The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton

by Catherine Alliott

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, why?’ I turned my head on the pillow and blinked at the clock, trying to focus.

  ‘Camilla said you'd been assaulted. In a stable!’

  I propped myself up on one elbow. Switched the phone over to the other hand. ‘Caro, it's a long story and it's only half-past seven.’

  ‘And I've been up for an hour and I'm armed with a coffee. Tell.’

  I sighed, but knew better than to argue. When I'd finished there was a long silence.

  ‘So he did kiss you?’

  ‘Yes, but purely in the line of duty.’

  ‘On the lips?’

  ‘Yes, OK, on the lips, but—’

  ‘Tongues?’

  ‘Certainly not!’

  ‘Just asking. Was it nice?’

  ‘Caro!’

  ‘It was!’ she breathed ecstatically.

  ‘Goodbye!’ I snapped, putting the phone down.

  I swung my legs out of bed, sat hunched on the edge for a moment, then heaved myself up and padded heavily to the loo, reaching in to turn on the shower en route. Was it nice? What a question! I pulled my oversized T-shirt over my head, got in the shower cubicle and shut the glass door behind me, turning my face up to the jet of hot water. I opened my mouth to let some in. Was it nice. I washed my hair vigorously, then, steaming and dripping, got out, found a towel and wrapped it around me. Walking slowly to the long mirror and, towelling my head at the same time, I gazed critically at my reflection. My slicked-back dark hair, usually a riot of bouncy curls, was already crinkling back into shape, framing my face, with its still creamy complexion, rather too full lips. Kissable lips, Ant used to say. I stared. Yes, OK, it was nice. Very nice. Especially the one I hadn't told her about. I towelled myself dry and got dressed.

  As I drew back the curtains in the bedroom, my eyes darted across to the other side of the street. Closed curtains at number 52. Still asleep. Alice and her fiancé certainly, and probably for quite some time, but what of her brother? Had he gone back and partied with the best of them, smooched around the dance floor with the redhead in the green halter-neck dress? Or had he gone straight to bed, lain there in the dark, heart pounding, as I had.

  I turned quickly from the window. As I bent to pick up my brush on the dressing table I caught my reflection in the mirror. Tipsy-looking almost; cheeks flushed, eyes over-bright, as if I'd been at the bottle.

  Giving myself a little inward shake and reminding myself of certain friends of ours involved in unseemly midlife crises, I went downstairs to make a cup of tea. The house was very still, very quiet. Unnaturally quiet: no Brenda, of course. Usually she'd be scrambling up my legs for her breakfast. I went to the calendar on the side of the fridge: flipped over the page. Tuesday the twenty-third. Ant was going on a book tour in the West Country on… the twenty-sixth. Oh. So pretty much the moment he got back, I realized. He'd unpack his suitcase only to re-pack it. I wouldn't see him. Not properly, anyway. I certainly wouldn't be able to talk to him properly. Hear about Bella and Stacey. As much as he'd tell me, anyway. As much as he'd tell me? We'd always told each other everything. But then, I wouldn't tell him about last night, would I? Make a funny story out of it? Make him laugh. I inhaled sharply. I didn't want secrets. Didn't want guilt. I hadn't done anything. And yet, it seemed, I had. We both had. Ant and I. Because what other tender gestures had he been guilty of in Yorkshire? Apart from the one under the cherry tree? My heart pumped. None. Absolutely none, you're imagining things, imagining the worst. The kitchen clock ticked quietly on the wall behind me. Because I had nothing else to do. Wasn't busy. Because I live in this smart town house – clean because Maria had come yesterday, gardened because we had a gardener – so I stood, in my immaculate house, with its hushed old-lady feel, imagining the worst, but also, my mind flew suddenly to Ludo's dark head bending to kiss my neck last night, also, the best.

  A few minutes later found me on the other side of the kitchen picking up the phone, punching out a number. Felicity's answer machine was on. I waited for the tone.

  ‘Oh, hi, Felicity, it's Evie here!’ My voice had taken on an unnatural glittery tone. ‘I was just wondering, if Mum can't make it, I could easily do meals on wheels with you next week. Or, um, any other charity work you do. OK – bye.’

  I stared at the phone. On an impulse, I rang Mum. Her machine was on, too and her breathy voice informed me: ‘I'm sorry I'm not here, but if you're ringing about reiki, and would like to make an appointment, please leave a message after the beep.’

  I put the receiver down. Where was Mum at eight o'clock in the morning? Jogging round the park, probably. In training for that moonlit breast walk or whatever her latest challenge was. I walked to the windows and gazed out, picking at a spot that was brewing on my chin. A familiar, panicky feeling, one I'd had quite a lot lately, threatened. I turned and went briskly to the laundry room, lifted the wicker basket onto the ironing board, and began sorting the socks at the bottom. But I'd only paired up one or two, before I found myself back in the kitchen, at the French windows, staring out at the leaf-strewn lawn. The phone rang behind me, making me jump. I turned and snatched it up, like a drowning man a life belt.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, it's me.’

  ‘Ant!’

  I sat down abruptly on a kitchen stool, flooding with relief. I'd been on my own too long, in an empty house. That was all. Well, one night. ‘Darling, how are you?’

  ‘I'm OK.’ He sounded guarded. My chest tightened.

  ‘Good,’ I said lightly. ‘And Anna?’

  ‘She's fine.’

  I licked my lips. This wasn't right. Didn't sound right.

  ‘So, when are you coming home?’

  ‘Well, there's been a bit of a hitch. The publishers have just rung to say that the rep who was taking me on the book tour in Devon is ill. He's put his back out, apparently. Can't drive.’

  ‘Oh, well, never mind. Another time perhaps?’

  ‘But they've managed to cobble something together with the rep up here, in the North, and he's going to take me to Harrogate, Leeds and Ripon instead.’

  ‘Near where you are now?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘But… what about publicity, that sort of thing? Will anyone know you're coming?’

  ‘Oh, they've managed to do a few flyers, and they've just about caught the deadline on the local paper, apparently. They've clearly known about this for a few days and have jacked it up, knowing, of course that I'd be available.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So I'll stay here, if that's all right?’

  ‘With Bella?’

  ‘Yes, it makes sense.’

  Was he telling me or asking me?

  ‘Of course. And Anna?’

  ‘Well, Anna says she's got some Pony Club rallies—’

  ‘She has,’ I said quickly.

  ‘So I'm going to put her on a train.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘She's quite old enough, Evie. You protect her far too much.’

  Right. It was all coming out, wasn't it? I was an overprotective mother.

  ‘So if I put her on the nine fifteen, she'll change at Ripon, get to Paddington, and be on the twelve o'clock to Oxford, but I'll get her to ring you en route, OK?’

  ‘Yes, OK.’

  Silence.

  ‘Ant, is… everything really all right?’ I asked tentatively.

  ‘It's fine.’

  My mouth felt sticky. No saliva. ‘Why don't I come too? We could stay in Harrogate. It's such a pretty town, apparently, and I've never seen it. We could find an old coaching inn or something, make a break of it.’

  He laughed. ‘It's half-term, Evie. What about Anna?’

  I swallowed. ‘Yes. No. Silly of me. OK, I'll meet the twelve o'clock. Tell her not to talk to anyone.’

  ‘I will.’

  We said goodbye and I put the phone down. Gazed at the wall. A damp patch we'd been meaning to sort out for ages stared back at me.
A huge lump had lodged itself in my throat. I was cold, I realized. I got up and went to the understairs cupboard to flick the thermostat on. Heating an entire house for one person to sit in the basement with a cup of coffee was absurd, but Anna would be home soon. I looked at my watch. In… four hours. I stood, for a moment, in the hall. Then I took a duster from the cupboard and a can of Pledge. Upstairs, in the dining room, I began polishing the furniture that Maria had already polished. But she didn't quite buff it up the way I liked. We didn't use this room enough, I decided, straightening up and gazing around. It was a lovely room. I'd have a dinner party soon, I determined. Been meaning to have one for some time, kept putting it off. I'd get Lottie and her husband round, the Devlins perhaps. I polished away. The longcase clock in the corner ticked on.

  Anna got off the train at two minutes past one and walked towards the barrier carrying a Cath Kidston overnight bag and looking deliberately nonchalant. Like she alighted from trains from York every day of her life having changed at Paddington. Like this was nothing new.

  ‘How was it?’ I slipped round the barrier to greet her and give her a hug.

  ‘Fine,’ she said with studied boredom Her hair needed washing. ‘I was in bags of time at Paddington, so I had a hot chocolate in Pret a Manger.’

  I smiled and took her bag as we walked along. Now that would hit the spot. Having a hot chocolate in London, alone, at fourteen. Would have hit my spot too, at that age. I'd probably have imagined a romantic encounter as I sat there with my Jackie magazine.

  ‘Bye, Anna.’

  ‘Bye.’ She flushed as she nodded to a tall, sandy-haired boy who'd handed in his ticket at the same time as us, and was strolling off across the concourse to the taxi rank, shoulders hunched.

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Rory,’ she said, unable to keep a little smile from her lips but keeping her eyes firmly on the ground. ‘I met him in Pret a Manger.’

  Blimey. Not fantasizing like me, actually having a romantic encounter. My family were streets ahead of me. In so many ways.

  ‘Is he a student?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Rory. Is he a student?’ He looked about eighteen. But then Anna was tall for her age.

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘At the university?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Where does he live? We could have given him a lift.’

  She rolled her eyes at me as we went out to the car. ‘Mum…’

  I opened the doors and she got in. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps it was none of my business who she met in coffee bars. I waited as she got in beside me. Odd how, in such a short space of time, she looked different. Thinner. Taller.

  ‘Next time, don't bother to pick me up. I'll get a taxi.’

  ‘Right.’ I wasn't sure there was going be a next time. I went to put the key in the ignition. Dropped it. ‘My God – you've had your ears pierced!’

  ‘I know.’ She twisted a tiny gold stud in her ear. Guilt mingled with brazenness flooded her face.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Dad said I could. Chill, Mum, I'm fourteen. And I'm the last one in my class.’ Her eyes challenged me. ‘I had this done as well.’

  She pulled up her T-shirt and a tiny gold stud winked at me from her tummy button.

  ‘Anna!’

  She met my eyes, defiant. Suddenly I knew what she was doing. I fumbled for the keys on the floor. Started the engine.

  ‘I suppose Stacey's liberally pierced, is she?’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

  ‘Well she's seventeen, so why not? But as it happens, no.’ There was real aggression in her voice. Her face looked pinched. Older.

  ‘Where did you have it done?’

  ‘Claire's. And no, it won't go septic. I've put surgical spirit on it.’

  ‘Excellent news.’

  Breathe, Evie. Breathe. It's hardly a tattoo. Nothing permanent. She was texting on her mobile now. Rory? Stacey? Either way, she wasn't paying attention to me. I fought for composure.

  ‘So how was it, oop North?’ I said with studied lightness.

  She shrugged. ‘You were there.’

  ‘Yes, but yesterday.’

  Another shrug. She put her phone back in her bag and stared out of the window.

  ‘Did you have fun with Stacey?’

  ‘Yeah, it was good.’

  ‘Did you go out at all? Meet her friends?’

  ‘No.’ She turned incredulous, you're-such-a-loser eyes on me.

  ‘So what did you get up to last night? What did you do?’

  ‘Stuff.’

  ‘Watch telly?’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘Did you all have supper together?’

  ‘Who?’

  Blood from stones. Teeth from hens. ‘You and Daddy, with Bella and Stacey.’

  She swallowed. Stared out of the window. Didn't answer.

  ‘Anna?’

  She turned back. Her eyes were bright. ‘Look, Mum, you're going to have to ask Dad about this. I promised, OK?’

  I nearly crashed the car. ‘Promised what?’

  Silence.

  ‘Promised what, Anna?’

  What I could see of her fingers, which protruded from fingerless gloves and overlong cardigan sleeves, were plucking frantically at the strap of her bag. I stopped the car. Right there on the Banbury Road. The back end swung round in surprise.

  ‘PROMISED WHAT?’ I shrieked in her face. I'd truly lost it.

  ‘I can't tell you, OK?’ she shrieked back. ‘I can't!’

  And with that she burst into tears, got out, slammed the door and began to run. Jesus. I got out and ran after her.

  ‘Anna!’ I caught up with her and seized her arm. Swung her round to face me. Gripping both her shoulders, I shook her hard. It's no excuse, but I was very frightened. She wrenched herself free, face streaming with tears.

  ‘Ask Dad, OK?’ she yelled in my face, her own, red and contorted. Ugly.

  ‘Anna, this is ridiculous,’ I breathed. People were watching. A man walking his dog on the opposite side of the road had stopped to stare somewhat censoriously. ‘Please tell me.’

  Tears were filling my eyes now, and she saw it. Saw my anger was over. ‘I can't,’ she said miserably, eyes still streaming. ‘Don't make me. You'll find out. I can't.’

  Every fibre in my being turned to ice. It was as if something dangerous had slipped to join us on the pavement. We stood staring at each other on the Banbury Road as the traffic flashed passed. Suddenly she looked about ten. As if she'd fallen off her bike. Found her hamster dead in its cage. I held out my arms and she walked into them. We held each other close. I listened to the sound of her heart pounding, as, no doubt she listened to mine. Then we walked back to the car together, got in, and drove home.

  Later that afternoon, she found me sitting at the kitchen table in the fading light, a cold cup of tea in front of me, the violet light of a long autumn evening beginning to threaten. My mobile flickered feebly in my hand. I'd thrown it at the wall when an anonymous voice had informed me for the tenth time Ant's mobile was switched off.

  Anna stood in the doorway. ‘I've just spoken to Phoebe. You know this Pony Club thing is a three-day event?’

  ‘Is it? I didn't.’

  ‘She says why don't I stay there. At the farm. It's happening in next door's fields.’

  I looked at her. She felt like a stranger. ‘Do you want to?’

  She shrugged. ‘It would be easier.’

  She did. Wanted to get away.

  ‘OK. I'll drop you over there.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘If you like.’

  Even though it didn't start till tomorrow. I saw relief flood her face, which she tried, amateurishly, to mask. Then she disappeared to get ready. I heard her footsteps bounding quickly up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  I didn't go in at the farm. Brenda was in the yard with Megan, and came wagging towards us, jumping straight on the back seat when I opened the door. I
just dropped Anna off, with her overnight bag and her jodhpurs and hat, and some chocolates for Caro, telling Anna to let her know I'd got the dog. Normally I'd always pop in, have a chat, a cup of coffee, thank her, but I knew Caro would take one look at my face, drag me to the sitting room, shut the door on the children, and then the floodgates would open. I kissed Anna goodbye, turned the car around in the yard, and was just driving away when I saw Tim, limping towards me with an empty barrow, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. I buzzed down the window.

  ‘Hiya. Whacha doing?’

  ‘Looking busy,’ he said, deadpan, without removing the fag.

  I grinned. ‘How's the hip?’

  ‘So-so.’ He leaned in at my window; threw the butt on the gravel and ground it out with his boot.

  ‘Doesn't look great.’

  ‘Always looks worse than it is. You don't look so great yourself.’

  ‘I'm tired.’

  ‘Aren't we all.’

  ‘I've just dropped off Anna.’

  ‘I saw. Phoebe will be pleased. You coming in?’ He jerked his head.

  I shook mine, not trusting myself to speak. My lovely, kind, caring brother. Just what I didn't need right now.

  ‘I'm in a bit of a rush. Give Caro my love.’

  ‘Will do.’

  He was looking at me closely but, being a man, didn't push it. As I drove away, though, I glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw him standing in the gateway, watching me.

  Ten minutes later found me parking at Worcester College, in a private car park where they talked a big clamping story, but where the cognoscenti knew it was an empty threat. I walked, head bent defensively against the wind tunnel, around the side of the building and then down a dark alleyway. Under normal circumstances I didn't take this short cut in the dark, but in my present state of mind I felt a friendly cosh from a shadowy figure in black might well be a blessed relief. The alleyway led to the playing fields, which in turn led to the longer grass of the meadows that ran down to the canal. A couple of students were slowly making their way back to the college towards me, and in spite of myself I marvelled that they could walk, snog and grope all at the same time. I joined the towpath halfway along, achieving the canal at its longest stretch. It was dark, but Malcolm's boat was always lit up like a Christmas tree, making it easy to find amongst the other barges, which lay like so many sleeping crocodiles at the water's edge. As I approached, I saw Cinders and Sooty rolling around together in the grass. I stopped. What might I be interrupting? I hesitated.