The Girl Next Door (41 page)

After she brought Hope in, Marcia left. ‘I’ll be right outside if you need me.’

If Hope was breathing at all, it was shallow and gentle, in sharp contrast to the big jerky movements her chest had made on a ventilator. Here, close to death, she looked more like a real live baby than she ever had before. Like a very small, perfect, healthy baby. Eve caught a sob in her throat. She didn’t want Hope to see her crying, although Hope’s eyes were closed, and they always, always would be.

Beside her, Ed shook a little, and she knew he was crying, but she couldn’t comfort him, not yet. This time was for Hope. On the way, in the cab, Eve hadn’t known what she would say, or if she would say anything. But now, with Hope in her arms, she felt the sudden, urgent urge to talk to her. She told her, in a gentle whisper, all the while stroking her tiny fingers, how much she loved her. How no baby could ever have been more wanted, or more loved, or more beautiful. That for the rest of Eve’s life, she would love her, and remember her, and miss her. She told her that she was sorry she hadn’t been able to do better. Carry her longer, help her more, fix it. She looked at Ed, in case he wanted to say something.

His face was contorted with suppressed sobs. ‘I can’t,’ was all he managed.

Eve kissed Hope once, very gently, on her lips. Hope smelt just like a baby. Of Johnson’s shampoo and baby soap and powder. It was the smell that broke her at last, and she began to cry.

Afterwards, it seemed like the hour, and the day, and life itself, stretched out in front of them, completely empty. They were drained and exhausted, but incapable of sleep. They signed more papers, and they left the NICU for the last time. Eve had been here every day, all day, since Hope was born, and she couldn’t imagine not coming here. This small room had become her entire universe, and she would be lost without it, she knew. Everything else had faded into the background.

At home, the apartment felt alien. Violet had left a card with a short note, and a raspberry pie Eve adored from the coffee shop on Lexington, on the bench outside the door. She didn’t know. Eve didn’t begin to know how to tell her. She thought of Maria, off with Earnest and the kids on their Christmas cruise. Eight islands in eight days. She imagined what Maria would say, how her face would look, when she came home and discovered what had happened.

‘Are you going to call Cath?’

‘I don’t think I can.’

‘I’ll call.’

Cath had left two messages since Tuesday, and Eve hadn’t had the energy to call back. Hadn’t had the words.

As soon as she heard Ed say Cath’s name, though, she reached for the receiver, and he handed it to her.

‘Eve?’ She could hear the fear in Cath’s voice.

‘She’s gone.’

‘Oh, my God.’ Cath burst into tears, and the sound of her sister’s sobs made Eve cry again. For long minutes the two of them cried into the phone without saying much at all. Eve remembered the day Mum had died. They’d been together then, not separated by thousands of miles, but the crying had been the same. She had a clear memory of Cath’s tears and dribble and snot soaking her school shirt as they held each other in the time before Cath remembered that she was the big girl, the one who must do the looking after, and the comforting.

Cath remembered again now. ‘I’ll come.’

‘No.’ Eve shook her head.

‘Why not?’

‘You can’t. Polly still needs you, they all need you. It’s almost Christmas. Flights cost a fortune. Besides, there’s nothing to do here. That’s the stupid thing. It’s all done.’

‘There’s everything. What if I need to see you? What about a funeral?’

‘We don’t want one.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I can’t do it, Cath. I can’t do the church thing – the impossibly tiny white coffin. I just can’t do it.’

Cath’s tone was gentle. ‘Ssh. Ssh. I understand.’ A pause. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘They’ll cremate her. We can have the ashes. I want to bring her home.’

‘Of course. When?’

‘I don’t know. Soon.’

‘Okay. I love you, sis. I’m not going to say it’s all going to be all right, because I know it isn’t. I don’t really know what to say. Except that I love you. Come home. Come home so we can see you and cuddle you and then we’ll figure it all out, okay?’

Eve couldn’t talk any more, through the tears and the exhaustion. She gave the phone to Ed, who held her hand as he and Cath whispered to each other. Eve knew Cath was asking questions. Was she sleeping? Was she eating? Had the doctor given her something? Trying to take care of her.

And she knew it was helpful for Ed to have Cath to talk to, and she was grateful for that at least, because she didn’t know how to help him herself.

It was Ed who called Violet, too. He called her the next day, from the office. He’d wanted to stay at home, but Eve was insistent that he should go in. He’d missed too much time, she said, already. There was, surprisingly, nothing to do today. She had wrapped herself in her dressing gown, and was sitting on the sofa under the window when he left, staring out at the city. She’d switched on the television, not caring what the channel was. She wanted the voices to stop her from thinking. It was QVC. They were selling last‐minute Christmas presents. He’d kissed her proffered cheek, and she’d smiled at him, but there was nothing of her in the smile. She’d barely said three words. Ed ached. He ached to help her, and for her to want to help him. He felt like he was failing, because he couldn’t make it so that the two of them could grieve for Hope together. He was supposed to be able to fix that. And he couldn’t. He couldn’t reach her.

He’d left the front door to the apartment open, and Violet let herself in. Eve barely looked at her. Violet kissed the top of her head, gently. ‘No need to tell me. I called the hospital last night. And I spoke to Ed.’

Eve closed her eyes, and a single tear ran down her cheek.

‘I’m making us some tea.’

In the kitchen, Violet put the kettle on the gas, and tidied what little mess they’d left while she waited for it to boil. The refrigerator was almost completely empty, she noticed, looking for milk. It was like they’d been away on a long holiday. The work surfaces were dusty.

For a while Violet didn’t talk. She just sat. Eve was grateful for that. She couldn’t think of anything that even Violet might say that would help. She was glad she was there, though. For ages, the two of them sat and the city swirled around them – helicopters overhead, cranes on the building site a few blocks over, taxis honking their horns. The thick grey sky was full of snow, although it hadn’t started falling yet. You could smell snow, Eve reflected. This was only her first winter, and already she knew when it would fall. She would never see snow again, she knew, without thinking of Hope.

And then Violet took a deep breath and started to talk to her.

‘Catherine. My little girl was called Catherine.’

Eve was instantly riveted. She turned her head from the window to Violet. She’d never seen so much feeling on the old lady’s face, pain suddenly etched into the deep lines that ran across her forehead and into the corners of her eyes.

‘She died in December, too. Almost this time. More than thirty years ago.’

‘Violet. I didn’t know.’

‘How could you have done, my love? I never talk about her.’

‘She was yours and Steadman’s?’

Violet nodded. ‘She was ours. Our Christmas miracle. I was thirty‐eight when we married. I’d never fallen pregnant with Gus’s child, so I just assumed I couldn’t. We didn’t have this modern sense of entitlement about it, in those days. If you didn’t get pregnant, you lived with it – there was no choice. I thought it must be me, but it must have been Gus who had the problem. How he would have hated not being able to blame that on me. And thirty‐eight used to be old, you know, for having babies. In those days.

‘I’d told Steadman I couldn’t have children. I didn’t want to keep anything from him, like I said. He laughed. I remember that. He said I was more than enough for him. That he’d reached a point where he had given up on ever having what we had, and that it was everything, having it. He said he’d probably be jealous if he had to share me with someone else. But he wasn’t, in the end. I never thought he would be, actually. When I missed a period, then another – I honestly thought it was the change, coming early. I was forty‐one years old. I couldn’t believe it when the doctor told me I was pregnant. I think at that moment I was happier than I had ever been. I’d given up. I don’t think I realized until that second how sad that had made me.

‘Catherine was born at home – in my apartment downstairs – the week before Christmas, in 1971. That was a Christmas. It snowed as if to order. One of those huge dumps that bring the city to a standstill. The kind that doesn’t just go grey and brown in one day – the kind that stays white and powdery and perfect, in the trees, and on the rooftops. Steadman decorated a tree, just a little one, while Catherine and I slept. We’d never had one, when it was just the two of us. It seemed silly. But he said Catherine had to have one. He carried it home from the corner of Park. It was such a pretty tree. It was such a happy Christmas.’

‘I can’t imagine ever having a happy Christmas again.’ Eve’s voice sounded raspy.

‘Of course you can’t. And you won’t. Not a perfectly happy one. This will always be a part of you, now.’

‘Violet?’

It seemed almost as if Violet had forgotten Eve was there. The two women looked at each other.

‘Violet. What happened to Catherine?’

Violet shook her head. ‘The Christmas she was five, Steadman took her out without me. We hardly ever did that. We liked to be together. You hear women talking about “me” time these days – I don’t remember ever wanting that, whatever it is. We went everywhere together. The carousel in Central Park, the Bronx Zoo. She adored the boats, and lunch at the Boathouse, and the Alice in Wonderland sculpture. She loved to go to the Met, and the Museum of Natural History. And the Statue of Liberty. You used to be able to climb up into the crown, you know, before 9/11. Catherine climbed those stairs when she was four years old. All the way up.

‘This particular year – 1976 – the two of them went out to buy my Christmas present. I didn’t need anything. I never knew what it was they’d been planning. They’d been conspiring, the two of them. Catherine had this idea, they said. Steadman had bought tickets to the Radio City Music Hall Christmas show. She’d seen it with me, the year before, when he’d been at the office Christmas party, and she’d been on at him since the September to take her – she wanted him to see it. They were going to make a day of it. I didn’t mind. I had wrapping to do, and a few secrets of my own. And I loved to see them both together. Catherine was all dressed up. She had a beautiful Liberty print corduroy pinafore dress. Steadman had bought it for her. He spoilt her. He’d waited fifty years for her, and he spoilt her rotten… Except she wasn’t spoilt really. She was a lovely, smiley, beautiful little girl.

‘I still remember waiting out in my hallway with them for the elevator. Catherine always pushed the button – woe betide anyone who got there first. They knew her in the building – everyone used to let her push…’

It seemed to Eve that the air in this room, the air between the two women, was thick with misery – old, new – all the same. It frightened her, how vital and fresh and real Violet’s grief was, at that moment. This would never, never go away.

Violet’s voice trailed off, and she looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. When she spoke again, her voice was completely different. She sounded almost rehearsed, like a news announcer. Maybe that was the only way she could say the words.

‘Steadman and Catherine were hit by a car that afternoon. Crossing the street on 6th Avenue.’

‘Oh, my God.’

‘The driver wasn’t drunk, and he wasn’t speeding or driving recklessly. He was an ordinary man on a regular day. I daresay it was the worst day of his life, too, though I never had any sympathy to spare for him, I’m afraid. It was just a stupid, unlucky, awful accident. They were both taken to Lenox Hill by ambulance. That’s where they were when I got the call. They told me to hurry, and so I knew. There was no moment when I thought it might be broken bones, or concussions. I knew from the start, from the voice, that it was very bad.

‘And it was. Steadman died first, at about seven that night. He’d hit his head. On the car, on the street – I never knew, really. I don’t think he ever stood a chance. He’d taken the brunt of the force, you see. I like to think he had a split second, and that he’d put himself in harm’s way, trying to save her. He would have wanted to do that. I hope he never knew he’d failed. Catherine died in surgery, early the next morning. Her organs had been damaged. They couldn’t repair them, and she died on the table. Seven hours. For seven hours, they were both alive, and I was there with them both. Neither of them ever spoke to me or looked at me again. They were both unconscious the whole time. I felt torn in two. I stayed with Catherine. I knew that was what Steadman would have wanted. I wasn’t with him when he died, because I was with her, before they took her up to surgery. But I wasn’t with her, either, in the end. I was sitting outside in the corridor, waiting. It was cold – it was almost Christmas. I couldn’t bear to think of them lying on the cold pavement. Not even for a minute, waiting for the ambulance. You’d think in those seven hours I’d have said goodbye – at least to one of them. But I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready – I didn’t want to believe that I had to.’

Violet stood up, and moved to the sofa where Eve sat. She took her hand, and held it between her own, gently.

‘I’m so sorry, Violet.’

‘And I’m sorry, too. For you, and for Ed, and for Hope.’

Eve squeezed her hand.

‘I haven’t been where you are, Eve. I wouldn’t presume to tell you how you’re feeling. I had my Catherine for five extraordinary years. You didn’t have Hope for five weeks. Even if you had, everyone’s pain is different, and I wouldn’t dream of telling you I know how you feel. But I need you to know that I do understand. I do understand. And if that helps you, even a little, then that’s what I want knowing to do for you.’