The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton

by Catherine Alliott

  ‘Milk?’

  ‘Please.’

  He glanced up. Didn't notice. I flicked it forward more so it flopped over one eye.

  ‘You haven't admired my tea set. It was my granny's.’

  ‘It's lovely.’ As he handed me the cup and saucer I held on to it a moment so he had to look at me.

  ‘She bought it in nineteen twenty-nine – imagine!’

  He was talking to my one visible eye for crying out loud: the one that wasn't curtained with hair. In desperation I plucked a socking great clump from the top of my head and flopped it forward, right over my face.

  ‘Bought it piece by piece in the Army and Navy Stores. Isn't that sweet?’

  ‘Divine,’ I agreed through a blur of henna.

  ‘Evie, why are you doing that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why is your hair all over your face?’

  ‘Is it? I hadn't noticed.’

  ‘Yes, you need to sort of…’

  ‘What?’ I waited. Held my breath.

  ‘Well,’ he waved a vague hand in my direction, ‘you know. Push it back.’

  ‘Go on then.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Push it.’

  ‘Me? Why?’

  ‘Because I'm holding my saucer.’

  ‘Well, put it down.’

  ‘Malcolm.’ I clenched my teeth. ‘Push my hair back!’

  He stared. ‘Oh, for heaven's sake.’ He reached forward and brushed it clumsily off my nose. ‘There.’

  ‘Was that so difficult? Why are you wiping your hand?’

  ‘I'm not!’

  He was, though. On his trousers.

  ‘You are!’

  ‘Well, it just looks a bit – you know…’ He pulled a face.

  ‘I washed it yesterday!’

  ‘Right, sorry. Blimey, chill, Evie, will you? What's with you?’

  He shrank back from me, making a you've-gone-really-weird face. I glared back, then abruptly my shoulders sagged as I caved in. ‘You're right.’ I nodded miserably, eyeballing the heavy embroidery on the cloth. ‘It is a very familiar gesture, isn't it?’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Brushing hair out of someone's eyes. It's what Ant did to Bella. I watched from the bedroom window.’

  ‘Oh!’ His face flashed with recognition. ‘Oh, no, not at all. It's just – well, you know how fastidious I am, always washing my hands. I've practically got that disease housewives get, can't stop reaching for the Fairy Liquid. I'll have no skin left soon. Ooh, look, my godson gave me this heavenly badge, he found it in Woolies.’

  I knew he was trying to distract me. ‘What?’ I said peevishly as he pulled a badge from his pocket and pinned it on his shirt. ‘“My name is nuff and I am a fairy”,’ I read listlessly.

  ‘Fairy-nuff,’ he sniggered. ‘Fair enough. Fair-y— oh!’ He froze, mid-sentence, eyes wide.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shhh!’ He hissed, holding up an index finger. He listened, ears pricked like a rabbit. ‘Did you hear something?’

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘Shhh! What was that?’

  The boat suddenly gave a terrific lurch. I clutched my tea.

  ‘Helloo?’ a voice called. ‘Anyone at home?’

  Malcolm's face lit up like a torch. ‘It's him!’ he breathed. He got to his feet, radiant suddenly, smoothing down his hair. ‘Evie, you must go!’

  ‘Oh, thanks very much.’ But I was already draining my cup.

  ‘No!’ He grabbed it from me. ‘Now!’

  ‘All right, all right,’ I grumbled, as Malcolm bundled me towards the door.

  He flung the trapdoor wide and scampered up the ladder with me following in his wake. As I emerged in the sunlight, it was to see pristine brown Docksides on the deck in front of me, then pale cream chinos that seemed to go on for ever, then a navy-blue jumper, topped by the face of the most beautiful black man I'd ever seen.

  ‘My, but this is pretty,’ he was saying admiringly, glancing around the boat. ‘Very Swallows and Amazons. Sorry I'm late, I had a bit of a crisis.’

  ‘No, no, not at all.’ Malcolm was beaming and squirming delightedly, simultaneously jerking his head for me to go.

  ‘Sooty had a difficult stool,’ he informed us.

  ‘Oh, poor luv!’ cooed Malcolm.

  ‘Sooty?’ I asked.

  ‘My dog,’ he explained, and I followed his gaze to where a little black spaniel puppy was leaping delightedly around a prone and indifferent Cinders, goading her with shrill yelps and trying to raise more than an indulgent wag of her old tail.

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘Quite fun calling her in the park. I'm afraid I couldn't resist it.’ He flashed me a wicked grin. ‘Clarence Tempest.’ He held out his hand, his eyes all but disappearing as they crinkled up at the edges. Was he really gay? What a shame.

  ‘Evie Hamilton,’ I murmured, basking in his dazzling good looks.

  ‘And she was just leaving,’ purred Malcolm, hustling me away; practically pushing me overboard.

  ‘Oh, don't go on my account,’ smiled Clarence.

  ‘She's not, she was going anyway,’ Malcolm assured him with a pussycat smile, ushering him down the steps to his lair and making wild ‘go away’ faces over his shoulder at me. I grinned and stepped gingerly off the boat; made my way down the towpath towards the bridge. Two minutes later, Malcolm was panting beside me, holding my arm.

  ‘Evie, do me a favour,’ he gasped. ‘Stand in for me at the shop for an hour? I promised Ludo I'd be there.’

  ‘Oh God, I'm not sure I'm up to Ludo in my present state.’

  ‘You don't have to be up to him, you just have to take over from him. He wants to go to his sister's party and I promised – please, hon!’ He clasped his hands in prayer and made pathetic Uriah Heep eyes at me, fluttering his lids.

  ‘Oh, all right. Although I'll probably be hopeless. I haven't worked in years.’

  ‘You don't have to work, no one comes in. It's late-night shopping but they're all too busy buying three for two in Waterstone's. Thanks, luvvy. What d'you think, by the way?’ He couldn't resist adding, eyes shining.

  I grinned. ‘He's gorgeous, Malcolm.’

  ‘Isn't he just? He's on sabbatical from King's in London, doing an exchange at Corpus Christi. Teaches law. Imagine, beautiful and clever! Aren't I lucky!’

  ‘You certainly are. Although you might lose the badge.’ I pointed to his shirt.

  ‘Shit!’ His hand flew to cover it. ‘What must he think?’

  ‘Probably what he already knew. Have fun.’

  He hastened away, unpinning himself. Yes, beautiful and clever, I thought as I watched him scurry off. And there was I thinking one was enough. Couldn't even compete with her in that department. Bella, I mean. I turned and trailed my heart back along the towpath, then bounced it up the steps behind me to the top of the bridge.

  I needed to take a very deep breath before I pushed open the jangling green door with discreet gold lettering in Percy Street. My last meeting with Ludovic Montague, as I now knew him to be, had been of a fairly highly charged nature. Intimate, even. Let's face it, I'd made a complete fool of myself, and he'd shown himself to be a man of substance. A widower, with a beautiful dead wife – well, of course she was dead if he was a widower – and an action-packed past. And for some reason, what he thought of me mattered, I realized with a start as I turned the brass handle. So now I would be brisk and efficient, not tear-stained and needy. As I shut the door behind me I caught sight of my reflection in the glass: someone a bit like me but older, fatter, gazed back. Too late to reach for the lippy, I was in.

  ‘Well, hello.’ He looked up from behind the counter where he'd been at the computer as I turned.

  I smiled. ‘I've come to relieve you. Malcolm asked me to step in. He's entertaining.’

  ‘Ah.’ He took his glasses off. ‘Would that by any chance be Clarence from puppy-training group?’

  ‘It would.’

  ‘And has he
come clean about Cinders yet? Or is the poor girl still lying through her teeth about her age?’

  ‘Is that what he's doing? Passing her off as a puppy?’

  ‘Hasn't he told you? He saw this doggy group parading round in circles through the window of the church hall in Cardigan Street – or, more particularly, saw Clarence – and after weeks of lusting and steaming up the window, minced in with Cinders declaring she was nine months old. “But she looks so much older!” said the Barbara Woodhouse lookalike who was running the show. “Yes, she's very mature,” purred Malcolm, joining the circle.’

  ‘I can just see him,’ I giggled, relieved we were exchanging light-hearted banter, ‘prancing around after Clarence, poor old bemused Cinders at his heels following all the other dogs. Lots of bottom sniffing.’

  ‘That'll be the canines?’ He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Of course!’

  He grinned and we looked each other in the eye for the first time. I was at the counter now.

  ‘You look better,’ he commented shortly.

  I wasn't. But I wasn't going there. ‘I am,’ I lied. ‘Much.’

  ‘Good. These things have a way of sorting themselves out.’

  ‘They certainly do.’

  It occurred to me there was quite a lot to sort out in a few days, but I was grateful for the gloss.

  ‘We've just been up there.’ I pointed somewhere, vaguely.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Up North.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’ He looked confused.

  ‘It's where they live. Bella Edgeworth and her daughter. Who's lovely, actually. They both are. And we all got on terrifically well, so that's marvellous, isn't it?’

  ‘Marvellous,’ he echoed faintly.

  Damn. Why had I embarked on this? I hadn't needed to.

  ‘So.’ I joined him behind the counter, put my bag down and straightened a pile of books effciently. ‘Just another hour or so, is it? Till we shut?’

  He wasn't deflected so easily. ‘So, what – you made a flying visit?’

  ‘What? Oh, yes. Well I did, but Ant and Anna are still there. Lots of things to discuss, naturally.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘And obviously he needs to – you know – get to know Stacey.’

  ‘Stacey?’

  ‘The daughter.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘And she him…’

  ‘Her father?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘And I felt a bit…’ I tried to gather myself, ‘well, superfluous, really!’

  I stuck the exclamation mark on the end for courage, but the sentence rocked me none the less. Superfluous. Ludo didn't say anything, but he wasn't making any move to leave, either. Stayed motionless on his stool beside me. Arms folded. Watchful.

  ‘Well, no, not superfluous,’ I went on as he watched me dig my hole. ‘But obviously the sisters, Stacey and Anna, wanted to get to know each other. Bond.’

  ‘And your husband and Bella Edgeworth?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Needed to talk,’ I managed. ‘About their daughter. Daughters,’ I added. God, how many sodding daughters did they have? Had I said sodding out loud? I wasn't sure. A silence ensued. It hung there, waiting to be filled.

  ‘I trust him implicitly,’ I said, apropos of absolutely nothing.

  He gave me a steady look. ‘Good.’

  ‘Even though,’ I couldn't quite believe I was doing this, ‘even though I'm sure he likes her very much.’

  ‘She's a likeable woman.’

  ‘Of course. You've met her. Yes, she is. It would be hard not to like her, wouldn't it?’ I appealed to him. ‘I mean – I liked her.’

  ‘It would be hard,’ he agreed. We didn't seem to be getting anywhere.

  ‘And it would be odd too,’ I blundered on, flying kamikaze now, ‘not to be attracted to anyone else at all, other than one's spouse, during the entire course of one's marriage.’ Who was one, the Queen?

  ‘It would,’ he agreed, ever watchful.

  ‘Were you ever?’ I fumbled on, keen to dodge the spotlight. But what a question, Evie. She was dead!

  ‘No.’ Shortly.

  ‘No, of course not,’ I said quickly. ‘I think I meant now. Yes, I'm sure I did. Now you're not married.’ Worse?

  ‘You mean, have I been attracted to anyone since Estelle died?’

  ‘Yes,’ I cringed.

  ‘Only once.’

  ‘Oh.’ Something of a result. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing's happened. I mean – not yet.’

  ‘Yet? It's happening now?’

  He shrugged. ‘Nothing's happening.’

  ‘She doesn't know?’

  He didn't answer. As we looked at one another, a lock of hair worked itself free from behind my ear. He reached forward and gently pushed it back off my face.

  23

  A silence spread out around us. I recovered first.

  ‘Right.’ I got up with a start. Brushed an imaginary spec of dust from my jeans. ‘You must… go to your party.’

  ‘I must.’

  ‘At your sister's.’

  ‘That's it.’

  I licked my lips and turned to straighten more piles of very straight books on the counter. Then I slunk out from behind it to what I felt was the relative safety of the shelves, humming wildly as I realigned the shiny black spines of the Penguin Classics, my hands fluttering.

  ‘Is it a big party?’ I asked brightly, foolishly, for something to say, face averted.

  ‘It's a bit of a late engagement party,’ his voice came evenly from behind me. ‘My sister's getting married at the end of the week. It's a drinks thing.’

  ‘I see.’

  I didn't really. I was miles away. Had he meant me? Or was I imagining things? I turned, quite boldly, and his eyes snagged briefly on mine. I quickly turned back to the books. Madame Bovary, Anna Karenina – hardly the role models I needed right now, adulterous little minxes. My hands scuttled nervously along to More Dick. Heavens. Oh – Moby. Right.

  ‘Have you got secrets and lies?’ asked a voice in my ear.

  ‘Certainly not!’ I spluttered. I turned to find a middle-aged woman in a pac-a-mac with thin lips and a tight grey perm, frowning at me. She looked disconcerted.

  ‘I think we have, actually.’ Ludo swept by me to the Young Adult section. ‘It's by Ian Atkinson, isn't it?’

  ‘Quite possibly. It's for my grandson.’ The woman flicked me a contemptuous look and bustled away to line up with the professional bookseller.

  A few minutes later, her purchase made, she hurried from the shop, squeaky in her plastic. Which left just Ludo and me. He glanced at his watch.

  ‘There's only fifteen minutes till closing time. We may as well shut up shop, it's so quiet.’ It was as if nothing had happened. Nothing had been said. No eye contact made.

  ‘Oh, no, I'll stay. I promised Malcolm.’

  ‘Except you haven't got keys, and even if I give them to you, you've still got to get them back to Malcolm or me, which is a hassle. No, we can close early today. It's not as if people are hammering on the door to get in.’

  There didn't seem to be any answer to that. Wordlessly, I gathered my bag and scarf, and waited as he locked the till, then turned out the lights, plunging us into semi-darkness. I followed him outside.

  ‘How did you get here?’ He glanced briskly up at me as he bent to lock the door.

  ‘I walked. From Malcolm's. I came down by train, you see.’

  ‘I'll give you a lift home.’

  ‘No, no, I can walk.’

  ‘Don't be silly, I live opposite you.’

  ‘But you're going to a party.’

  ‘That's where it is. I live with my sister at the moment.’

  ‘Oh.’

  There didn't seem to be any answer to that either, so I followed him mutely to a blue hire car, with ‘Ratners Hill Garage’ painted in large gold letters down the side.

  ‘Why do they write on cars like tha
t?’ I said jovially, my mind whirring as I got in the passenger seat. Keep it light, keep it light.

  ‘Oh, I don't know. I'm rather in favour of it.’ He got behind the wheel. ‘I think every thrusting executive with a company car should have the name of the firm they're accepting the tax-free perk written on it. See how cool they look in a BMW with “Durex” down one side.’

  I giggled. This was better. Safer. But I couldn't think of anything to follow it up with. We drove through the backstreets of Jericho, still bustling with late-night shoppers and commuters on their way home: heads down, collars up against a brisk wind that had picked up and was rustling the plane trees above, bullying them to lose their leaves, which spiralled to the ground. As we approached my road, his road, I glanced at him.

  ‘How come you live here? You haven't always lived here?’ Implicit in that remark was – I'd have noticed you before. I think I would.

  ‘No, I was renting a flat in Summertown before, but my sister's going to live in Scotland when she's married – Angus, her boyfriend, has a pile there – so I'm taking over her flat. It seemed sensible to move in now. I'd have had to fork out another year's rent in Summertown. But you're right, I've only been here a few months.’

  We drew up outside my house. I looked up. It was dark and shuttered. Cold and uninviting. Across the street the lights shone from where he was going. Through an upstairs window a party could be seen silhouetted and in full swing, walls practically vibrating. On the front steps below, a couple were ringing the doorbell even now.

  ‘Come and have a drink.’

  ‘Oh, no, I couldn't possibly.’

  ‘Come on, it'll do you good. Do me good.’

  ‘D'you think? I mean…’

  He turned in his seat, his arm resting on the back. Smiled. ‘In light of what I've said? Look, Evie, I realize I've shown my hand, but I'm not going to jump on you. I'm not fifteen.’

  I smiled into my lap. Nodded. ‘No. I know. I'm sorry.’

  ‘You asked me if I'd been attracted to anyone since Estelle died. Not if I was wasting away in a garret writing love-sick poems. Carving hearts on trees. Succumbing to thunderbolts.’

  That put me in my place. ‘Quite.’

  ‘No cause for alarm. I believe it's what's called an idle crush.’ He grinned.