by Emily Barr
‘Not at all,’ I tell her quickly. ‘It’s so interesting to talk to you about this, and I appreciate your being so open with me.’
‘We’re open about everything. For your friend, I would suggest beginning the process as early as she can. Is she planning to adopt here or in Britain?’
‘In Britain, I think. But she hasn’t even got that far yet. She’s still determined to carry on having fertility treatment. She’s feeling very bleak at the moment. Her husband is interested in adoption, but Kate doesn’t feel ready for it yet. Ian was talking about the feeling that they have to grieve for the natural child they’ll never have before they start the adoption process.’ I am babbling, relieved to talk about something objective for a few seconds.
‘Never say never! Look at Ellie. But seriously, I agree with him. It’s important to accept that your role is to give a home to someone else’s child, and it’s impossible not to wonder about their genetic heritage, whether they look like their mother or father, and so on. Frank had to prod me to make that decision too. If your friends are ever coming to Vermont, or if they’d like to come with you if you come back next week to go to Darcey’s school, we would love to invite all of you to dinner here and talk to them about it.’
‘That’s so kind of you. Thank you.’
‘Not at all. You seem like an old friend already.’
The phone rings. Carla excuses herself and picks it up. It sounds as though she is talking to Frank. I put my head in my hands and force myself to take deep, calming breaths. I have to leave, right now, or I will give it all away.
The next day, Saturday, I spend alone. I haven’t done this for a long time, and from the moment I wake up, in my insanely comfortable double bed with its patchwork quilt, I am surprised by the feeling of calm that has descended on me. I expected to be a wreck today. Perhaps I could stay in Stowe for ever. That would solve everything. The phantom letter-writer might track me down eventually, but it would take him a while. I would be far away from Ron and Anneka and Guy and Louise. Kate would know where to find me if she needed me. Above all, I would be near my daughter. I should start thinking of her as Darcey. I am glad, however, that Carla remembers she was originally Elizabeth. I hope she has told Darcey. Although I wouldn’t have chosen it, Darcey is her name and it could be an awful lot worse. I wish they had called her Ellie, though. Ellie could be short for Elizabeth. That would have been perfect.
I feel as if I’m skipping school, though what I have actually done is far worse. I have skipped the Letterman show, and tonight I will skip my rendezvous with Dan. I eat breakfast on my own, with a book propped against my coffee cup. The waitress is friendly, and tells me to find her if I need anything at all, and apart from that I speak to no one all morning. I don’t want to speak. I want to think. I spend the morning walking along a trail that takes me beside a river and across fields. I’d like to come here in winter, when the snow is on the ground and the town is full of skiers. Perhaps I will. I try to remember every word Darcey said, every expression that crossed her face, every move she made.
By mid afternoon, the work-related guilt is beginning to catch up with me, and I find a payphone and buy a phonecard. I postpone calling Alexis, and talk to Howard instead. He wants to know all about Darcey, and I describe our encounter in the smallest detail. It feels good to talk about it, and I know Howard is one of the few people who would not be bored by a loving description of a teenager taking lemonade out of the fridge.
‘Be careful,’ he reminds me. ‘She’ll find out you’re her mother one day. Everything you say now, she’ll be looking back on. Don’t you think you should stay away, now that you know she’s all right?’
‘I know I should. I know exactly what you’re saying. But I don’t know if I can. I am actually here, now, in baby Elizabeth’s home town. It’s going to be hard to tear myself away from that. Nothing I’ve said to them has been a lie, or hardly anything. I suppose I pretended to be a rabid Sound of Music fan. But otherwise it’s been omission rather than lying.’
‘You’re being disingenuous, Evie, and you know it. How will Darcey see it when she looks back on it? You’ve walked up to her front door and into her life without telling her who you are. It’s dangerous. Get out now.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
Howard sighs. ‘Something else for you to think about. Alexis is not happy. You know you were supposed to be on Letterman last night. He’s furious. He’s called several times for you. You have a lot of bridges to rebuild there, honey. You didn’t even tell him.’
‘I left a voicemail message on Thursday night.’
‘Yes, at his work. He said he finds that offensive. The least you could have done was told him in person, he says. He feels he’s been made to look stupid - he went to great lengths to get you on to that show and now the producers are going to laugh next time he offers anyone. He takes it as a personal insult from you to him, sweetie. Really, give him a call.’
My happy life in Stowe comes crashing down. ‘Sorry, Howard. I should have called his cellphone.’
‘You should have done the show.’
‘I know. Did you watch it? Did they get someone?’
‘No, didn’t watch it, but I’m sure they got by. They have dealt with worse than an AWOL cellist in their time, no doubt. And I’m sure you won’t be asked back.’
‘Oh well.’
‘He said he’s had lots of letters for you. He’s been shielding you from them, but he was so mad yesterday morning that he told me.’
‘Told you what?’
‘The nasty ones. They are arriving every day, sweetie, more or less. And they’re posted in Manhattan.’
I close my eyes and lean on the side of the phone booth. ‘Wonderful.’
My correspondent is really not going to disappear from my orbit. He is after me and he has taken a huge step closer. Either the police must get him, or he will get me.
Despite my father’s advice and my own better judgement, I go to school with Darcey on Monday. I haven’t called Alexis, haven’t called Kate or Ron, and haven’t summoned the mental energy to do anything more than read, sleep and walk. The countryside here is beautiful: open and dramatic. Before my date with Darcey’s teacher, I drive to the Trapp Family Lodge, which is now a hotel and timeshare apartment complex, and buy music, mugs and blueberry pancake mix. They seem like good, random gifts. It must swiftly become hellish for the women who work in the shop to have to listen to the music from the film, on a loop, every day.
‘So this is where they came when they escaped from the Nazis?’ I ask, mainly because I want to check that my voice still works.
‘That’s right!’ says the woman. ‘Although real life was different from the film. Very different. But this is where they ended up. Maria loved it here.’
‘Maria von Trapp!’ I am impressed, despite myself. ‘Is she still around?’
‘No, she died a few years back. It’s her son who’s in charge now, Johannes. He’s the only child she and Captain von Trapp had together.’
It’s sunny, and I have attempted, using the few clothes I have brought with me, to make myself look sober yet glamorous. Darcey will have told everyone that I’m ‘from TV’, and I need to look the part. I am wearing Armani jeans, a tight red T-shirt and red strappy sandals. My hair is loose, and it’s held back from my face by sunglasses on my head. I’m wearing enough make-up to make me look good, but, I hope, not so much that I look ridiculous. Normally I only make these calculations when I’m making a public appearance. This is more frightening than Lincoln Center ever was. It is my most important public engagement ever.
It is lunchtime. I park opposite the school and walk purposefully through the yard, ignoring the few kids who notice me. I have never been anywhere near an American school before, and even though I am nearly thirty-one, I am intimidated. I have watched too many films and TV series to be able to take this venue at face value. I know that you need a hall pass to be out of a classroom during lessons, that you nee
d a date for the prom, that the children form cliques of popular blonde girls with shiny hair, and that everyone who’s not popular is a geek. I would have been a geek. Now, on the surface, I am a popular blonde girl with shiny hair. My inner geek quails as I walk through an open metal door and into a wide hallway which is lined, as I knew it would be, with lockers.
Darcey meets me in the hall as we arranged.
‘Hey!’ she says, with a smile. She looks lovely in a short blue skirt and white top. Younger, and more innocent. She reminds me, on the surface, of myself at her age, and I ache for my lost innocence. To see Darcey, just a little older than she is now, sporting a huge pregnant belly would be heartbreaking. I know that, when I tell her the truth one day, she will ask about her father. I will gloss over the unpleasant banality of her conception. For her sake, I will try to make it sound like love, or, at least, friendship.
‘Hello, Darcey,’ I say, and I lean forward to kiss her cheek. I hope I will get away with this by being European. She smells of perfume and moisturiser and deodorant. She is clearly extremely clean, and she doesn’t appear to mind being kissed. I have kissed my daughter.
‘Cool. Mrs Mosse is waiting for us. She thinks it’s a great idea for you to come in. So does, like, everyone else.’
‘Great!’
We walk side by side. The hall is bustling with children, many of whom stop and stare as I pass. Word has clearly spread. Darcey swings her hips as she walks. She is, I realise, proud of me. She is proud to be in the company of someone who is recognisable from TV. I wonder whether she would be proud if she knew I was her ‘birth mom’. I don’t think she would be distraught. I could tell her. I could tell her right now.
Mrs Mosse, who is fat, blonde and friendly, is delighted to meet me, and Darcey looks from me to her, and back again, and beams. We arrange that I will come in, with my cello, next week. When I get back to New York, I tell her, I will check my schedule with Alexis, and liaise with Mrs Mosse over a day to return to Stowe. I omit the fact that Alexis is no longer speaking to me, that he has the power to end my career in the States.
‘Evie’s going to stay with us when she comes back,’ Darcey says. ‘Aren’t you?’
‘Am I?’ I ask her, surprised. Alarm bells ring. Bad idea, says my inner Howard.
‘Yeah, Mom said. If you want.’
‘Thank you very much.’
‘I have to give you our number so you can call to fix it.’
‘OK.’
I already have their number, and I know it by heart.
‘Wonderful, Evie,’ says Mrs Mosse, with a wide smile. ‘We look forward to seeing you next week. With your cello. We have a few very talented musicians in the school who will be delighted to meet you.’
‘I look forward to it.’ I turn to Darcey. ‘Am I allowed to take you out for some lunch, Darcey, or do you have to stay in school?’
My daughter looks at Mrs Mosse hopefully.
‘I’m sorry,’ Mrs Mosse says firmly. ‘Darcey has to stay here. Perhaps you two can get together next week.’
I smile at both of them. ‘Of course we can,’ I say, as calmly as I can.
chapter twenty-three
Tuesday
As I let myself into my apartment, I wonder whether I used to feel like this when I’d been away from London. I don’t think I did. I used to like returning to the chaotic grey streets, because they signified home. London itself did not excite me. Manhattan is exciting me. I tell myself sternly that if I lived here it would soon become mundane, but I don’t really believe it. It has taken me five and a half hours to get here from my daughter’s town. That is manageable. If I lived here, I could see her regularly. She could come to stay with me. Every teenage girl would love to visit Manhattan. Every teenage girl except the one I used to be. My daughter, I am sure, will not make the same mistakes I made. Yet I cannot think of her existence as a mistake: my mistake is all in the way I have handled myself since she was born. I did not need to keep her secret. I am proud. I want to talk about Darcey, and nothing else. I love her.
I love everything, at this moment, even though a part of my brain is aware of the fact that my life is falling apart around me. I loved the cab ride from the airport. I loved emerging from the tunnel a few blocks from my home. I love the way the sun makes all of Manhattan look like a film set. I love the fact that, for now, I have a home here. I can stay here on my own for a while. I know I can.
It won’t be for long, anyway. The flat is messy and comfortable, and full of my things, and the answerphone is flashing ominously. I put my bags down, say hello to my cello, which is standing, forlorn and neglected, in a corner, and press the play button.
‘Evie. Alexis. Call me.’ There are several more in this vein. He will make me move out of here now and go home, and I don’t blame him.
‘Hi, Evie, it’s Megan. Just wanted to let you know that Mummy and I are staying with your mum and Phil for a while. You might know that already. Give us a call.’
‘Hello, Evie, are you there? It’s me.’ It’s Kate. ‘Pick up if you’re there . . . OK, you’re not there. You said something about Vermont but I didn’t know if you meant it. We’re giving up for a while and going home. Flying on Thursday. Hope you get this before then. I’ll try Howard and Sonia’s.’
‘Evie? Ron. I’m home. I know where you are, young lady. I’d like to speak to you when you’re back. Tell me you haven’t had me struck off?’
‘Darling, it’s me. We’re all missing you. Please call us. We’re taking in Megan and Josie for a while. Love to speak to you. Bye.’
Finally, honeyed tones which I immediately recognise leave a message. ‘Hello, Evie. This is Louise Parker. Alexis gave me your number. He said if I tracked you down please could I get you to ring him. I wondered if you’d got my note? It would be good to see you. I feel I have a lot to say. Please call me. Thank you.’
He gave my number to Louise! The bastard. He must be furious with me. I pick up the receiver, stretch the cord as far as it will go, and lie on the sofa to start returning calls. I know which one has to come first.
I’m hoping for voicemail, but I get the real thing.
‘Alexis?’ I say nervously. ‘It’s me. Evie.’
I apologise profusely, without telling Alexis why I had to go to Vermont. He is not interested in me any more, and tells me to move out of the flat by the end of the week. He is cold and offhand, and is obviously in the process of dropping me as quickly as he took me on.
‘I thought I could rely on you,’ he says, several times. ‘And I was wrong. That’s OK. Now we know where we stand. I’m afraid we have no future together, Evie. We will honour your contract but all promotional work is off, as far as I’m concerned.’ Somehow, I don’t care enough. This should be devastating, but it’s not. I suspect this fact means my solo career is as good as over. ‘And Dan Donovan has been out and about with a very young girlfriend,’ he adds, ‘so I think you’ve missed the boat there also.’ This, at least, is a relief.
I return everyone else’s call except Louise’s. If she’s waiting for me to forgive her, she will be waiting for ever. Talking to my friends restores me somewhat. When Mum asks me when I’m coming home, I find myself saying, ‘Very soon.’ Of course I’m going home soon. The dream of living here for ever was just that: a dream. It will never happen.
I don’t tell Mum about Darcey. I’ll save it for when I see her.
I arrange to meet Ron for dinner, to update him and to let him update me. After I hang up, I go outside and empty the mailbox. There is a large brown envelope for me, from Alexis. I know what it will contain.
I don’t even open them. I throw six white envelopes under the bed and try not to imagine what is in them. I don’t want to know what he has planned for me. I don’t want to know what names he is calling me this week. He knows so much about me, and I know nothing about him.
Then I get my cello out, and spend the rest of the afternoon playing. Even this lacks some lustre today. I can’t use music
to switch my mind off. I think about the almighty cock-up I have made with my career, and wonder whether it has been worth it. Of course it has. Now that I have Darcey, my career is secondary. It no longer validates me. I run through my repertoire without any joy or soul. It is mechanical, but at least I’m playing. I am keeping my options ajar.
At seven, I dress in a short skirt and a sparkly top, with a pair of shoes in which I can barely walk, and tidy the flat just in case I end up bringing Ron back. He might be persuadable. On the other hand, he is probably waiting for Anneka to come back. I hope I can overcome his scruples. It would be better to bring him to my grotty little apartment than to go back to his, because if we were here, neither of us would worry about Anneka reappearing and catching us. I fully intend to do my best to seduce him tonight. I need to get drunk, and I need to have sex. It is a liberating thought. Ron is not my soulmate, and will never be my ‘boyfriend’, but he is a very unlikely good friend. I can allow myself some fun, if he can.
As I leave the building, the early evening sun is making everything golden. The steps of the building opposite are honey-coloured. The sky is deep blue. There is still a chill in the air, but summer is nearly here. This spring has been perfect.
I’m not sure whether I have come a long way, or no distance at all, since the summer when I stayed here, gave birth to my daughter and bade her farewell all in one traumatic episode. I am beginning to think that I am, finally, getting somewhere. I might be able to sort my life out now, to look out for a new partner, to have no secrets, and to downgrade the career that was all about my looks when it should have been about talent. I am finally nearly ready to fit into my rightful place in the world.
I am smiling in anticipation of my first vodka-based cocktail when someone walks purposefully towards me. I don’t look at them, because my mind is elsewhere.
‘Evie,’ she says firmly. She grabs my forearm. I don’t need to look at her to see who it is.
