Текст книги "The House on Fever Street"

Автор книги: Celina Grace

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

She was waiting for a reply. What else could I say?

"Of course, Auntie."

I looked up and caught Matt's eye as he made his way to the kitchen with an empty wine bottle. He gave me a ghost of a wink, just a bare flutter of an eyelid behind his specs. Despite the awfulness of the day, I felt my heart lift, just a little.

I watched him move about the room, his face serious. He stood for a while talking to the Dean of Katherine and I tried to catch his eye, but the light slanted across his glasses in a way that made them opaque; I couldn’t tell which way he was looking.

After I’d finished my drink, I roused myself. I made myself do the rounds of the rooms, thanking people for coming and receiving their condolences in turn. The same phrases kept coming up: always seemed so strong, such a shock, painless, sudden, no-one quite like him. The afternoon seemed to stretch on forever; I felt as if I’d lived my whole life talking to black-clad mourners with their careful words, and their pats on the hand, and the tremulous, strained smiles that were turned my way. Eventually, I reached the hallway, thick with more people. I could see Matt’s dark head over by the foot of the stairs, talking to Mr Fenwick and another younger man. For a moment, I stood still. In the dark hallway, everyone’s funereal attire blended into one shadowy mass. Then I noticed, right over in the far corner, a flash of blonde hair. I looked again. The woman had her back to me; she was tall and very thin, wearing a white shirt that glimmered dully in the little light that penetrated the hallway. Her hair was a bright, true blonde, hanging to her shoulder blades, which I could see clearly through the thin material of her shirt. Who was she? I hadn’t noticed her before. I moved forward and my eyes dropped away for a second. When I’d managed to get closer to her, she’d gone. I stood for a second, blinking.

“Maudie?”

Matt was calling me. I shook my head and made my way over to his little group by the stairs.

“Are you okay?” he said.

“Fine, I’m fine,” I said. It was the mantra of the day. I held up the bottle of wine. “Just doing the rounds. Anyone want a refill?”

Mr Fenwick held his glass out and I dribbled the last of the wine into it.

“Who’s the blonde girl?” I said.

“Which blonde girl would that be, my dear?” said Mr Fenwick. He had a bone-dry sense of humour and a way of talking which made him sound perpetually faintly amused. I once thought he’d cultivated the tone deliberately, judging it to be exactly that of an old-fashioned, family solicitor. I liked him though. I’d known him since I was five; he had a blunt kindness that shone through his professional manner.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” I said. “I just saw this blonde girl over in the corner and didn’t recognise her. I just wondered who she was. She was quite thin. I couldn’t see her face.”

“I didn’t notice her,” said Matt. “But we were busy talking. Mr Fenwick – “ he hesitated for a second. “Mr Fenwick will stay behind afterwards to – to read the will.”

The will. It sounds stupid but it hadn’t even crossed my mind.

“Now, my dear,” said Mr Fenwick, who must have noticed my contorted face. “Please don’t distress yourself. It’s a very straightforward will, nothing to be alarmed about. I’ll go through it with you step by step later but you really mustn’t worry, it’s all perfectly straightforward. No hidden surprises.”

I wasn’t quite sure what he meant.

“Thank you but it wasn’t – I mean, I hadn’t thought about the will. It was just – “

My voice wobbled despite myself and I clutched at the slippery glass of my empty wine bottle, needing to feel something tangible beneath my fingers. I felt Matt’s arm go around my waist and leaned into him.

I didn’t think about the blonde girl again, until right at the tail end of the wake, when we were once more gathered in the hallway. Matt was helping an elderly guest on with his coat when over his shoulder I caught sight of her again, just her thin back in her shimmering shirt and her fall of bright blonde hair. She was standing in the same place she’d stood before.

The elderly guest tottered off and I nudged Matt in the ribs.

“There’s that blonde girl again,” I said. “Do you know her?”

Matt turned to look. He stared for a moment, turned back to look at me and gave a half-stifled laugh. A few disapproving tuts were heard from the remaining guests, but Matt took no notice.

“You idiot,” he said. “That’s you.”

“What?”

He was still trying not to laugh. “It’s you. It’s you reflected in a mirror. Or two mirrors, actually, a reflection of a reflection. Look, shake your head. There – see? It’s you.”

I began to blush. “Oh yes. What an idiot.”

I looked more closely. I craned my neck and turned my head and in the mirror, the blonde girl did the same. I turned more fully and saw my own scorching face reflected in the mirror, the scar standing out livid against my temple where my hair had fallen back. What a fool. I looked at Matt and he took my hand, pulling me against him.

“You’ve had a day of it,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

Later, I took a good look at my naked self in the bathroom mirror. Seeing my reflection had shocked me, not just in the silly way I’d mistaken myself for someone else. I hadn’t realised I’d got so thin. There was a hollow underneath each side of my ribcage; there was a smudge of shadow beneath my collarbone, where the flesh fell away. I dabbed some more concealer onto my temple and pulled my hair forward. On the bathroom window sill, my mobile phone jittered as an incoming text came through. I picked it up; it was from Becca. Didn’t want to call cos time difference. Wish cld be there, thinking of u, sending love n hugs. Becs xxx. It made me smile and I held the phone against my cheek briefly, as if those kisses on the end of the message could be transferred to my face.

There was a knock on the door and Matt’s voice outside.

“I’m okay,” I called back. “I won’t be long.”

I turned the hot tap on again and, under cover of its gushing water, upended the brandy bottle into my mouth. I’d managed to sneak the bottle upstairs after Mrs Green had left. I drank down six gulps, screwed on the cap and hid the bottle in the toilet cistern. Head swimming, I climbed into the hot bath that I’d run and settled myself against the curved porcelain. The water folded itself around me, soothing as a caress. I tried to breathe deeply, tried to empty my mind of thought and visualise nothing but the white sheets of steam hanging in the air.

Matt was in bed when I came back into the bedroom, not reading, just staring up at the ceiling. He seemed to fill the bed – his hairy-chested bulk looked incongruous against the white frills of the pillowcases. Normally the sight of him lying half-naked against the sheets would have struck a spark of desire in me. Today I felt nothing. I hesitated a moment and then crawled into the bed next to him and reached out a tentative hand. I wondered whether he’d be able to smell the brandy on me. I had a good excuse, if he did.

“Just a moment, darling,” he said. “Are you finished in the bathroom?”

“Yes.”

He pressed a quick kiss on my cheek, then rolled out of bed and left the room.

I curled my legs up beneath me and turned my face into the pillow. It smelt of the particular brand of washing powder that had always been used here – the smell of my childhood, up until the age of ten. After that, it was boarding school sheets that my nose was pressed against, boarding school sheets that, more often than not, were soaked with my tears, a faint silvery crust of salt visible upon them in the morning light.

The bedroom door opened and made me jump. Matt turned the light out as he got into bed and we lay there in darkness and silence.

“Come here, you.”

I was suddenly near tears. His arm reached out to roll me against him and I put my face against his chest, breathing in the smell of him.

“Oh Matt – “

“What, darling?”

I was silent for a moment, struggling not to cry.

“It’s been such a horrible day.”

“Yes. You’re tired now and no wonder.”

“Yes.”

I could feel the thud of his heartbeat in my ear, as it echoed through the bones of his chest. Its quick, steady pounding soothed me. I pressed myself closer to him, feeling – at last, thank God – some measure of peace. My eyes closed and when he spoke again, I had to ask him to repeat himself.

“I said, who did you think you were? I mean – did you really not realise that was you?”

“What?”

“Your reflection. You know – this afternoon – “

“Oh that.” I gave a tired giggle. “I don’t know.”

I was so tired. I could feel unconsciousness gathering itself in a slow crashing surge. My mouth seemed to move independently of my brain.

“Blonde. She was blonde.”

“Who was?”

“Jessica… Jessica was blonde.”

“Oh Maudie, darling. You’re not thinking of that again, are you?”

I wrenched my eyelids open one last time. How could I explain that I thought about her all the time, that she dogged my footsteps, that she hung about me, always that one step out of reach?

“She haunts me,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. Matt may have said something in reply but by then, I was fast asleep.

*

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