The Immolation of Eve

by Helen Fields

  Four

  As I walked through the door of our flat I could hear Naomi clattering pans in the kitchen. The aroma of curry reached me before I’d put down my umbrella.

  ‘Wine’s on the table. You’ve got fifteen minutes if you want a shower before dinner. God, I sound like your wife!’ I laughed and walked through to greet her.

  ‘I should be so lucky. Thanks for cooking.’ I showed my appreciation with a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘You know I love it. You get to wash up afterwards so it’s perfectly fair. How did the conference go?’

  I gave her a potted version of my afternoon and headed for the shower. As I reached for the shampoo my back brushed the metal door handle leaving a stinging graze. It triggered a nagging feeling as if I’d missed something important but by then Naomi was calling me to eat and I was too hungry to care about anything else.

  It wasn’t just a curry. Naomi had made chicken jalfrezi, pilau rice, naan bread and my favourite, aloo gobi. There was a glass of wine already poured and candles lit, a sure sign that Naomi was in a particularly good mood.

  ‘Out with it,’ I said. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Eat. It’s getting cold. I’ll tell you when I’m full.’ She started cramming herself full of naan dipped in jalfrezi sauce and I knew when to give in. She was smiling like the cat that got the cream and I thought again how lucky I was to have her as a flatmate. When we were both so full we couldn’t eat another mouthful, I leaned towards her.

  ‘Oh come on, tell me,’ I said. ‘I’ve waited fifteen minutes and eaten a week’s allowance of calories. What’s happened?’

  ‘Well, you know that Tim and I went for a hiking weekend in Dorset whilst you were in Krakow? We were tucking into fish and chips, watching the fishermen in Bridport harbour, when he proposed. Said he hadn’t planned it, just looked at me and knew it was the right time and here we are.’ She raised her left hand, opened her palm and in it was the most beautiful sapphire ring I have ever seen. I threw myself into her arms, not a bit embarrassed by the fact that I was already crying.

  ‘I can’t believe you waited this long to tell me. How could you! Oh congratulations, I think that a proposal over fish and chips is the loveliest thing I ever heard. Put the ring on, I have to see.’

  ‘It’s too big at the moment. I’m going to get it properly sized tomorrow. He chose it all by himself. Isn’t he a clever boy?’

  ‘He’s a very lucky boy, landing you. You guys were made for each other.’

  ‘Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, we’ve been doing the rounds announcing it to family before telling anyone else. I’ve had to avoid you for days so that I didn’t blurt it out.’

  ‘So…go on. Tell me about dates and venues and dresses and honeymoons.’ I was ready to go out that minute and start buying mountains of those ridiculous bridal magazines that tell you what sort of lingerie you should wear on your wedding night. As ever, Naomi was much more practical.

  ‘Oh, I haven’t even thought about the details yet. Christmas, we think, or maybe just after New Year. You know you have to be my bridesmaid, don’t you? No question about it. I promise not to make you wear pink. Please say yes?’

  ‘As if I’d miss it. And I don’t care if you do make me wear pink. Okay, that’s not strictly true, but I can compromise on a sort of dusky tea-rose shade.’

  We laughed and ranted about weddings for the next two hours until the bottle of wine was long since finished and the remains of the curry had congealed on our plates. We walked into the kitchen together and I caught sight of the box of my mother’s papers.

  ‘I suppose I’d better get on with that some time.’ I poked at it.

  ‘How about right now? No time like the present. We can go through it together.’

  ‘Oh, Naomi…’

  ‘No more excuses. Neither of us has to get up early tomorrow. You never know, there might be some precious family heirlooms waiting to be discovered.’ She walked over to the box and began pulling papers out, setting them in two piles. ‘There, some for you, some for me. You get started while I make tea.’ I sighed and gave in. Naomi was unstoppable once she decided on something and I preferred the idea of not doing this alone. It was fairly predictable; old photos, the odd postcard from a favourite holiday and a lace christening gown carefully wrapped in brown paper.

  ‘I’ve got all the birth and death certificates. Your parents certainly were organised. They’re even filed in date order.’

  ‘You have no idea. They used to make me do that with my homework.’

  ‘Wow, your house must have been a bundle of joy. Oh sorry, I didn’t mean…’

  ‘Don’t be. It was like growing up in a giant filing cabinet.’

  ‘Who was Emily MacKenzie? You never mentioned her.’

  ‘I have no idea. Long lost cousin? Let’s see.’ I flicked through the papers.

  ‘She was born just a year before you – her birth certificate’s in here. Oh.’ Naomi stopped abruptly and I knew that something was wrong.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Her parents...’ Naomi motioned towards the document in front of her. I peered at the file. The birth certificate was for Emily Joanne MacKenzie, born 4 January 1982, parents Susan and Peter Mackenzie. I had a sister. The world tilted beneath my feet.

  ‘Eve. Are you okay? Sorry, I had no idea what I was looking at.’

  ‘This must be what the solicitor meant. He said there were things in the papers Mum had wanted to talk to me about in person. I had no idea. How can they have had another daughter and never mentioned her?’

  By the time I said it Naomi had turned to the next page.

  ‘This must be why. It’s a death certificate for Emily. June 1982. She was just five months old. Looks like it was pneumonia. Maybe it was just too painful for them to bear talking about.’

  ‘But still, something this important? I never saw them visit a grave, they never spoke her name. It’s so sad. It feels like there was a whole part of them I never knew.’

  ‘Shall we put this away for the night?’ Naomi asked.

  ‘No, let’s keep looking. Perhaps I can find out where she’s buried, lay some flowers or something.’

  We carried on turning pages, doctors’ notes about Emily, letters of condolence from friends. My mother had kept everything. I thought I had found the surprise in the papers but I was wrong. At the very back of the file was a sealed envelope. On it was the single word ‘Confidential’. I recognised the Court seal immediately. Perhaps I should have stopped looking right then, there were enough warning signals going off in my brain. I didn’t, of course. Curiosity wins over common sense every time.

  I opened the envelope and pulled out a sheath of papers, typewritten and formal. My name and date of birth were listed together with my parents’ full names. There were a variety of signatures, I recognised both my parents’, one from a County Court Judge and another in a distinctly feminine hand I didn’t know. The papers were for the adoption of a three month old baby girl. The address of the birth parents was foreign, a place I didn’t know. The address for the adoptive parents, however, was the house I’d grown up in. The meaning of the papers finally sank in. I couldn’t say a word. I turned to look at Naomi who must have seen the blood draining from my face but before she could reach me I fell. By the time I came round she had me propped against the table leg, covered in a blanket with a cushion behind my head. Naomi was holding a cold flannel to my forehead and taking my pulse.

  ‘I’m okay,’ I muttered.

  ‘You’re not okay. I should call a doctor. You’re hands are like ice.’

  ‘There’s nothing medically wrong, Naomi. I just had a shock.’

  ‘What on earth gave you such a shock that you reacted like that?’

  ‘Look at the papers,’ I said.

  ‘Whatever it is can wait, I’m more worried about you.’

  ‘You need to look at the papers.’ Naomi sighed but did as I asked. I could hear her slow intake of breath as she stood at the ta
ble above me. Twice I thought she tried to speak and then stopped. When she crouched back down next to me her face was composed but full of a pity that was hard to look at.

  ‘Oh Eve, I can’t believe they never told you. Come on; let’s get you to the sofa.’

  We sat for a long time saying nothing. I felt like I’d woken up in the middle of the night when the duvet has fallen on the floor: Exposed, cold and vulnerable.

  ‘I think I just want to go to sleep,’ I whispered.

  ‘Of course, let me help you to bed.’ As she walked through to my room with her arms around me, Naomi said, ‘It makes sense, though, doesn’t it? They lost a baby girl and were obviously desperate to fill the void, so they adopted. It’s just sad they didn’t ever tell you.’ The rational part of me understood why they hadn’t. I just wasn’t sure how I’d be able to forgive them for it.

  ‘Will you be okay?’ my friend asked softly as she turned off the lamp.

  ‘I need to find out who I really am,’ I replied. She nodded and silently closed my door.

  Five

  The next morning when I awoke the flat was quiet. Naomi must already have gone to chambers. I showered and made coffee although the thought of breakfast was a step too far so I sat back down at the table where the papers remained in disarray.

  Contained in the adoption documents were the usual statements from my parents, social workers and legal forms. At last I found a single tattered piece of paper entitled ‘Rodny List’. Whilst I was unsure of the language, the information on the paper could only mean one thing: I’d found a birth certificate. In the top box was 21.3.1983, my date of birth. I took a deep breath and read on. In the boxes below it said first ‘Eve’ and then ‘Karas’. My mother and father were named as Adela and Branimir Karas. My place of birth was a town called Brezno. I closed my eyes and imagined I had never opened the file. For me, though, ignorance is torture and Pandora’s Box was well and truly open. When my father, my adoptive father as it turns out, was diagnosed with cancer I made it my mission to arm myself with every bit of information about the disease. It did no good in the end, of course, but the process of learning helped occupy my mind. So I took out my laptop and as the internet got ready to work its magic, the phone rang. It was Naomi.

  ‘How you doing? I’ve been so worried. Sorry I had to go out this morning but the clerks booked me in for an emergency domestic violence injunction.’

  ‘I’m better than I thought I would be, considering. You are speaking to the person originally named Eve Karas. At least my birthday is on the same day I’ve been celebrating it for the last twenty-seven years. I was born in a town called Brezno.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘I’m waiting for my computer to tell me but our wi-fi is hit and miss, as usual.’

  ‘Hey, I’m on my way home. Why don’t you wait for me and we can do this together? You shouldn’t be on your own.’

  ‘I’ll be fine. You don’t need to rush back. Can you bring any papers that have come in on the Court Martial?’

  ‘No problem. I’ll be about an hour. Try to stay conscious until then!’

  I laughed and hung up, taking a break to think rationally about what I’d learned. I lay on my bed, looking at the photo of mum and dad at my graduation, proud and happy. I wondered how often they’d thought about the secret of my adoption. My mother had obviously decided that the time had come to tell me. I tried to imagine the words she would have used, where we’d have been. How do you tell your daughter that everything she believed about her family was a lie? The warmth of the duvet lulled me and my last thought as I fell asleep was that Brezno sounded familiar. Then I was back on that train again.

  I was staring out of the window from my bunk but in spite of the dark I could see every detail of the mountains outside. We passed through a clearing and I could make out the reflection of the moon in a black lake. I raised my eyes to the sky but the moon wasn’t visible up there. We passed into a tunnel and I knew what was going to happen before I felt anything. Fingertips slid smoothly from my wrist and up the back of my hand to push, interlaced between my own. I didn’t pull my hand away, enjoying the toned muscles pressing down on me, the dark lustfulness I couldn’t control making me cry out in the dark. I waited for him to kiss me. I knew that when he did the train would face its horrible and inevitable end but no consequences were enough to dampen my carnality. A vicelike hand wrapped itself around my chin and cheek. In the dark I could see the orange rim of light around his irises. I was all but gasping with anticipation and still he did not kiss me.

  ‘Kukushka,’ he whispered ‘Come home.’ I couldn’t stand it any longer. I thrust my face upwards and pushed my lips roughly onto his. The crashing and rolling sensation of the train was no surprise but the pain I felt was appalling. I opened my eyes to find myself surrounded by flames. My clothing was alight, the fabric was melting into my flesh and I could smell the burning meat of my own body in the choking smoke. The hand that had been holding mine so gently gripped me in place as I screamed and flailed my arms. Finally I opened my mouth and screamed.

  ‘Eve, wake up. It’s okay. It’s Naomi.’

  As my bedroom swam into focus I felt Naomi’s hand on my forehead and sank back down onto the pillow shaking uncontrollably.

  ’It was just a dream. You’re safe now.’

  ‘No, not safe, losing my mind.’

  ‘You’re traumatised. You haven’t stopped for a single day since you got off the plane. Honey, I don’t know what you saw that night and I can’t even start to imagine how bad it was, but no-one walks away from that unscathed. You need time to rest.’

  She held her arms out and I let myself be held. I cried again feeling weak and pathetic. When the tears dried up Naomi ran me a bath. As I undressed I caught a glimpse of my back in the bathroom mirror. A large pink graze had been left by my brief contact with the shower handle yesterday. I instinctively reached my hand round to touch it and found it still sore. As I did so, I realised what had been eluding me about the alleged rape in the Dragon’s Cave. Angela Smyth said that all her clothing had been pulled off her and that she had been thrown onto the ground and roughly assaulted for around fifteen minutes. I’d been concentrating on the medical evidence relating to her internal injuries and yet there was not one scratch on her anywhere else. Nothing, not one single mark. The floor in those caverns was stone and gravel. They would have lacerated her and the marks should have been obvious for days afterwards. Either she was lying or she was deluded. I thought about Albert Cornish’s loss of memory and wondered how clearly Angela Smyth really recalled events.

  I’d taken photographs of the crime scene on my camera but it had been lost in my luggage on the train. We would need evidence about the state of the cave floor. Before I could lose my train of thought I wrote a note to email my solicitors and then climbed into the bath. After a few minutes of relaxation the doorbell rang. Naomi answered and from her squeal of delight I knew that her fiancé had arrived. I got dressed so that I could go and congratulate him on pulling off such an impromptu proposal.

  ‘Timothy Bussey-Hughes. How dare you ask my best friend to marry you without first asking my permission?’

  ‘Ms MacKenzie, you’re quite right. How improper of me. Let’s see...could I please have permission to spend every day of the rest of my life making Naomi insanely happy? How was that?’

  ‘Now I wish I hadn’t asked. I’m not sure if I’m jealous or nauseous. Come here and kiss me.’ I hugged and kissed the very lovely Tim and wished them both well. Just occasionally fate does its job properly and pushes two ideally matched people together. I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness at the thought of losing my closest friend to her man on a full time basis.

  ‘Eve?’

  ‘Sorry Tim, in a world of my own.’

  ‘I said how’s the arm mending? You look fairly mobile.’

  ‘It looks more impressive than it really is! Haven’t thought about it too much, actually.’

 
‘No, you haven’t had time to. You just keep running around non-stop.’ Naomi chided.

  ‘I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into Tim. She hates to be disobeyed.’

  ‘That’s what I love most about her. That and her cooking!’

  ‘Oh stop it you two, I’ll put the kettle on while you compare how much you’ve missed each other.’ I walked into the kitchen to make coffee while they said proper hellos. Tim is a head-hunter in the grimy world of international finance. As a result he spends a huge amount of time at airports, hotels and hushed breakfast meetings. He seems too grounded to do something so covert. I’ve always thought that his laid back approach to life must be what worked for him, unassuming and likeable. He’s the ideal foil for Naomi, a perfectionist who worries too much about what everyone thinks. I spied on them through the kitchen doorway, holding hands like teenagers at a school disco, her long dark hair in its usual topknot, petite and pretty, him with his strawberry blonde messy look, dwarfing her at six foot three. I sighed, not unhappily.

  ‘So,’ I said, as I put coffee mugs in front of them. ‘Now that you’ve made this official it seems only right that you take the plunge and move in together. And no, you’re not pushing me out, I don’t want an argument. It’s about time I did the grown up thing and got a mortgage.’

  ‘Oh Eve, we hadn’t even discussed it. Tim’s away so much of the time that I’ll just end up buying dozens of cats if you move out.’ I looked at Tim’s face. As well as he and I got on, I could see that the idea appealed to him, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

  ‘I don’t mean right this minute, but I am going to start looking.’

  Tim cut in. ‘I have to give three months’ notice on my place anyway, so there’s no rush.’

  ‘That’s perfect. Now I’m going to be bossy for once. I don’t want to discuss it anymore tonight and I mean it!’