Facing the Light

by Adele Geras

  *

  Rilla, walking up the avenue of scarlet oaks towards the house, saw three things almost simultaneously and knew, knew at once, that something unspeakably dreadful was about to engulf her. She felt it, she could almost see it: a black wave bearing down on her. Three things. Beth, running full tilt down the avenue towards her and screaming and screaming. Leonora kneeling down, clutching someone to her breast. Who was it? Rilla couldn’t quite see and in any case she was hearing the screams, Beth’s screams. Someone was hurt. Beth was hurt. Who had hurt her? Where? The third thing she saw was two cars, one of them a police car and the other Dr Benyon’s black Daimler. The doctor often came to play bridge at Willow Court but you don’t play bridge on Saturday at lunchtime.

  ‘Rilla! Oh, Rilla, please, please … I can’t … I can’t …’

  ‘What’s wrong, chicken?’ Rilla’s voice came out a squeak, her words slurring into one another, tumbling into nonsense as Beth threw both arms around her waist and went on and on, howling like a wounded animal. ‘Are you hurt, Beth? Has someone hurt you? Tell me. Tell me what’s wrong!’

  ‘Markie,’ Beth cried. ‘It’s Markie.’

  Rilla heard the name and it was all she needed to hear. She knew. She said not one word to Beth, but began to run towards the house, stumbling in her haste. As she came closer, she saw everyone, outlined in a shimmer of black, standing on the front steps of Willow Court. Her mother … why did she look like that? When had she ever looked like that, with a mouth twisted out of shape from pain? Gwen was cuddling Alex, hiding his head in her skirt and James was carrying little Chloë.

  ‘Oh, my darling, my darling child, oh, Rilla,’ Leonora said, and came to hold her daughter. ‘There’s been an accident. A terrible, terrible accident. Markie …’

  ‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’ Rilla said. Her voice became something separate from herself. She heard herself shrieking. ‘Markie, Markie, oh my God, my baby. I can’t … Markie, oh God …’ over and over again. Making no sense. Keening. Howoling. She fell to the ground and tore at the crumbling stone of the steps with her bare nails. Shrieking. ‘No, oh, God no. Not this. Please no. Please. Oh, Mummy, Mummy, I can’t bear it.’

  All she heard was her own pain. Somehow, in the darkness that fell over her vision, she sensed someone lifting her to her feet, helping her, taking her into the house. She struggled away from the hands, the loving hands that burned on her flesh.

  ‘Where is he? Where’s Mark? I want to see him, Mummy. Mummy, take me to see my baby. I want to. Please. Take me now. Please. Please let’s hurry.’

  ‘Yes, my darling,’ said Leonora, and every word was thickened with tears. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She’d been crying for a long time.

  A voice somewhere in Rilla’s head said If I get there quickly, maybe it won’t be too late. Maybe I can save him. Breathe life into him. Maybe they’re wrong, and he’s only fainted and I’ll hold him and he’ll come back to me, open his eyes, smile …

  She started to run upstairs, Gwen and Leonora behind her. Where is he? she wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come. Where have you put him? She leaned on the doorframe of the nursery and hands took hold of her and led her to one of the spare rooms.

  Mark was laid out on the bed. He was pale. His hair was wet. Someone had undressed him and his body was covered with a sheet. He looked the same as he always did when he slept. Rilla thought that the pain she felt must break her, split her in two. Almost, she expected to see it, to see something like a lightning flash cutting through her, but of course that was nonsense. She bent down to kiss her boy, her baby, and his skin was cold. She put her mouth near his ear and whispered sounds, moans, cries into his neck. She kissed him. Real kisses, and the fluttie kisses that used to make him laugh with pleasure.

  ‘Come away now, Rilla,’ said Gwen, who was weeping as she held her sister up, carrying almost all her weight. ‘Come and lie down now. Come.’

  ‘What happened, Gwen? Tell me what happened.’

  ‘An accident. Mark wandered away and fell into the lake. He drowned. Oh, Rilla darling, Rilla …’ Gwen was weeping as though she would never stop. Rilla, frozen into silence, walked slowly along the corridor to her own room, leaning on her sister. It was too late and she couldn’t bring him back and he was dead and it was her fault. I wasn’t here. When my baby died I was somewhere else, far away. I wasn’t here.

  She lay down on her bed and there was Dr Benyon suddenly, leaning over her.

  ‘Take this pill, my dear. Just to calm you a little. To ease the pain.’

  Rilla swallowed the pill and thought what a fool Dr Benyon was. Nothing could ease the pain. Nothing. Not ever. Never never ever. There would just be more and more of it, heaped up on her head until she was very old.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, acting calm because that was what they all wanted and she was such a good actress surely she could act calm? She sounded almost normal to herself. There was a bitter taste in her mouth and a rage that frightened her somewhere far away, under the pain. Where were her mother and her sister when her son went into the water? What were they doing? How could they take their eyes away from such a small child? How could they? As soon as this thought came into her mind, her agony hissed back. But where were you? You were the mother. You left him. You didn’t think. You didn’t look back. You should have been there. Not Gwen. Not Leonora. You, his mother. Rilla closed her eyes. If only she could find a way to stop trembling, to stop everything looking blurred and shapeless, she’d be fine.

  *

  Rilla woke up in the middle of the night. Someone had given her a strong sedative on top of Dr Benyon’s pill and perhaps she had slept a little. Moonlight was coming in through the curtains and a blueish light filled her bedroom. She suddenly became aware of someone there, at the foot of her bed. She sat up and saw Efe staring at her.

  ‘Efe? Is that you? Is anything the matter?’

  ‘Rilla?’ It was Efe. Why wasn’t he asleep? He ran to her side, flung himself on her, clutching her round the neck, crying into her ear. ‘Oh, Rilla, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Rilla. I am. I should’ve believed him. I should’ve tried harder, before it was too late. I’m sorry for everything.’

  ‘Yes, Efe, I know. I know. Don’t cry, darling.’ She could feel his tears on her face. He let go of her then, and ran out of the room and Rilla sank back into darkness and anguish.

  In the morning, she was in too much agony to know whether the events of the night were real or something she’d dreamed.

  ———

  Rilla sat at the dressing-table wondering where to begin. It was practically lunchtime and if she didn’t get a move on, Leonora would be knocking at her door demanding to know what had happened to her. She disapproved strongly of Rilla’s habit of turning up late at meals, regarding it as not only rude but a sort of indication of moral decline. Gwen had never been late for a meal in her life and what’s more, when she did sit down at the table, she ate a moderate amount at all times. Rilla smiled. Moderation was not something she knew much about.

  She felt, unexpectedly, a little better now, and thought that perhaps Gwen and all her friends had been right when they’d begged her to go and speak to someone after Mark’s death. I wouldn’t hear of it then, she thought, smoothing moisturizer over her neck. All I wanted to do was work and eat and try to forget about it and it was buried deeper and deeper and that made it hurt more and more. She peered at herself in the glass and wondered whether the fact that she’d been crying was obvious.

  ‘Not too bad, old thing,’ she said aloud to her reflection, which, she noticed somewhat to her surprise, was actually smiling a rather smug smile.

  ‘What have you got to be so smug about?’ she asked her mirror-image. ‘As if I didn’t know.’

  This was getting silly. Grow up, woman, she told herself sternly. You’re middle-aged. You need to lose weight. Your hair would be grey if left to its own devices. There’s absolutely nothing for you to feel so happy about. Oh yes there is said another
voice in her head, a sing-song pantomine voice. There certainly is.

  She hurried to get dressed. Quite apart from Leonora demanding to know why she was so late, suddenly Rilla felt ravenously hungry. She picked up the trousers she’d worn yesterday and went to hang them up in the cupboard. Her hand felt something through the thin cloth – had she left something in her pocket? She felt for whatever it was and brought out the rolled-up strip of wallpaper. I must be losing my mind. How could I possibly have forgotten that? she wondered and sat down quickly on the bed. The dolls’ house. The roof, stripped of some of its paper. Douggie. Oh, my God, what is Leonora going to say? Should I tell her at once, or wait till after lunch?

  Rilla knew suddenly exactly what had to be done. I must dress quickly, she thought, and go and find Gwen. She’ll know what we should tell Mother. Oh, please, please don’t let anyone go into the nursery till I’ve told Gwen. She took a pair of black trousers from the nearest hanger, pulled them on, and thrust the roll of wallpaper into one of the pockets. Then she pushed her arms into a loose silky T-shirt and went to find her sister.

  *

  Gwen looked down at her watch and was amazed to find that it was only a quarter to twelve. She’d done enough this morning to fill two whole days. That was how it felt, anyway. The inside of her head was like the drum of a washing machine lately, with all sorts of things whirling around inside it in no particular order. Every so often someone would fling another item into the mix. For instance, she still hadn’t worked out the origin or meaning of three enormous circles of shortbread which had materialized in the larder overnight. Could someone really have been baking while the rest of the household was asleep? Who would want to and why?

  Gwen pushed these questions to the back of her mind. She’d already added them to the mental list she kept in her head at all times, which was a version of the written list she kept in her notebook, but with added worry. Bridget, whose small firm was catering for the party, wouldn’t be best pleased to have rogue shortbreads appearing out of nowhere and spoiling her plans. The menu for the three-course birthday lunch had been carefully planned, and she knew it by heart: Mozzarella and basil fritters served with a tomato and roasted garlic sauce; Crêpes filled with smoked salmon, cucumber, crème fraîche and chives; Persian omelette (for non-fish-eating vegetarians) made with leeks, walnuts, raisins, watercress and fresh herbs; dark chocolate mousse cake and raspberries and strawberries marinated in elder-flower cordial, served with whipped cream; coffee and birthday cake. Just thinking about it made her feel hungry. The dessert in particular would be spectacular. Bridget was famous for this cake, and Leonora had always loved chocolate.

  Today had started very promisingly. She had arranged for the cleaning firm that looked after Willow Court to come in this afternoon for a final dust and polish. The marquee people were efficient and well organized and what was more they could be left to their own devices and didn’t need constant supervision. This, of course, didn’t prevent James from strutting around as though it were his idea to have the nine tables in just that formation: a central table seating a dozen for the family, with the others each seating eight people arranged around it. Every table was to have its own theme flower and the guests would be given that same flower to help them find their places. This was the idea of Jane, the pretty young florist in charge of the arrangements for the tent. She had come for a chat and promised to be at Willow Court almost before dawn tomorrow to see to the individual table ornaments herself and hang the baskets from the specially designed brackets, which were even now being put up. These would be filled with freesias, roses, ferns, orchids and small lilies in shades of cream and white and pale pink. It would all look heavenly and therefore Gwen had to make sure that the flowers in the house and the plants in the garden for which she was responsible didn’t let the side down.

  The begonias were beautiful. Double blooms in every shade of pink and orange you could think of spilling out of the stone urns along the terrace. Gwen felt properly happy for the first time in days. The Quiet Garden was glorious, too, with the late roses looking quite presentable. The hydrangeas were spectacular this year, huge flowerheads heavy with blooms. The dahlias looked better than she’d ever seen them, the lilies were terrific, and there were plenty of Oriental poppy heads, which would be good in the vases as a contrast. If the weather held, it would be all right. Everything she’d laboured over for weeks would work out and tomorrow would be a day for them all to remember with pleasure.

  Efe’s suggestion for the paintings had put something of a spanner in the works for a while, but thank goodness Mother was being sensible and not sulking about it. After the party was over there’d be plenty of time to talk about what should happen to the Collection. She made a note to check for dust on the frames later on this afternoon. Even though every picture had been cleaned to within an inch of its life, Chloë’s tree-decoration going on in the hall would doubtless be creating dirt of some kind. You couldn’t be too careful.

  The presents would have to be put under the tree tonight as well. The postman this morning had delivered more parcels from those guests who weren’t able to come to the party. Gwen thought that perhaps Alex and Beth could see to the unpacking of the gifts that Leonora hadn’t had time to open yet. They didn’t seem to have too much to do. She’d seen them walking down to Lodge Cottage earlier and thought how kind it was of them to visit Nanny Mouse, but now they ought to muck in with the rest of the family in getting things ready. And what about Rilla? Gwen felt a stab of irritation. She was hardly ever about. Had she even got up this morning? Typical of her, she thought, not to offer to help when she must see how busy I am.

  No sooner had Gwen thought of her sister than she came round the side of the house, almost running. This was unusual. Rilla had never, ever run in her life. Gwen felt a chill come over her.

  ‘What’s wrong, Rilla?’ she said, and as she spoke, she suddenly realized that it must have been Rilla who’d made the shortbread in the middle of the night. It was exactly the crazy kind of thing she might take it into her head to do. She said, ‘Are those shortbread circles yours?’

  ‘Yes, they are. I was going to tell you about them but something’s happened, Gwen, which I have to ask you about.’

  ‘Oh, God, don’t tell me. Is it Mother? Is she okay? I knew this news of Efe’s was worrying her more than she was telling us.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with Mother. Well, it is in a way, but don’t worry. No one’s ill. Can we go somewhere a bit private? I’ve got something I want to show you.’

  Gwen opened the door which led from the terrace into the conservatory. The room was empty, and she sat down at the table.

  ‘What is it? You’re being very mysterious, Rilla.’

  ‘Here you are. It’s a piece of the wallpaper from the dolls’ house roof.’

  Gwen watched as Rilla took something out of her trouser pocket. She unrolled a long strip of the familiar paper on to the table, and as soon as she let it go, it curled up again.

  ‘Where did that come from? How could it possibly …’

  ‘Douggie got into the nursery. I found him there early this morning.’

  ‘What were you doing up early in the morning? That’s not like you at all.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter now, Gwen. I’ll tell you about that later. I hadn’t been to bed.’

  ‘So that was when you made the shortbread, though I can’t think what for. There’s going to be so much food here that we’ll be up to our ears in the stuff. Why on earth d’you want to add to it with your shortbread? And why those huge circles?’

  Rilla sighed and sat down opposite Gwen. ‘Talk about irrelevant, Gwen, honestly. We’ve got a crisis here, don’t you see? If Mother finds out that the dolls’ house has been wrecked, she’ll be livid and you know what that means. The shortbread is for strawberry shortcake, for your information. I’m going to see if Mary will let me make it for dessert tonight. I just felt in the mood for baking, that’s all.’

  Gwen
was used to her sister’s moods and, apart from raising her eyes to the heavens, said only, ‘Have you seen? There’s something written on the back of this. It’s very faint but you can read bits of it. Look.’

  Rilla picked up the strip of wallpaper and peered at it. ‘You’re right,’ she said, ‘but the main thing is, what are we going to tell Mother? Do you think we should just run up there now and see if we can somehow glue this damn thing back on in some way that she won’t notice?’

  ‘No, of course not. Don’t you remember the time you broke that dish and threw all the pieces away, hoping she’d never notice?’

  Rilla laughed. ‘Yes! Bloody silly of me to leave one piece behind, wasn’t it? God, she let me have it, didn’t she? I’ll never forget how she said it’s not the loss of the dish I mind, it’s being deceived by my own daughter.’

  Gwen smiled in spite of herself at the accuracy of Rilla’s mimicry.

  ‘I do think we might leave telling her till after lunch, though,’ she said. ‘It’ll wait till then, and at least we can have one meal in peace.’

  ‘Fine, but I want you there when I tell her, Gwennie. I can’t face her alone. I wouldn’t know what to say.’

  ‘All right. We’ll get her on her own somehow. She’ll be going upstairs for her rest anyway and to get changed for this afternoon’s filming. Sean’s taking her down to talk to Nanny Mouse.’

  Rilla didn’t answer. She was holding the strip of paper in her hand, very near her face. Gwen said, ‘What are you doing? What can you see?’

  ‘The things that are written here are rather strange. The way it’s been torn off makes it look as though there’s more.’

  ‘Of course there’s more. You can see that it’s part of a letter or something. I noticed that there were half-words there at once. Can you actually read any of them?’

  Rilla nodded. ‘Yes. There’s didn’t touch and then later on crying for me and Solace. Comfort. Then here’s glow and shine and leap out and fragile and what’s this? Can you read these words?’