The Woman Who Went to Bed for a Year (45 page)

He was using oil paints now, and was trying to
convey the importance of every blade of barley, the feeling that without one
there would not be a hundred or a thousand or however many millions of barley
stalks there are in a seven-acre field.

He felt his phone vibrate against his heart. He
answered it reluctantly. He had just reached a place where his brush had become
an extension of his body. He didn’t recognise the number but answered anyway.

‘Hello.’

‘Is that Alexander Tate?’

‘It is, and you are?’

‘It’s Ruby! Eva’s mother.’

‘How is she?’

‘That’s why I’m ringing. She’s gone downhill, Alex.
They’re sending a —’ Ruby glanced down at a scrap of paper and read ‘— a “mental
health professional” with a “Section Four”. He’s bringing the police with a
battering ram.

Alexander quickly packed his painting equipment and
ran with it to where his van was parked on a grass verge. He drove along the
country roads at speed, recklessly cutting corners and impatiently overtaking
slow-moving vehicles. He used the horn so many times that he reminded himself
of Mr Toad.

Parp! Parp! Parp!

He pulled up outside Eva’s house and was dismayed to
see that the tree she was so fond of had gone. He ran to the front door, and
realised that the crowd had gone, leaving nothing but a few stains on the
pavement.

Stanley and Ruby came to the front door together.
Alexander could tell from Ruby’s face that there was something very wrong. The
three of them went into the kitchen and Ruby recounted what had happened since
Alexander had last seen Eva.

‘That tree coming down was the last straw,’ she
said.

Alexander looked around the kitchen. There was a
patina of grease and dust on the surfaces, upturned cups were stuck to the
draining board. He declined Ruby’s offer of tea, and ran upstairs.

He saw Eva’s door and, through the slot, the
darkness within. He called to her. ‘Eva! Listen, my love, I’m going to my van.
I’ll be less than two minutes.’

Inside her room, Eva nodded.

Life was too difficult to travel alone.

He returned with his toolbox. He said, through the
slot, ‘Don’t be scared, I’m here.’

He began to kick at the door to the sound of
splintering wood. He used a crowbar to remove the remaining nailed-in pieces.
When the door was fully open, he saw her on the bed hunched against the
boarded-up window.

She had set herself the task of facing up to all the
unhappiness and disappointments in her life.

Ruby and Stanley hovered behind him.

He asked Ruby to run a bath for Eva and find her a
fresh nightgown. To Stanley he said, ‘Turn all the lights off, will you, Stan?
I don’t want her to be dazzled.’

He stepped over the decaying food and splintered
wood and went to Eva. He took her hand and held it tight.

Neither of them spoke.

At first Eva allowed herself a few polite tears, but
within seconds she was crying open-mouthed and without restraint for all three
of her children and her seventeen-year-old self.

When Ruby shouted, ‘Bath’s ready!’ Alexander scooped
Eva up, carried her into the bathroom and lowered her into the warm water.

Her nightgown floated to the top.

Ruby said, ‘Let’s take it off. Put your arms up,
there’s a good girl.’

Alexander said, ‘I can take over now, Ruby.’

Eva said, ‘No, let Mum.’

Eva slid down and allowed herself to dip her head
under the water.

Downstairs,
in the sitting room, Stanley was building a log fire.

It wasn’t a cold day, but he thought Eva would like
it after being shut in for so long.

He was right.

When Alexander carried her in and put her on the
sofa in front of the fire, she said, ‘It’s kindness, isn’t it? Simple kindness.’

Acknowledgements

I
send my thanks to Sean, Colin, Bailey, Louise and everyone at Michael Joseph
who helped me with this book.