not work from here?'

‘Because it's the middle of bloody nowhere.'

‘Anywhere outside a three-mile radius of Piccadilly Circus is the middle of nowhere to you. This place is fine. Only an hour or so to town. And look how cheap it is. Have you ever seen a house like this at such a price?'

‘It's not a cheap house, Eva,' said Antoine, pulling up outside the estate agent's office. ‘It's an incredibly expensive ruin.'

‘But it'll be
our
ruin,' Eva said, happy that he'd come round to her way of thinking so readily. ‘And it won't be a ruin for very long, I promise you.'

Eva sighed and turned her mind deliberately away from thoughts of the past. For the last ten years, she'd been designing and sewing the costumes for the local amateur dramatic society's annual spring production. The Belstone Players were a good company, and it gave Eva satisfaction to know that her costumes had added to their reputation. She enjoyed the challenge, loved being able to draw something different every year, choose the fabrics, sew them, be praised at the first night and mentioned in the local paper. Musicals were a speciality of the Belstone Players. Eva opened her sketchbook and began to draw a pretty twenties dress for one of the flappers in
The Boy Friend.
So far away from the dark memories that seemed to overwhelm her more and more often these days.

I wasn't allowed to ring his mobile. That was the rule. From the beginning he'd emphasized that I could text him but not call.
No way of knowing who's in the room, right?
he'd said. Especially at night, hey, Simon? I imagined him lying there in his bed, all crisp white sheets and lacy pillows, next to Gail, and I couldn't bear it. I was a bit drunk, but I
did
know what I was doing. I wanted to wake him up. I wanted him to suffer a bit. I imagined him saying to himself:
I got through that okay. That went well, all things considered. She didn't throw a wobbly. She'll be okay.
Well, fuck him, I thought. I'm going to wake him up. It's the least he deserves. The thought of them lying there together, maybe even touching, was too much for me. I wanted to spoil the night for both of them. I wanted them to lose sleep. I didn't care if they never slept again.

‘Hello? Simon?'

‘Who's that?'

‘Who the fuck d'you think it is? It's me. Megan. Remember?'

‘It's three in the morning.'

‘Can't help that.'

‘Can we talk tomorrow?'

‘No, I want to talk now.'

‘I can't do that.'

‘Why not? Is she there? Next to you in bed?'

‘Go to sleep. You'll feel better in the morning.'

‘No I won't. I'll feel worse.'

‘I said: I can't talk now.'

‘Is she getting suspicious? Is she looking at you? Thinking: who's this ringing up my husband on his mobile at three in the morning?'

‘I'm going to hang up now.'

I sat there with my mobile in my hand, trembling. She must have heard. She'd have a couple of questions to ask him, about who was phoning him in the middle of the night. For a few moments I allowed myself to imagine a fight so dreadful between the two of them that he'd walk out of his house and come straight round here saying:
Forgive me, Megan, you were the right one all along and I've behaved so badly. What can I do to make it all up to you?
I felt disgusted with myself for being such a self-deluded idiot. I must really be pissed, I thought, if I can believe even for a second that he'd do anything like that. I put the phone down and went into the tiny kitchen of my tiny flat and made myself a cup of coffee.

As I drank it, I tried to work out what would happen next. No Simon, no job, and no idea what I wanted to do beyond crawl into my bed and never come out. ‘Bastard,' I said aloud. He could have timed it differently. He could have waited a few days and allowed me my bit of glory in the office later in the week, with everyone saying nice things about my Eva Conway article but no, he had to mess that up as well. He knew how much it meant to me and how I was longing to see my name appear in bold type at the top of the page. Now I could never go to that office again. Someone, probably Tina, the current intern, would be given the uninspiring job of taking everything out of my desk, putting it in a box and bringing it round here. Maybe I'd phone in the morning and tell them to bin the bloody lot. Yes, maybe I would.

I went back into the bedroom and lay face down on my bed. I wanted to Skype Jay but she'd be in the office, not able to speak properly. I could smell Simon on the pillow. Could I really? I fell asleep before I decided.

*

Eva was wide awake in the middle of the night. There was something comforting about thinking of everyone else fast asleep. A dim light was always on outside the girls' room and downstairs, the spaces that were filled with voices and light during the daylight hours collected shadows and whispers that Eva was never able to identify. Was that old woodwork contracting in the colder night air? Or was it faint traces of everyone who'd ever lived here, the distant whisperings of ancient voices, audible in the dark? It was easy at such times to imagine that Rowena, Conor, Dee and Bridie had vanished altogether. Salix House became truly hers again. She could, if she felt like it, go from room to room and see it as it used to be when Antoine was alive. Or when they'd first found it. At that time, the gateposts at the end of the drive were entirely covered in ivy. The salix trees, after which the house was named, had almost disappeared in the undergrowth that had sprung up around them.

Eva sighed. She could go over in her head the thousands of decisions they'd made as they restored the house, about what colours the walls ought to be, where this or that piece of furniture should go or was that the right picture for that space? Sometimes, she amused herself by mentally redesigning parts of the house. Shall I change my red velvet sofa for a black one? What about the hall table? Is it too much? Until the last few weeks, her home had been at the same time a source of happiness and a repository of memories, many of which made her shiver even now. She sometimes felt that the walls were impregnated with them, or with her feelings. Were all houses like that: haunted not only by what had happened in them but by what people had
felt
in them? Did tears and anguish and arguments stay there, for ever, absorbed into the very fabric of the place? Well, she thought, Rowena's put paid to that. When she considered the possibility of living somewhere else, part of what she felt was guilt at leaving behind her all her past selves, every Eva she'd been since she first came here.

Old people were generally supposed to be bad sleepers. For the first time in my life, she thought, no one is surprised when I tell them how much of the night I spend reading or listening to the radio. She'd never slept well. As a girl, she used to read novels under the blankets by the light of a torch. Agnes Conway would have been shocked if Eva had turned the light on and left it burning half the night. She'd have felt personally responsible if she'd known that her adopted daughter suffered from insomnia. She'd have assumed that the fault was hers, that she must have done something wrong.

1938

Eva was four years old when she arrived in England on a dark, cold December afternoon. She stood in the village hall with a few other children and wrinkled her nose at the smell of damp clothes and old wood. She had a small suitcase at her feet and all around her huge adults moved about, speaking a language she didn't understand. She'd stopped crying hours before, realizing that tears wouldn't help her. Nothing could change what she'd done. It must have been something dreadful, or why would she be here by herself? Being here must be her punishment. Whenever she thought about her sister, a freezing terror seized her and her mind wrenched itself away from Angelika and concentrated on these people – who were they? What would happen to her while she was here?

A lady came up and spoke to her. Eva couldn't understand what she was saying but she heard ‘Agnes Conway' said over and over again and realized that it was the woman's name. She wasn't pretty like Mama, but she had a kind face and a brown coat. The woman looked at Eva and took her hand and led her out of the hall and to a small house. They'd had to walk quite a long way down a dark street. When they came to the house and the woman opened the door, it dawned on Eva for the first time that this was now where she would live. She burst into tears on the doorstep and she went on crying all through supper. At bedtime, she was still hiccupping from the tears she'd shed, and wondered if she'd go on crying all night long, but at last, she fell asleep.

When she was young, Eva had long red hair which hung in a plait down her back. The red had turned to grey some time ago, to which she had added ash-blonde highlights, and now she put up her hair during the day, but at night she plaited it again, just as she'd done as a child. Agnes was kind to me, Eva reflected. She did her best and looked after me as well as she could.

The darkness didn't frighten Eva. When they'd first moved into Salix House, in the days before the work had been done and it was still nothing but the shell of a building, she used to imagine the night settling over the house like the folds of a soft, dark blue blanket. Now she moved through the rooms, liking the silence and noticing, as she had almost stopped doing, the high ceilings, the wide windows, the way the stairs from the ground floor curved up from the square hall to where the bedrooms were on the first floor, arranged along three sides of the house. The banisters became a kind of gallery. Eva smiled at the thought of how Dee and Bridie loved sitting there, peering down at the hall through the bars outside their room whenever guests came to dinner or a party.

She glanced at her dressing table, checking that all was well with the mirror. It looked safe enough: carefully draped with a selection of scarves which hung down from the top of the frame and covered up the glass. Dee, who was nine now, had asked about it once when she was much younger. ‘Why, Granny? Why do you cover up the mirror?'

‘I've always done it, since I was very young. I feel a bit funny about mirrors, that's all.'

‘You
could
not have a mirror in your room,' Dee said, sounding a little doubtful.

‘Unfortunately I need one because I'm vain,' Eva told her. ‘I like to see that my lipstick is on my lips and not my chin. And that my hair is properly brushed. You know …'

‘But you have to move the scarves whenever you want to look at yourself,' Dee said, and then another thought occurred to her. ‘You could call me and I'd tell you if your lipstick looked nice.'

‘Well, that's very kind, darling, but what if you're at school? Don't you worry yourself about my mirror. I'm used to it being covered up.'

Eva had avoided mirrors for most of her life. Even though her work had involved much looking, pinning, draping and rearranging of garments; even though she'd spent hours redoing hair or fiddling with accessories, tying scarves and adjusting hemlines, most of the mirrors she'd encountered during her long career were public ones. They were in her studio, backstage at fashion shows and, for the most part, there were so many other people crowded in front of the glass alongside her that what she tried to avoid seeing had scarcely any opportunity to float on to the silver, to hover and shiver in the background. She'd hung scarves and necklaces over the corners of every dressing-table mirror in every bedroom she'd ever slept in, so that most of the surface was obscured. Anyone who came in and saw them assumed that such decorations went with being a famous designer given to extravagant effects. What a lot you can get away with, Eva thought, if you have a reputation for being artistic!

And all of this because of something that happened when she was seven. She knew it was a ridiculous prohibition she'd laid on herself, after just one bad experience, but there it was: she didn't like to see herself reflected because of that summer evening, so long ago. There had been other bad experiences, but this was the first: the one that set the pattern.

1941

The mirror in Eva's bedroom was fixed on to a stand and could swivel right round and Eva loved it. She used to like making it swing backwards and forwards to catch the early evening light that fell through the window as she was getting ready for bed.

One summer evening, after a particularly sunny day when she'd been playing with her friends in the field that lay behind the hedge at the bottom of the garden, Eva went up to her bedroom feeling hot and tired. Agnes had bathed her, in lukewarm water, only an inch or two deep, on account of the War. After the bath, she'd put Eva to bed as usual, kissing her goodnight and telling her not to let the bugs bite. Then she went downstairs and Eva was left alone. As soon as she heard Agnes walking about downstairs, Eva got out of bed. She knew that the trees at the edge of the field would be spreading dark shadows on to the lawn and she wanted to see them. She stared at the garden in the last of the sunshine. She pushed aside a corner of the black-out curtains and stood there for a few moments.

Then she'd turned to get back into bed, and caught sight of someone reflected in the mirror. Something that was not Eva was there in the glass.

She wasn't scared at first. She didn't know what it could be. Then the shape moved in the glass and turned into
someone
. There was a girl reflected in her bedroom mirror, but even though Eva saw her through a kind of thin mist, she knew it was her sister. Her hair was red, like Eva's, and she was wearing her dark brown hat and coat which Eva recognized. She trembled. She had no need of those details like clothes or hair to tell her it was Angelika in her mirror. She knew her sister in her flesh and her bones.

She whirled round towards the door to see whether by some magic her sister
was
truly present, but no one else was in the room. Eva searched the glass. That's where Angelika was and she would never leave. She put her hand on the mirror and stroked the cool surface and found nothing. She was still awake and trying to make sense of what she'd seen when Agnes looked in on her as she always did, to check that all was well before she went to bed herself. Eva pretended to be asleep. After Agnes had gone, Eva got out of bed and found her school summer dress on the chair. She hung it over the mirror so that none of the glass was showing.

That was more than seventy years ago, Eva thought, and I'm still unwilling to take the risk of facing my mirror directly.

The window was closed, she was sure of that. It had been a frosty day and the night was chilly but Salix House was always warm. She got out of bed and went to take her dressing gown from the en-suite. As she was crossing the carpet she saw the curtains move a little: a small pushing forward of the fabric as though someone were hiding behind them. Eva stood very still. No one. No one was there, or could be there. That would be impossible. The girls had gone to bed hours ago. Still, Eva thought, I should make sure, or I won't sleep. She took a deep breath and parted the pale green silk curtains and all she saw was her own reflection. Me, Eva thought. No one else. So why,
how
had the movement happened? There wasn't the least breath of a draught in the room. Quickly, she thought, and she felt her own heart beating too loudly in her chest. She pulled the curtains closed again at once. It had to be done immediately, as swiftly as possible, in case something else were to appear suddenly, gathering in the darkness to imprint itself on the black glass.
Not something
, Eva thought, shivering.
Someone
.