The growl of an approaching engine cut through my thoughts. A great black motorcycle, utterly incongruous with the quaint road I was walking along, prowled up behind me. I paused to let it pass, stubbing out my cigarette, but instead it pulled up right by my side onto the pavement.
A shock of fear swept through me and I instinctively felt for my money, my phone. But as soon as I locked eyes with the driver, a strange, almost guilty laugh rose up in my lungs instead.
‘Where did you get the bike?’ I asked.
‘I borrowed it from somewhere,’ Raphael replied. ‘Hop on.’
I gingerly took the crash helmet from him and climbed onto the back, my heart suddenly beating very fast, my body acutely conscious of how close it was to his. I wrapped my arms around his waist and the bike sprang into action. Before I knew it we were tearing down the narrow streets, the lines of his shoulder blades an inch from my cheek.
I lost track of where we went. We crossed the river over the Albert Bridge and we looked back at it through the quiet hum of Battersea Park. We left London and flew like an enraged wasp down the A roads and onto the motorway, dancing past the cars and playing chicken with the lorries.
I gripped tightly onto Raphael now, my eyes closed for much of the time, the sharp air stinging through us. But the closer I held him the more dangerous it felt until I was quite convinced that any moment we’d take our fall, our bodies skimming across the black roads together and under the black tyres of the traffic around us.
But at last we slowed down and I found myself back in the quiet streets of west London again, slaloming elegantly through the stream of traffic. I felt a slowing down of senses, like at the end of a funfair ride: the feeling of relief saddled with a small but undeniable yearning for more.
Only minutes later we were back where Raphael had found me and he stopped to let me go. I unlocked my arms, the heat of his body still in them, and slid away from him. He didn’t look round. As soon as my feet touched the pavement he fired up the engine again and sped off. I watched him disappear and wondered for a moment whether our adventure had really happened at all.
When I got back to the house Beth was waiting for me in the kitchen.
‘You’ve been gone ages!’ she cried.
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s alright, you’re going to give me an art lesson now.’
‘Am I indeed?’
I went over to the sink and checked inside; not a glass shard in sight.
‘Yes, look I even got your pencils down from your room.’
‘Hhm, I can see that.’
I sat down with her and we both began to draw: Beth a rather impressive castle equipped with turret and drawbridge and me the rounded torso of a man.
‘You like Sasha, don’t you?’ I murmured.
‘Oh yes! He says he’s going to write a book about me and make me famous.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘Because he says I tell him interesting things. But I’m not allowed to tell him about you.’
I paused and looked up at her. She was concentrating on her castle, colouring it in with dark pink spaghetti-like squiggles.
‘Look, shade it in like this, softly on the side and then we’ll use a black pen to outline bricks on top... What can’t you tell Sasha about me?’
Her hands suddenly flew to her mouth. ‘Oh nothing!’ she shrieked. ‘Forget I said it, please.’ She buried her head back over her work, shading feverishly.
I looked down at the drawing I’d begun and before I knew it the torso had acquired short little arms and legs and then a bird-like head sprouting out of the neck. The cheeks came out all puffed-up and swollen and the eyes set in a sort of stupefied plea. I added a little red to the cheeks, some pearls of sweat around the neck and the forehead.
‘Has Sasha gone now?’ I asked.
‘He went up to Eva’s room just before you arrived to see if she felt better.’
My stomach churned over. I finished the face off quickly, adding a pursed, choking mouth and the remains of a biscuit flying out from between his lips.
‘Um, I’m just going to get that pen for you. You’ll be alright for a few minutes won’t you? Start on the sky when you’ve finished that.’
Eva’s room was on the second floor. I hadn’t had any need to go there before, but now as I approached the heavy door with the drawing of Sasha folded in my hand, I was filled with the shaky sensation of stepping over an invisible boundary. The sound of a soft murmuring voice, Sasha’s, came to me from behind the door. It was impossible to hear what he was saying, but he seemed to be talking endlessly, rhythmically even, and every so often the sound of Eva, whimpering, seemed to cause him to pause.
I stepped back, the drawing rustling in my hand.
‘No!’ screeched Eva, suddenly. ‘Can’t you just leave me alone!’
His voice grew faster, as if he was appealing to her and then there was a loud shattering jolt, like something being knocked over: a vase perhaps, or a lamp. I jumped and raised my hand at the same time, knocking urgently at the door. There was a stunned silence for a moment and then the quiet pad of feet. The door eased open. Eva’s face appeared, her mascara running down her cheeks.
‘Hello, I’m not disturbing anything am I? Oh Sasha it’s you in there is it?’ I said, craning my neck. ‘Fancy bumping into each other twice in one day.’
Eva moved aside a little and Sasha appeared behind her, fury quivering at his nostrils.
‘It’s just that I have something here for you,’ I said, handing Eva the folded picture. ‘Something I’ve been working on. I thought we could discuss it. But only if I’m not interrupting...’
We both glanced over at Sasha. He brushed the sides of his hair back with sweaty palms, readjusted his jacket and released a sober little laugh.
‘Then I will leave you to it ladies,’ he said under his breath, marching briskly between us and away.
Relief seemed to flood into Eva’s face as soon as he was gone. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand but when she opened the picture of Sasha she only smiled thinly.
‘This isn’t your business,’ she murmured.
‘What is that man doing in this house?’
She gulped back. ‘Look, you have no place here. Leave us... please. Before something awful happens.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘Just go. Go!’ she groaned, pressing her head back against the door, fresh tears streaming down her face.
I turned away, but before I’d reached the end of the corridor she called out to me again.
‘Serena!’ My drawing was raised up in her hand. ‘May I keep this?’
‘Of course.’
And she smiled back at me through her tears.
I climbed up to my room, the vague memory of having promised to get a pen somewhere at the back of my brain. Pushing my bedroom door open with my shoulder I closed my eyes and ran my hands down over my face. And then a movement, from somewhere in the room, rippled over me. It was no more than the merest flutter of air, but enough for me to know that Seb was there without even having to look.
He was by the window, an untidy bunch of small white flowers clasped in one hand. I could already taste their pungent scent.
‘Jasmine from the garden,’ he said. ‘I hope you like them.’
‘I’m sorry about earlier. I’ve always been terrified...’
‘You don’t need to explain.’
‘Oh God, oh God!’ I murmured.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘What’s wrong? I don’t know where to begin!’ I tried to steady my voice, swallow back the tears.
‘Well I do. Why did you ignore me downstairs earlier?’
‘Are you quite serious? You and Eva, curled up together like a loving couple!’
He tossed the flowers on my bed, clenching his fists. ‘I don’t understand why you keep going on about her. There’s nothing between us; she’s my friend.’
‘But you looked so... in tune with ea
ch other.’
‘She’s my friend,’ he repeated, his voice trailing slightly.
He gazed trustingly into my face and every hurtful word I wanted to hurl at him just seemed to fall away.
‘I saw Eva... just now,’ I whispered. ‘She told me to leave this house in case something awful happens. Robert said I should leave too, on the night of the party. I’m beginning to think I should take the hint.’
He pulled me towards him and I clasped myself tightly against his chest. And when I closed my eyes I heard voices from my childhood in my head, gentle voices I hadn’t heard for such a long time.
‘When I’m close to you,’ I whispered. ‘I feel as if I’ve returned to a part of myself I thought I’d lost. It’s like coming home I suppose.’
‘Then stay here, this is your home now. Don’t listen to them. I’ll look after you. I’ll make sure that nothing ever hurts you again. No more broken glass to run away from. OK?’
‘OK.’
At some point that night I woke up quite suddenly with the sensation that I was being watched. Somewhere, in the corner of my consciousness, I saw a figure slip away, so slight and subtle that it almost must have been a dream. I looked over at the balcony window but there wasn’t a flicker of movement, only baking, lifeless air.
Seb was breathing rhythmically beside me but it was too close in the room for me to fall back to sleep. I stumbled downstairs to the bathroom and washed my face and neck with water. It was no good though, even the water felt warm. It ran down my face in clammy trickles and seemed to turn to vapour before even reaching the neck of my thin nightdress.
Further down the house it got cooler and more comfortable and I felt as if I could breathe again. I caught my pale reflection in a mirror and found myself smiling back at me.
Down at the bottom an enticing wave of fresh air caressed my face and arms. It was coming from the conservatory at the back of the drawing room – its door leading out into the garden had been left wide open.
Outside the air was almost drinkable, full of dew and damp leaves and the scent of jasmine. It was more than tempting to curl up on a bench and spend the rest of the night outside. I reached out, inspecting the petals of flowers here and there. There weren’t a great many plants: a few shrubs down the sides in terracotta pots and some shady trees at the end. But no jasmine.
‘What are you doing out here?’
I peered into the darkness for the voice but saw only shadows. But then came a sharp scraping sound, the strike of a match, followed by a flame which metamorphosed into a round orange spot suspended in the night air. I moved towards it and the spot became the end of a cigarette. Closer still and Raphael appeared. He was smoking on the bench in the garden’s far corner.
‘I could ask the same of you.’
‘Well I am having a smoke.’
‘And I’m looking for jasmine.’
‘Here, join me.’
I perched next to him.
‘How’s the motorbike?’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Don’t even know where it is now.’
I pictured the vast black machine dumped in a wasteland somewhere, waiting to be vandalized or stolen. Clearly its job had been done, as far as Raphael was concerned.
I took a deep breath of the luxurious night and peered up at the back of the house. It seemed to be gleaming down at both of us in reply.
‘What do you think of this place, my home?’ he murmured softly.
‘I think it’s beautiful.’
He chuckled. ‘Why?’
‘Because it is a home I think, a real home. It’s hard to be lonely in a place like this.’
‘And is loneliness something you do well?’
I swallowed hard but didn’t answer.
‘Well I’m buggering off in a few minutes. Going back to Europe.’
‘Beth will miss you. Does she know you’re leaving?’
‘Oh she’s used to it.’
‘When will you come back?’
‘Probably at Christmas. I hear my mother’s invited you to Druid Manor, will you still be with us by then?’
‘Oh you’re not going to tell me to leave too are you?’
He gazed at me unblinkingly and a chill ran up my arms. His long intelligent face seemed to ripple with tension and his eyes had turned jet black, like deep bruises. They made me want to back away but somehow I found myself drawing closer to them instead.
‘No,’ he said eventually. ‘I very much think that you should stay.’
He turned away and suddenly without his gaze I felt as if I’d lost something I didn’t even know I was looking for.
‘Before you do go, I want you to tell me about something,’ I said.
‘And that is...?’
‘I want to know about the missing house.’
He paused. ‘What do you mean by missing?’
‘Oh you know what I mean. The fact that this is number 36 but the one over there next to us is 32. When I tried to ask your parents about the missing number in between they gave me different stories, which makes me think that neither of them are true. And, the strangest thing of all is that Beth seems to think that there is a 34. She pointed it out once.’
His eyes found me again; tunnel black. I peered through the shadows and they stretched around me, so tender and consuming that everything on the periphery of my vision began to diminish. Our faces were so close now that I could feel his breath.
‘Look over there,’ he said. ‘What do you see?’
I tore my eyes away from him to look over. ‘A fence, separating your garden from number 32. A few pots. The wall sticking out from the extension next door.’
‘And that’s exactly what you should see. There is no missing house. Listen to me,’ he said in a low hushed voice. ‘When something scares you, when you see the ugliness of life, just pretend it’s not there. It’s for the best; it’s what we do. We lock up sickness and disease in institutions; we keep it off the streets. We chop up slaughtered animals into segments and wrap it up until it becomes nothing more than meat. We cover up our own imperfections, give ourselves new faces. Because who wants to see the other side? Not me, not you.’
‘Seb told me something similar. But the way you say it scares me.’
‘And so it should.’
‘You’re all watching me, aren’t you? I don’t understand why.’
‘Look, go back in.’
‘Do you think I should leave, really?’
‘I’m not sure whether you can.’
I felt his hands gently circling my waist. He was raising me up onto my feet and my legs felt shaky, as if I was half asleep. I raised my hands and felt his warm face against my palms. His mouth moved towards mine.
‘What have you done to me?’
My voice sounded far away.
He stopped and moved his lips away so that they brushed against my hair.
‘Go back to bed,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll see you at Christmas.’
I found myself walking back across the garden and a vision, so beautiful, appeared before me that I heard myself cry out with surprise. Butterflies. They were glowing white, stark and fluttering against the night air. I rushed forwards, my hand outstretched, but just as I got to them a sharp spear of pain tore through my left side.
I’d collided with something: an old crumbling wall that couldn’t possibly have been there before, rising up nearly to my shoulder. I reached up to touch the fluttering wings above it and as my fingers fell upon them they turned into petals; white jasmine petals tumbling over from the next garden and intoxicating enough to make my mind swim.
I snapped off a small cluster of buds, but the world was becoming blurry. My feet danced sideways, sleep was drowning me, and the flowers had turned back into quivering butterfly wings. It took every last shred of energy to drag myself back up to bed, my eyes sore and throbbing and the jasmine buds crushed in my hand.
1892
The plant had quite taken over. If she let it grow anymore it w
ould be eating up the windows in another season. Miranda grappled the thick foliage away with her left hand and plunged in with the shears. A volley of dead leaves shot out at her, straight at her eyes and mouth.
‘Ah, fighting back are you?’
Above her the sky was already gun-metal grey with evening gloom. Soon it would be time.
The pruning caused an awful mess. She raked the twigs and branches onto the pile in the middle of the lawn. It would make a good bonfire.
‘I wish you’d get a gardener to do that.’
Mrs Hubbard was standing on the doorstep wearing the thick blue shawl she’d made for her.
‘Oh I love it. It gets my blood pumping, makes me feel alive.’
‘I suppose you miss the country.’
‘Yes... I suppose I do in a way.’
‘Now are you sure you want me to go home so early?’
‘Yes yes of course.’
‘I’ve left some cold ham and bread out.’
‘That’s marvellous, thank you. Now go home to those sons of yours!’
Mrs Hubbard returned to the glow of the drawing room and the forced smile fell from Miranda’s face like a lead weight. When it got too dark and cold to go on anymore she finally edged inside. In the mirror a smudged and dirty face stared back at her; there were even a few bits of broken twig in her hair. And yet her skin was glowing. Just over an hour to go. She hurried upstairs.
In the warm bath she rubbed her body as thoroughly as possible with a new bar of soap. When at last she was properly clean she dried herself briskly and peered into her wardrobe. Her navy dress would do. She liked the snake of buttons which ran all the way up the middle and the rather pretty V-shaped neckline. She scraped her hair back, adorned it with a black silk hairband and examined herself in the long bedroom mirror.
‘Gosh, I look like I’m going to a funeral.’
The Room Beyond Page 14
