by Susan Lewis
With an arched eyebrow he turned to the mirror, and realising he wasn’t quite ready himself he began to knot his bow tie as Eva drew the cummerbund from his pocket and found his eyes in the mirror as she fastened it around him. It was a while, she was thinking, since they’d flirted like this, and it felt so good that she was starting to wish they didn’t have to leave right away.
‘If it were any other event,’ he murmured, as her thoughts passed through her hands to the place she was touching.
Smiling, she let him go, but paused as she turned away. ‘Do you love me?’ she asked, over her shoulder.
He looked surprised, and taking her arm turned her back to him. ‘What kind of question is that?’ he whispered. ‘Why would you even need to ask?’
Almost laughing she said, ‘I just like to hear it,’ but as he started to tell her she put a finger over his lips. ‘Let’s save it for later,’ she said. ‘Or tell me on the dance floor and let me feel how much you mean it.’
‘If that happens, we’ll definitely be leaving early,’ he warned darkly.
As it turned out, it was almost two o’clock by the time a taxi finally delivered them back from the Dorset Police Charity Ball, and while Don, exhausted by his role of life and soul of the party, snored gently in the back seat, Eva rested her head on his shoulder, struggling to keep her own eyes open.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked sleepily when they eventually tumbled into their enormous bed with its waterfalls of black and amethyst voile and, in daylight, breathtaking views of the bay.
‘I think so,’ she answered with a yawn. ‘Are you?’
‘Mm, shattered.’
A few moments ticked by as they lay, side by side, relishing the sensation of sleep as it started to enclose them, and the thought of how they would wake one another in the morning. Then he surprised her as he said, ‘I saw the article. When were you going to mention it?’
In spite of the jolt in her heart she kept her eyes closed as she replied, ‘I’ve been trying not to think about it.’
There was a moment before he said, ‘Do you want me to find out who’s behind it?’ The tension in his voice reminded her of how deeply he resented any invasion of their privacy. Perhaps even more than she did.
‘I’m not sure,’ she replied. ‘Maybe it’s best ignored.’
He turned his head to look at her. ‘Damn press think they have a right to do just as they like …’
‘Sssh,’ she soothed, reaching for his hand. ‘They didn’t say anything disparaging or libellous and it doesn’t change anything, so there’s no point talking about it now.’
She could see his eyes watching her in the darkness, and leaning forward she touched her mouth to his. ‘Don’t be angry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m fine, so stop worrying.’
With a sigh he put an arm behind his head and stared at the ceiling again. It was hurting and frustrating him, she realised, to know that she’d been forced to look at photographs of how she used to be, but there was nothing either of them could do to change it now, so there really was no point in dwelling on it.
A few more minutes ticked quietly by until, realising he’d managed the manly act of sinking like a stone from a problem, straight to the heart of oblivion, she smiled and brought his hand to her lips.
‘Goodnight,’ she murmured, but instead of snuggling into him, she pushed back the duvet and after making sure she hadn’t woken him, she tiptoed across the room to let herself quietly out on to the landing. This sudden wakefulness at the point she thought she was about to fall asleep wasn’t unusual and generally, though not always, she went down to her study to spend a quiet hour or two on the Internet, putting herself through a search that she knew even before it began would prove as fruitless as all the others she’d tried over the years.
Deciding to spare herself the torment tonight she started down the stairs anyway, already feeling buoyed as she imagined Elvis’s and Rosie’s delight when she took a cup of tea into their den. She’d sit with them for a while, snug in their little world, watching the moon fan-dancing over the sea before making its slow dawn escape from the sun. She’d probably even fall asleep in there and not wake up before Don came to find her in the morning.
She’d almost reached the kitchen when she noticed that a light was on inside and immediately tensed. She could hear voices carrying softly through to the hall, and realising it was Jasmine returned with some friends, she breathed easily again. Wondering how long they’d been there, if they’d heard her and Don come in and hadn’t bothered to let them know they were already home, she went to find out if the friends intended to stay the night.
‘They might,’ Jasmine answered shortly when Eva asked. She didn’t bother to turn round, simply kept her focus on the other two girls who were seated at the table with her, their backs to the window. Between them stood a half-full bottle of red wine with three smeary glasses and the debris of a Chinese takeaway.
Eva glanced at the other girls, whom she vaguely recognised and who also appeared to be a long way from sober. ‘You’re very welcome to,’ she told them. ‘It’s too late to ring for a taxi.’
‘If they want to go home I’ll drive them,’ Jasmine informed her with an impatient sigh.
Eva didn’t respond, nor did anyone else.
‘So what we were saying?’ Jasmine demanded.
‘Where are your car keys?’ Eva asked.
Jasmine paused, then carried on as though Eva hadn’t spoken.
Knowing she couldn’t let this go, Eva said, ‘I want your promise that you won’t make any attempt to get into your car tonight.’
‘I’m not going to, all right?’ Jasmine snapped. ‘For God’s sake, can’t anyone have a joke around here?’
Failing to register where there had been one, Eva watched Jasmine refilling the glasses and would have liked to tell her she’d had enough, but not relishing the prospect of a full-blown scene, particularly with an audience, she decided to go and put the kettle on.
As the muttering and whispering started up again, punctuated with gasps and sniggers, Eva stood with her back turned, resenting being made to feel awkward in her own home, and debating whether or not to tell them it was time they went up to bed. She could always go and take the bottle away; however, not even wanting to think about the kind of eruption that would cause, she remained where she was, willing the kettle to get on with its job.
‘So,’ Jasmine slurred, hooking an elbow over the back of her chair, ‘where have you been tonight?’
Already knowing this wasn’t likely to end well, Eva said, ‘To the Dorset Police Ball.’
Jasmine’s eyebrows arched.
‘My mum and dad were there,’ Sophie – Eva remembered her name now – offered.
‘Yes, I saw them,’ Eva told her.
‘My mum was wearing one of your dreshses,’ Sophie chattered on. ‘It’s amazing. You should shee it,’ she told the others. ‘She loves your shop,’ she added to Eva.
Jasmine treated Sophie to a withering look, as though reminding her where her loyalties lay. Then to Eva she said, ‘You have all the luck, don’t you?’
Eva tensed.
‘What I mean is,’ Jasmine explained, ‘you get to go out to all these fancy dos and restaurants, whereas my mum never gets to go anywhere. And do you know why she doesn’t?’
‘Jasmine,’ Eva said softly.
‘My mum doesn’t go out,’ Jasmine informed her friends, ‘because she’s got no one to take her.’
‘Jasmine, I think you’ve had enough of that wine now,’ Eva told her. ‘It’s late …’
‘You don’t get to tell me what to do,’ Jasmine cut in nastily. ‘Just because you’re married to my dad doesn’t give you any rights over me.’
‘You’re in my house,’ Eva reminded her, ‘and you’re very close to becoming offensive.’
Snatching up the bottle, Jasmine rose to her feet.
‘Jas, leave it,’ one of her friends advised.
Jasmine’s eyes were blazing a
s she glared at Eva. ‘How’s this for offensive?’ she challenged, and letting the bottle slip through her fingers she kept her eyes on Eva’s as it smashed on the floor.
White with fury, Eva said, ‘That’ll stay there until you clean it up, and if the stain won’t come out I’ll make sure your father deducts the cost of the new stones from your allowance.’
‘Go fuck yourself,’ Jasmine shouted, as Eva started to walk away
Why don’t you? Eva wanted to shout back.
‘My mother told me …’
Spinning round, Eva said, ‘You’re brave now, Jasmine, while you’ve had a lot to drink and your friends are here, but you’re impressing no one and as we both know this isn’t the real you, why don’t you just damned well stop.’
Jasmine’s face was ashen.
Already regretting her outburst Eva said, less forcefully, ‘Will you now please go up to bed.’
As she turned away Jasmine said, ‘We saw the article about you today, you has-been. You think just because you were famous once, and someone stalked you that the world owes you …’
Eva was taking no more. ‘You’re supposed to be an adult,’ she broke in furiously, ‘but you act like a child.’
‘And you don’t? Always having to be taken care of like you’re some princess in an ivory tower? For your information you’re not any better than the rest of us …’
‘I’m not having this ridiculous conversation now, or at any other time. Just clear up that mess and go to your room – and I’ll thank you for not speaking to me again until you’re ready to apologise.’
‘In your dreams,’ Jasmine muttered as Eva slammed the door behind her. ‘And if you can’t see that my dad’s sick to death of you,’ she shouted, ‘then you’re thick, because the rest of us can.’
Shaking with anger, Eva walked towards the stairs, took a deep breath and started to climb. She wasn’t going to allow the girl to get under her skin, because that would be playing straight into her mother’s hands, a trap Eva had carefully learned to avoid over the years. However, it was never easy trying to shrug off all that hostility, or to rise above the attempts to sabotage her marriage, particularly when she’d like nothing more than to send Jasmine home with a message that would knock Allison right into the middle of next week. She’d never do it, satisfying as it might be – and more than deserved – because she simply didn’t have it in her to use Jasmine that way. Any fool, if they bothered to look, could see what turmoil the girl was in, though she had to confess Jasmine was pretty good at hiding it under all that teenage attitude and bristling contempt. Nevertheless, Eva was totally convinced that at heart Jasmine was as lost and bewildered as any young girl might be when she had no clear idea of who she was or where she really belonged. The problem in trying to reach out to her was that it always seemed to set her defences higher, and even Patty’s attempts to be friends had met with suspicion, even scorn.
‘It’s like trying to cuddle a porcupine,’ Patty had once commented, and Eva couldn’t disagree. Yet as difficult, impossible, as Jasmine could be, Eva wasn’t going to allow herself to give up on her, especially when she knew how much it would mean to Don if they could somehow make her feel a part of their family.
Finding him still fast asleep with one arm flung across her side of the bed and a pillow half over his face, Eva smiled down at him, losing herself for a moment in the pleasure of loving him so much. She was glad the raised voices hadn’t woken him; he had a difficult enough conscience over Jasmine as it was, and any sort of confrontation between her and Eva upset him like few other things could. She wouldn’t mention it in the morning either, there would be no need to if Jasmine pulled herself together and cleared up the mess she’d made.
Pigs might fly, she could hear a voice mocking inside her as she crossed quietly over to her dressing room. And well they might, she decided, as she sank into an armchair and closed her eyes. A moment later a wry smile began to play on her lips as she recalled the comment about a princess in an ivory tower. If that hadn’t come from Allison, then she, Eva, would go down there now and clean up the mess Jasmine had made herself.
With a turbulent sigh, she lifted a hand to her face and unconsciously traced the scar that snaked in a jagged half-moon from the corner of her eye, across her cheek and back to her ear. This was something she did when feeling tired or fretful, as though reminding herself of how much worse things could be. Not that she ever allowed herself to relive the attack, only madness lay down that route, but the article that morning had drawn her former life so sharply back into focus that she was finding it impossible to escape for long. If it were only the good times she was having to deal with then maybe it would be fine to take a few more trips than usual down memory lane, but unfortunately there was never any way for her to go into the past without recalling the horror of what she’d done to punish Nick for the crime of not wanting her any more.
Merely to think of it now made her want to cower from the shame and run to him to beg his forgiveness. Did he know that she’d rejected their baby son in order to hurt him? Had anyone ever told him that? She didn’t know because she’d never had the courage to ask.
We have to put what happened behind us and move on, he’d said when she’d called from the hospital the day they’d finally taken her off life-support to find out why he hadn’t come to see her. It wasn’t that she’d forgotten he’d ended their relationship; it was simply that she couldn’t believe he’d still mean it after everything that had happened.
But it had turned out that he did, and not even the fact that she was pregnant was going to change his mind.
Of course, he’d had no idea a madman was watching her apartment the night he’d come to tell her it was over between them. Much less had he expected, when he’d returned with Bobbie, her agent, to find himself caught up in a deadly struggle to save her life. His intention then had merely been to leave Bobbie with her to make sure she didn’t do anything stupid, while he returned to his wife.
It was what he had done in the end, perhaps that very night, though Eva guessed he must have spent many hours, if not days, talking to the police. She had only scant detail of that time, but she was in no doubt that if Nick hadn’t returned with Bobbie and managed to knock Bradshaw unconscious then the maniac might never have been caught, and she almost certainly would have died.
She had no idea where Nick was now; they’d never attempted to contact one another after that one brief, devastating phone call. She only knew that that her insane attempt to punish him had ended up causing her more heartache and anguish than she could ever have imagined possible. The longing for the child that was hers but that she could never know, or hold, was far worse than what she’d suffered from the attack, because it was endless and would never, ever heal. Adoption was as irreversible, as incontrovertible as time.
If only she could have seen things clearly back then, but the last four months of her pregnancy had been spent mostly in a semi-conscious state, or in the kind of pain that wouldn’t allow any clarity of mind. She couldn’t even recall the birth. However, she did remember the squall of a tiny creature as the midwife had swept it up into her arms, saying, ‘It’s a little boy and he’s beautiful.’
And she remembered how Patty had always been there, keeping vigil at her bedside, in spite of having a husband and two small children at home who needed her, and having to deal with the horror of knowing that the lump she’d recently found in her breast was malignant. Of course she hadn’t mentioned it to Eva then, it wasn’t until the treatment had begun that she’d finally broken the news, and probably only then because she had to explain why she wouldn’t be able to visit so often.
Dear Patty. Dear, wonderful Patty, the best sister anyone could ever wish for. Even now to think of what she’d been through, of how terrified she must have been and of how little help she, Eva, had been to her, was enough to break her heart. It was why, of course, Patty hadn’t tried to change her mind about having the baby adopted, because she was afrai
d she might not be around to help bring him up.
Eva moved restlessly, as though to escape the memories that were flooding in too fast and too painfully, but she knew already that there was no escape, and nor did she deserve one. She had rejected her own child and no matter how many excuses she concocted to try and salve the guilt, or how much understanding she was offered from others, nothing – simply nothing – would ever make it all right.
He was going to be sixteen next month. Sixteen. She’d missed so much of his life already, and for all she knew she might never know him at all. She often thought about women whose children had been snatched and wanted desperately to reach out to them, as though by somehow sharing their pain she could help to soothe it. Though their torment would naturally be considered far worse than hers, in many ways it was the same, because she had no idea where her child was either, or if the people who’d adopted him were treating him well. Whenever stories of abuse came on the news or appeared in the papers she’d start tormenting herself with the fear that the victim might be her little boy. How would she know? If the age was right, and the colour of his skin, then it could be him. Don tried to be patient during those times, but she knew he found it difficult, mainly because he hated being so powerless to help.
It was just after she and Don had married, at which time her son would have been almost four, that Eva had decided she couldn’t go on the way she was. She’d been spending more and more time trapped in the madness of watching small boys playing football in the park, or trailing round supermarkets with their mothers. She’d watch them performing wheelies on their bicycles, building sandcastles on the beach, digging worms out of dirt, falling asleep in their daddy’s arms, and wonder constantly what her son might be doing now, or if the child she was looking at might even be him. Though she’d known for some time about the ‘letter-box scheme’ that would allow her to send him cards and presents without knowing his name, or where he was, she’d been afraid of using it in case it made the longing worse. Patty had agreed that it probably would, and so had Don, but in the end, realising that nothing could be worse than what she was already going through, she’d braced herself and got in touch with social services.
