Facing the Light (40 page)

‘I'm just browsing, thanks very much,' said Rilla. She peered around at the stock, so closely packed together that if you really did want something specific, you'd have had a hard time finding it. Something caught her eye. Light from the door bounced off a mirror, half-hidden behind a rocking horse with no mane. As she approached it, she noticed that her heart was beating rather too loudly in her chest. Could it be? Was it? The corner of the frame that she could see looked exactly like … she pulled it out and managed to prop it against the edge of the table. It was. It was Hugh's mirror; the one that had hung in the cottage, the one that had belonged to his grandmother. What was it doing here? Why did he not take it with him when he left? Rilla thought she probably knew the answer. The tale of the grandmother was probably another of his lies, but here it was. Surely finding it like this was some kind of omen? She peered into the glass and saw her face younger, happier, reflected more kindly.

‘How much is this mirror?' she said, holding it up with difficulty.

‘A hundred pounds,' said the angular woman.

‘I'll take it,' Rilla said. ‘Only I'll have to collect and pay for it later, if you don't mind. I came out without my cheque book. I live up at Willow Court.'

‘I know,' said the woman. ‘You're Rilla Frederick. I read about your divorce. I
am
so sorry. I loved
Night Creatures
.'

‘How kind of you to say so! Thank you!' Rilla smiled. That was donkey's years ago, she thought. No one remembers me in anything else. She made her way to the antique till, glancing out of the window and saw … no, it couldn't be. Could it? Yes, it was Mrs Pritchard, still
walking around after all this time. The old busybody! She wasn't that much older than Leonora but still, it was a shock to see her. Rilla took a step towards the window and caught her foot in something, some hanging thing, and in a split second that seemed to go on for ever, the mirror slipped out of her hand and fell to the floor. She cried out, ‘Oh, oh my God! Oh, it's cracked. The mirror's cracked. I'm so sorry. Of course, I'll pay for the damage. I don't know what happened.' She burst into tears. ‘What an awful thing to do. I can't imagine how I could be so careless. Do forgive me.'

‘That's quite all right, dear,' said the woman, coming to comfort her. ‘You can have the glass replaced. The frame isn't broken at all. And it's beautiful, isn't it?'

‘Yes, yes of course it is.' Rilla sniffed, and wiped her nose with a tissue. ‘And yes, I
will
replace the glass. It'll be almost as good as new, won't it?'

‘It will,' said the woman. Rilla didn't even look at the gilt cherubs and garlands on the frame. Her gaze was drawn to the broken glass, and she was filled with foreboding.
Bad luck. Bad luck for ever
. The mirror had shattered into an almost perfect spiderweb pattern. She looked into it and saw her own face broken into splinters edged with silver; her skin was almost green in the dim light, the dark reddish mass of her hair fractured into a thousand separate pieces.

*

Rilla, walking up the avenue of scarlet oaks towards the house, saw three things almost simultaneously and knew, knew at once, that something unspeakably dreadful was about to engulf her. She felt it, she could almost see it: a black wave bearing down on her. Three things. Beth, running full tilt down the avenue towards her and screaming and screaming. Leonora kneeling down, clutching someone to her breast. Who was it? Rilla couldn't quite see and in any case she was hearing the
screams, Beth's screams. Someone was hurt. Beth was hurt. Who had hurt her? Where? The third thing she saw was two cars, one of them a police car and the other Dr Benyon's black Daimler. The doctor often came to play bridge at Willow Court but you don't play bridge on Saturday at lunchtime.

‘Rilla! Oh, Rilla, please, please … I can't … I can't …'

‘What's wrong, chicken?' Rilla's voice came out a squeak, her words slurring into one another, tumbling into nonsense as Beth threw both arms around her waist and went on and on, howling like a wounded animal. ‘Are you hurt, Beth? Has someone hurt you? Tell me. Tell me what's wrong!'

‘Markie,' Beth cried. ‘It's Markie.'

Rilla heard the name and it was all she needed to hear. She knew. She said not one word to Beth, but began to run towards the house, stumbling in her haste. As she came closer, she saw everyone, outlined in a shimmer of black, standing on the front steps of Willow Court. Her mother … why did she look like that? When had she ever looked like that, with a mouth twisted out of shape from pain? Gwen was cuddling Alex, hiding his head in her skirt and James was carrying little Chloë.

‘Oh, my darling, my darling child, oh, Rilla,' Leonora said, and came to hold her daughter. ‘There's been an accident. A terrible, terrible accident. Markie …'

‘He's dead, isn't he?' Rilla said. Her voice became something separate from herself. She heard herself shrieking. ‘Markie, Markie, oh my God, my baby. I can't … Markie, oh God …' over and over again. Making no sense. Keening. Howoling. She fell to the ground and tore at the crumbling stone of the steps with her bare nails. Shrieking. ‘No, oh, God no. Not this. Please no. Please. Oh, Mummy, Mummy, I can't bear it.'

All she heard was her own pain. Somehow, in the
darkness that fell over her vision, she sensed someone lifting her to her feet, helping her, taking her into the house. She struggled away from the hands, the loving hands that burned on her flesh.

‘Where is he? Where's Mark? I want to see him, Mummy. Mummy, take me to see my baby. I want to. Please. Take me now. Please. Please let's hurry.'

‘Yes, my darling,' said Leonora, and every word was thickened with tears. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She'd been crying for a long time.

A voice somewhere in Rilla's head said
If I get there quickly, maybe it won't be too late. Maybe I can save him. Breathe life into him. Maybe they're wrong, and he's only fainted and I'll hold him and he'll come back to me, open his eyes, smile …

She started to run upstairs, Gwen and Leonora behind her.
Where is he?
she wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come.
Where have you put him?
She leaned on the doorframe of the nursery and hands took hold of her and led her to one of the spare rooms.

Mark was laid out on the bed. He was pale. His hair was wet. Someone had undressed him and his body was covered with a sheet. He looked the same as he always did when he slept. Rilla thought that the pain she felt must break her, split her in two. Almost, she expected to see it, to see something like a lightning flash cutting through her, but of course that was nonsense. She bent down to kiss her boy, her baby, and his skin was cold. She put her mouth near his ear and whispered sounds, moans, cries into his neck. She kissed him. Real kisses, and the fluttie kisses that used to make him laugh with pleasure.

‘Come away now, Rilla,' said Gwen, who was weeping as she held her sister up, carrying almost all her weight. ‘Come and lie down now. Come.'

‘What happened, Gwen? Tell me what happened.'

‘An accident. Mark wandered away and fell into the lake. He drowned. Oh, Rilla darling, Rilla …' Gwen was weeping as though she would never stop. Rilla, frozen into silence, walked slowly along the corridor to her own room, leaning on her sister. It was too late and she couldn't bring him back and he was dead and it was her fault.
I wasn't here. When my baby died I was somewhere else, far away. I wasn't here
.

She lay down on her bed and there was Dr Benyon suddenly, leaning over her.

‘Take this pill, my dear. Just to calm you a little. To ease the pain.'

Rilla swallowed the pill and thought what a fool Dr Benyon was. Nothing could ease the pain. Nothing. Not ever. Never never ever. There would just be more and more of it, heaped up on her head until she was very old.

‘Thank you,' she said, acting calm because that was what they all wanted and she was such a good actress surely she could act calm? She sounded almost normal to herself. There was a bitter taste in her mouth and a rage that frightened her somewhere far away, under the pain. Where were her mother and her sister when her son went into the water? What were they doing? How could they take their eyes away from such a small child? How could they? As soon as this thought came into her mind, her agony hissed back.
But where were you? You were the mother. You left him. You didn't think. You didn't look back. You should have been there. Not Gwen. Not Leonora. You, his mother
. Rilla closed her eyes. If only she could find a way to stop trembling, to stop everything looking blurred and shapeless, she'd be fine.

*

Rilla woke up in the middle of the night. Someone had given her a strong sedative on top of Dr Benyon's pill and perhaps she had slept a little. Moonlight was coming in through the curtains and a blueish light filled her
bedroom. She suddenly became aware of someone there, at the foot of her bed. She sat up and saw Efe staring at her.

‘Efe? Is that you? Is anything the matter?'

‘Rilla?' It
was
Efe. Why wasn't he asleep? He ran to her side, flung himself on her, clutching her round the neck, crying into her ear. ‘Oh, Rilla, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Rilla. I am. I should've believed him. I should've tried harder, before it was too late. I'm sorry for everything.'

‘Yes, Efe, I know. I know. Don't cry, darling.' She could feel his tears on her face. He let go of her then, and ran out of the room and Rilla sank back into darkness and anguish.

In the morning, she was in too much agony to know whether the events of the night were real or something she'd dreamed.

———

Rilla sat at the dressing-table wondering where to begin. It was practically lunchtime and if she didn't get a move on, Leonora would be knocking at her door demanding to know what had happened to her. She disapproved strongly of Rilla's habit of turning up late at meals, regarding it as not only rude but a sort of indication of moral decline. Gwen had never been late for a meal in her life and what's more, when she did sit down at the table, she ate a moderate amount at all times. Rilla smiled. Moderation was not something she knew much about.

She felt, unexpectedly, a little better now, and thought that perhaps Gwen and all her friends had been right when they'd begged her to go and speak to someone after Mark's death. I wouldn't hear of it then, she thought, smoothing moisturizer over her neck. All I wanted to do was work and eat and try to forget about it and it was buried deeper and deeper and that made it hurt more and
more. She peered at herself in the glass and wondered whether the fact that she'd been crying was obvious.

‘Not too bad, old thing,' she said aloud to her reflection, which, she noticed somewhat to her surprise, was actually smiling a rather smug smile.

‘What have you got to be so smug about?' she asked her mirror-image. ‘As if I didn't know.'

This was getting silly. Grow up, woman, she told herself sternly. You're middle-aged. You need to lose weight. Your hair would be grey if left to its own devices. There's absolutely nothing for you to feel so happy about.
Oh yes there is
said another voice in her head, a sing-song pantomine voice.
There certainly is
.

She hurried to get dressed. Quite apart from Leonora demanding to know why she was so late, suddenly Rilla felt ravenously hungry. She picked up the trousers she'd worn yesterday and went to hang them up in the cupboard. Her hand felt something through the thin cloth – had she left something in her pocket? She felt for whatever it was and brought out the rolled-up strip of wallpaper. I must be losing my mind. How could I possibly have forgotten that? she wondered and sat down quickly on the bed. The dolls' house. The roof, stripped of some of its paper. Douggie. Oh, my God, what is Leonora going to say? Should I tell her at once, or wait till after lunch?

Rilla knew suddenly exactly what had to be done. I must dress quickly, she thought, and go and find Gwen. She'll know what we should tell Mother. Oh, please, please don't let anyone go into the nursery till I've told Gwen. She took a pair of black trousers from the nearest hanger, pulled them on, and thrust the roll of wallpaper into one of the pockets. Then she pushed her arms into a loose silky T-shirt and went to find her sister.

*

Gwen looked down at her watch and was amazed to find
that it was only a quarter to twelve. She'd done enough this morning to fill two whole days. That was how it felt, anyway. The inside of her head was like the drum of a washing machine lately, with all sorts of things whirling around inside it in no particular order. Every so often someone would fling another item into the mix. For instance, she still hadn't worked out the origin or meaning of three enormous circles of shortbread which had materialized in the larder overnight. Could someone really have been baking while the rest of the household was asleep? Who would want to and why?

Gwen pushed these questions to the back of her mind. She'd already added them to the mental list she kept in her head at all times, which was a version of the written list she kept in her notebook, but with added worry. Bridget, whose small firm was catering for the party, wouldn't be best pleased to have rogue shortbreads appearing out of nowhere and spoiling her plans. The menu for the three-course birthday lunch had been carefully planned, and she knew it by heart:
Mozzarella and basil fritters served with a tomato and roasted garlic sauce; Crêpes filled with smoked salmon, cucumber, crème fraîche and chives; Persian omelette (for non-fish-eating vegetarians) made with leeks, walnuts, raisins, watercress and fresh herbs; dark chocolate mousse cake and raspberries and strawberries marinated in elder-flower cordial, served with whipped cream; coffee and birthday cake
. Just thinking about it made her feel hungry. The dessert in particular would be spectacular. Bridget was famous for this cake, and Leonora had always loved chocolate.