Dark Mirrors

by Siobhain Bunni

  Bullshit! She kicked back, refusing to give in, defiantly challenging her morbid torturous mood. As it stood, with all his travel they were lucky to spend a full day with him anyway, never mind a whole weekend. Well, he’d have to sort that out for starters. With more than a hint of frustrated malice, she closed over the second box with a firm slap.

  Three hours later and the hall was full. The more she packed the more she thought. The more she thought, the angrier she became so that, by the time the boxes and black bags were bursting with clothes, toys and books, she was consumed with furious fathoms of rage, enough to drive the much-needed determination that would carry her further forward. Piling as much as she could into the boot and back seat of her car, while leaving just enough room for herself, she turned the ignition and with one final push on the throttle reversed out of the driveway and turned her back on the house that had for so long been their settled, comfortable suburban home.

  Ten minutes and four long miles later through the bustling village she pulled up and parked outside a whole new world.

  How is it, she asked herself as she stared at the quaint two-up, two-down terraced cottage with its canary-yellow door, how is it that bricks and mortar can mean so much and make such a difference?

  Pushing the key into the latch of Number 6, Brook Lane, she entered their new home. The smell of fresh paint hit her hard as she walked into the living room.

  Wow, she thought, casting a glance around her new surroundings. Walking slowly, taking everything in, she toured the open-plan living space and ventured cautiously into the compact but more than adequate kitchen.

  The place had, at her cautious request, been freshly decorated and furnished. Although expecting to see a difference she wasn’t prepared for how good it felt. An overwhelming sense of achievement and pride filled her as she wandered from room to room. The hard negotiating, to-ing and fro-ing, as she searched for a house to rent, had been worth every secret minute of it. She felt the weight of the whole ordeal lift – and it had been just that, an ordeal. She had never had to parley in her life, well, not seriously anyway, and it had taken every ounce of steel she had within her to stand her ground. With no one beside her supporting and driving her, Esmée had no way of measuring if she had gone too far or if there was more rope to pull. And this was the result. All thoughts of whether or not she’d done the right thing, got the best place, secured the best deal, were abandoned as she turned on the spot, breathing deep the penetrating turpentine whiff, as if it were the scent of a fresh summer’s day. It had seemed so much smaller the last time she had stood here but now, freshly painted, it appeared brighter and certainly bigger than she remembered. Finished exactly as she’d asked, with white walls with just a hint of honey mixed in to bring a subtle warmth and highlight the shadows of the simple cornice overhead. She stood in the middle and turned to take in the original features of her new habitat: the cast-iron fireplace with burgundy-and-yellow floral inset tiles, the granite black grate just itching to be lit, tempted by the small turf pile laid out in its hearth. And what about the deep-pile burgundy rug on the polished pine floor or the rotund lamps that sat like two fat ladies topped with wide-brimmed cream hats on either side of the chimneybreast, each casting a warm golden hue into the old room? She could go on and on – about the heavy golden curtains framing the sash windows or the FH painting that hung over the mantel . . . now there was a surprise! A little too much perhaps? Definitely not. It was perfect. And as if to contradict the rooms’ humble origins, in the furthest corner sat a flat-screen television complete with DVD and video player.

  The kids will love this, she thought, as she sat into the first couch, sinking comfortably into the soft cushions to study and enjoy her new surroundings. It was without doubt a truly wonderful feeling and she let the indecision and stress of the past few weeks lift effortlessly, like bubbles of hot air, from her shoulders. It felt right and she couldn’t have stopped the contented smile of self-satisfaction from embracing her whole face even if she had wanted to. Taking the remote control, she switched on the telly.

  What a picture, she marvelled as the wide screen immediately filled with a picture-perfect, crystal-clear, high-definition image. Bloody wonderful!

  Curiosity finally got the better of her – there was so much to see in this, her tiny haven – and pushing herself out of the comfort of the chair she went to explore the rest of the house with a juvenile sense of anticipation. Like an inquisitive child she opened the new cupboards, fridge, oven, microwave and dishwasher with a combined feeling of bewilderment and delight. And upstairs was no different: the entire house from the ground floor up to the main bedroom had undergone a complete transformation from being an ordinary, tired interior into a warm, bijoux home.

  Esmée did her best to contain the excitement that was simmering inside her. She couldn’t wait to get unpacked and settled. Hurriedly she unloaded the stuffed car and carted in the multitude of boxes and bags one by one.

  Anxious to get the rest of her belongings, she wasted no time in securing the door behind her to take the opposite route of that morning’s journey.

  She wanted to share this moment with someone. But the mantle of concealment she had created around her left no one but Fin and she was at the movies with the kids. She could have done with the company of either of her sisters, Lizzie or Penny, right now. Loneliness overwhelmed her. She’d just have to wait.

  By the time Fin and the kids returned from their escapade, Esmée had packed and stacked the rest of her things and had created a short line of boxes, waist-high, shrouded with the anticipation of new beginnings. Surprisingly there wasn’t that much stuff really, much less than she had first thought. But, she found as she treaded the floors, wandering from room to room, there was very little she actually wanted, only what was rightfully hers: clothes, cosmetics, her CDs, a few ornaments and a couple of framed pictures. Philip could have the rest; she knew he would fight her for it anyway. His argument would undoubtedly be that he had paid for it so she could sing for it. And she wasn’t that bothered, neither caring for nor wanting any of it and anyway there was no room at the cottage.

  Fin was amazed at Esmée’s apparent transformation from an uncertain minion to a determined chief. Esmée had been so uncertain, a bag of nerves, but had consistently insisted that this was something she had to do for herself.

  “It’s time I stood on my own two feet,” she had said, turning down the offer of help.

  And seeing her now and experiencing the tremendous sense of achievement alongside her, Fin was glad of the refusal, at the same time a little guilty for giving her friend less credit than she was obviously due. Well done, Esmée.

  And the effect of her small win was incredible. Esmée’s smile radiated joy and corrected, to a degree, her imbalance of self-esteem. She felt fantastic, the best she’d felt in a very long time, with the day’s excitement pushing her horrors to one side for a while. She was sorely tempted to keep packing, impatience being one of her failings, wanting to get everything in place instantly. But reason and common sense, for once, prevailed. She couldn’t be sure exactly how in the end she managed to control her impulsiveness and she probably never would. Perhaps it was her absolute determination to get this right, not only for herself but for Matthew and Amy too – the last thing she wanted to do was freak them out. A mature decision, she concluded, applauding her own level of self-control. And she felt so much the better for it so that when she settled in for the monumental ‘last night’, cross-legged and alone on the sitting-room floor, she felt surprisingly alive and a little bit dangerous.

  Surrounded by old photographs, letters and general junk from her school and college days, she sipped slowly on a glass of wine while sifting through her life gone by, memories that had lain dormant in a plain brown box under the stairs, unnoticed and forgotten, for almost a decade. Letters, postcards and trinkets. It was odd to sit and relive their moments of glory: an old badge from her first rag week, a train ticket from that summer �
�hippie trip’ across Europe, flyers from gigs, beer mats with quirky messages written in bleeding ink. An old forgotten life with missed emotions, camaraderie, friendship, mischief, ambition and fun. Lots of fun! All stirred up now to muddy the already cloudy waters with charms and snapshots. A journey through time, an omen maybe: taking back ownership of her life before Philip? She felt odd, a little bitter perhaps, resentful of what she knew she had missed out on. But how could she possibly regret the last ten years? Because without them there would be no Matthew and no Amy and life without them was simply unimaginable. The old faces looked back at her as she sipped on her lonely drink, passing photograph after photograph through her hands and wondering what they were all doing now – they all looked so young – mind you, so did she! All hips and bones! Carefree and beautiful. Fin still saw some of them out and about every now and then. They used to ask after her, but that had stopped ages ago and she wondered if they would remember her now? They were so different: they with their varying degrees of success, not a child between them, living up the single life, late nights and later mornings. Would they even recognise her? She wasn’t a patch on the old Esmée . . . Realising she was beginning to wallow, she swallowed the last bitter drop before sweeping everything back into its box. Taping it shut, she added it to the top of the heap in the hall.

  Too much melancholy, she told herself before turning out the lights and climbing the stairs to her bed.

  Chapter 4

  She drove like a novice, deliberate and slow, taking her time down the tree-lined avenue and through the village, with Matthew in the back seat. Feeling exceptionally uneasy she manoeuvred the car through the busy streets, slicing through the elongated shadows cast by the afternoon sun as its rays percolated dramatically through the gaps in the trees. Fin, accompanied by Amy, tailed them with the remaining boxes and bags jammed into her boot.

  “Where’s this, Mum?” Matthew asked as eventually they came to a slow stop outside the cottage.

  “Wait and see,” she replied quietly, with more trepidation than excitement. “Wait and see.”

  “Who lives here?” he persisted.

  Esmée took off her seatbelt and turned to look at her son.

  “This,” she told him calmly, “is our new house, our new home – it’s where we’re coming to live.”

  Pausing, she gave him a moment, letting it sink into his six-year-old brain, unsure of what kind of a reaction she should expect. But he said nothing, his eyes, in response, darting frantically between the brightly painted door and his mother and again out the window of the car to further examine the pebbledash walls and pretty flowers in baskets that swung gently in the morning breeze. Esmée could only imagine the thoughts that flitted through his tender mind and tried to encourage him with a smile.

  “So what do you think?” she asked.

  His response was simple and understandable. “But why, Mummy? What’s wrong with our own house?”

  “Nothing, honey, nothing’s the matter with it – but this house is for us only.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His sudden feeling of anxiety was palpable. She wasn’t dealing with this very well – she’d done it all wrong.

  “I mean it’s for you, Amy and me. Just us.”

  She should have warned him beforehand, broken it to him with a little more sensitivity.

  He stayed quiet for a while, just looking. Esmée knew better than to say anything more, not yet anyway. She could almost hear his mind ticking over, almost see the cogs turn as piece by piece the bits fell into place and the final assumption was gleaned although not necessarily understood. But he said no more, just peered out the window at the two-storey building with the number 6 on its front.

  Esmée got out of the car and walked around to open his door. Amy and Fin were already waiting and together they went inside. Esmée and Fin stood back and let the two children wander one after the other through the house. Esmée knew that Amy was too young to even begin to understand the implications of this move, but Matthew, well, he was a smart and sensitive six-year-old and that made her nervous.

  “This could go either way,” she commented through gritted teeth to Fin as she watched him stroll nervously through the small living space, eventually climbing the stairs behind his decisively more inquisitive sister.

  “It’s not as big as our own house,” he challenged when he returned to stand before her with his hands firmly lodged in his pockets, his furrowed brow exposing his worries as he stood glancing furtively around him, poking at the carpet with his toe. His eyes were wide, his cheeks faintly flushed and his mouth turned slightly downward.

  And finally! The question Esmée had been dreading crossed his lips.

  “Isn’t Daddy coming too?”

  There! It was out and the world hadn’t caved in around them!

  She knelt so that their eyes were level and stroked his face gently. Her voice was soft and bursting with emotion as she tried to answer him as best and honestly as she could without totally freaking him out.

  “No, pet, Daddy’s going to stay at the other house. But he’ll come and visit you and I promise you can visit him whenever you want.” She brought her hand to her chest to seal the pledge.

  “But won’t he miss us?” he asked sadly, mixed up and confused as tears defied the brave tone in his little voice.

  “He won’t have a chance to miss you,” she replied honestly, seizing him into her grasp. “He’ll see you more than ever before,” she reassured him, holding him tight as if squeezing him might expel the sadness from his tiny, precious body.

  “What about my other toys?”

  “Well, your favourite toys are right here, in the box beside your bed.” She pointed to the ceiling to indicate their presence in the room upstairs. “And if you want to bring anything else just tell me and we can go and collect it.”

  He thought about this for a while, like an adult taking mental stock of his situation, but it was obviously a little too much and his bottom lip began to quiver.

  “But, Mummy,” he sobbed, “my friends – they won’t know where I live – how will they find me?”

  He cried quietly at first, until the swell of emotion brought a wave of tears from a child who hadn’t the energy to pretend any more that he was grown up.

  As Amy watched curiously Esmée held him close, her heart spiking with the pain she was inflicting on them.

  “Don’t be silly!” she said, battling with her own failing composure and the hard lump that was threatening in her throat. “Sure we can always show them where we live, can’t we?” She lifted his chin with her finger so she could look into his eyes. “Why don’t we have Simon, Eamonn and Shane over to play tomorrow after school? How does that sound?”

  He nodded gently, liking the sound of the promise, and Esmée could feel his heartbeat settle somewhat but his body still heaved as he held on tightly to her.

  “I like it, Mummy,” whispered Amy, tugging at her sleeve, obviously feeling left out of the moment.

  “That’s just fantastic!” Esmée laughed, pulling her little angel into the family embrace. “Now. Why don’t we go and have a look at your new room? We’ll unpack your toys and you can show me where we should put everything.”

  “And just look at the lovely telly,” she gushed as they passed through the sitting room. “You can watch all your DVDs here. Isn’t it great?”

  Both children agreed eagerly as they led her to the stairs and up to their new room, leaving Fin downstairs to order the pizza.

  That night, with both children fast asleep, Esmée took a framed picture of their father out of one of the still-to-be unpacked boxes and placed it on the bedside locker between them. While they were worried that their dad would miss them, she knew that it would be they who would miss him more. Inexplicably she had an uneasy feeling – she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something didn’t feel right. Putting it down to stress and emotional uncertainty, she closed the door gently behind her, leaving it sli
ghtly ajar just in case. She crept downstairs to join Fin, collapsing into her new couch and letting the stress and anguish of the day’s events drain from her body in a long heartfelt sigh.

  Accepting a much-needed and well-deserved glass of wine, Esmée raised it in a toast to her friend. “Here’s to you, Fin! Thank you for everything.”

  “Here’s to you, missus!” Fin toasted in return. “I’m so very proud of you!”

  “I’m proud of myself, too,” said Esmée, smiling. “I feel weird but nice.” She chose not to mention her earlier feeling of disquiet, adopting instead a positive mood. “Excited, I suppose, in a perverse kind of way,” she elaborated. “Thanks for all your help, Fin – I couldn’t have done it without you, you know.”

  “I know,” came Fin’s smug reply, “but hey, isn’t that what friends are for?”

  They drank their wine in silence and watched the flames that flickered and danced in the fireplace, throwing hypnotic shadows across the walls and onto the ceiling, each mesmerised and preoccupied with her own thoughts.

  “When is he due in?” asked Fin finally, voicing what she knew was on Esmée’s mind.