by Emma Nichols
Eva perched on the tall stool, her back to the pillar on the corner of the bar that presumably served to support the weight of the building in some way. The vantage point also afforded her the degree of obscurity she desired, hidden from view from a large portion of the room. She downed half the glass in two long slugs.
‘I’m Simone, by the way,’ the barwoman said.
‘Eva.’ She tried to raise a smile, but her eyes wouldn’t comply. She took another two glugs and finished the glass. She held the glass out, her instruction clear to the intuitive barwoman.
Simone took the glass and re-filled it. ‘Thirsty.’ It was a comment, not a question.
Eva winced. She didn’t come here for a conversation. ‘Thanks,’ she said, her tone indicating that the chat between them was over. She sipped from her glass, enjoying the heady effects that were already resulting in her caring less. The tension in her mind softened, the sounds merging into a blur of background noise, punctuated by the voices of those women who passed close to her seat.
‘Wanna dance?’
Eva turned to face the question. The cropped dark hair and square build of the woman grabbed her attention. Fleetingly, Dee’s image jumped into her thoughts, causing her pulse to race. Anxiety flew into her chest until her sluggish brain registered that Dee wouldn’t be asking her to dance. She squinted, trying to study the woman further. It took even longer for her heart rate to slow down.
‘Forget it.’ The woman threw up a dismissive hand and moved off into the crowd that had congregated on the dance floor.
If their eyes were on Eva, she didn’t notice, and she wasn’t interested. She needed a pee. She hoisted herself off the stool and made her way towards the toilets. In spite of her best efforts to move in a straight line, she found herself bouncing off a couple of women: shouts of ‘watch out,’ trailing behind her.
She plonked herself down onto the toilet, rested her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands, and took her relief. Her thoughts drifted to Rosa and the first sighting of her, here, across the room. A surge of longing burned in her chest, but the inner voice continued its mantra - you’re not good enough for her. She knew the truth when she heard it. She chastised herself for wishing things could be different. They couldn’t.
Eva moved from the seat twice during the night; both occasions to go to the toilet. On the second time of returning to the stool at the bar, she struggled to sit. ‘Can I settle the bill?’ she asked as Simone passed by with a tray of glasses in her hand. Her words were slurred, and her body rocked gently from side to side.
‘Sure. Are you okay? Want me to call a taxi?’
‘Nah, it’s okay. I’ll walk, thanks.’
Simone’s eyebrows rose at the idea. Eva could barely put one foot in front of the other. Against her better judgement, she put down the tray and handed Eva the card machine. Eva struggled to see the numbers, and when she’d finished pressing the digits an error message appeared. She stared at the machine, unable to read the words. She waited, still staring, unable to process what to do next.
‘Do you want me to put your number in?’ Simone asked softly.
Eva handed the machine over. ‘Thanks. 3…8…5…6…’ she said pausing between each number, repeating the whole number to ensure she remembered it correctly.
Within a few moments Simone had moved around to the front of the bar with the receipt and card in her hand. She pushed them both deeply into Eva’s jeans pocket. ‘Are you sure you don’t need any help?’ she asked, with genuine concern.
‘Fine, honest.’ Eva slurred, and staggered out of the bar and into the street, promising that tomorrow things would be different.
*
Lauren couldn’t describe the scent hitting her nostrils. It wasn’t a strong smell and it wasn’t a medical one either. Yet this was a medical establishment. The echo of her heels on the slate-tiled floor reverberated around the vast entrance hall. The old house had been converted a long time ago, providing an invaluable service to the terminally ill. There was no nursing station: no reception to pass through. She looked at the visitors’ book on the table, ignored it, and followed the instructions written on the piece of paper in her hand. Room 131. Orientating herself, she admired the works of art hanging on the walls, giving the place its stately-home appearance. As she walked up the wide, shallow stairs and along the corridor, the absence of sound struck her. A nurse passed her, but her movement was unhurried in every way. The place felt peaceful. She stopped outside the room; its door was open, and she could see the end of the bed from where she stood. Unsure whether to knock she entered the room.
The man in the bed turned his head, lifting it slightly so that his eyes could register her. The movement looked effortful. ‘Hello,’ he said, squinting to focus, trying to make out his unfamiliar guest.
‘Hello Uncle Phillipe.’ The man’s eyes widened as he searched his memories, until a coy smile began to appear, and he rested his head back on the pillow.
‘Lauren.’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was stern, accusing, and the old man rolled his eyes, releasing a tired breath as his body sunk deeper into the bed. ‘You must have known I’d work it out,’ she said. He made out as if to shrug his shoulders. ‘Why?’ she asked.
His eyes motioned her to sit, but her body refused to obey, and she stood her ground. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said. ‘I always knew you were smart, like him’ he said. ‘But how did you…’ His voice trailed as he spoke.
‘Was it because you couldn’t have him?’ she asked, fuelled by the heat of anger rising to her head. It was the only possible explanation she had been able to find. The police contact had identified the name of the person who had given the statement of concern and it had taken a while to trace the name to anyone. But when she had, it had landed right back at Phillipe’s door.
Phillipe snorted and turned his head towards the window. ‘My sister was never good enough for him,’ he said, the bitterness towards Valerie still present in his tone. ‘And he never really loved her, at least not back then.’ He continued to stare as he spoke. ‘When we met in London, a long time ago - just after Corry died, I think. He was already with Antoine, so I knew he should never have married her. She only wanted him for the money… and his name.’ His tone was factual yet hostile. ‘At least I had a few nights with him,’ he continued, a soft smile accompanying his fondest memories. Lauren’s legs started to give beneath her, as the penny dropped, and she sat on the seat furthest from the bed. ‘Those were the best nights of my life,’ he said.
‘You?’ Lauren questioned. ‘He contracted it from you,’ she stated, feeling nothing but anger towards the vile, conceited, little man lying in the bed. He didn’t respond. Lauren fought the tight ball choking the back of her throat. ‘Why the accusation?’ she managed to ask.
‘Because it’s true.’ His words were confident, unwavering, and the certainty in his tone caused Lauren’s breath to hitch. She took a moment to regroup her thoughts.
‘You cannot prove anything,’ she said.
‘Maybe, maybe not,’ he said menacingly. When he turned to face Lauren, his eyes were wild. ‘But I also know my sister, and the last thing she will want is a scene.’ He spat the last word with disdain. ‘I’m sure we can make this problem go away Lauren,’ he added. He wasn’t smiling, but his message was clear. ‘It’s nothing personal,’ he said. But Lauren could read the lie. ‘I just need to make sure Alain is taken care of, after I die. We’ve been together a long time and he doesn’t have the luxury of my sister’s easy inheritance. I’m not a bad man Lauren,’ he said, as if to justify his actions.
‘How much?’
‘Three million. I think that’s fair.’
Lauren pulled the cheque out of her coat pocket, wrote out the numbers and signed it. As she stood, she threw it onto the bed. ‘If the allegations aren’t withdrawn by the morning I will cancel that.’ She pointed to the piece of paper that lay at his chest, turned on her heels and stormed out of the room.
; Her heart was still thumping when she reached the exit. She stopped at the visitors’ book, before walking out the door. She stood by her car, taking the cool air into her lungs, rubbing at her stinging eyes. Damn you, the phrase on her tongue, but she didn’t know to whom it referred.
15.
Eva knocked again on the dark-blue wooden door. She was hopping up and down with the cold, feeling impatient, and she didn’t have the time to wait. She had promised Carine, and she was expected at work. She didn’t want to let her down again. Though letting people down was something she seemed to be proficient at. If she were honest she’d been avoiding her mum. She hadn’t even told her about Rosa and her splitting up, not that she ever did keep her mum up-to-date with her love life. Guilt prodded at her, but she pushed it down, knowing her mum understood her better than anyone. Her mum would take it all in her stride. She wouldn’t judge her. Eva’s head thumped as she battled with the hangover from hell. Taking out her key, she turned the lock and entered the flat.
She placed the small gift on the window ledge by the front door, while she removed her coat and placed it on the hook. ‘Mum,’ she shouted, leaning her head, waiting for a response. Maybe she was at the gym? ‘Mum,’ she shouted again. Silence.
She’d chosen the pendant with her mum’s birthstone in it. Aquamarine, for Pisces. She was really pleased with herself and excited, because the colour matched her mum’s eyes perfectly. Even though her mum didn’t wear much jewellery, she hoped she would like it. She picked up the present. She’d just put it under the artificial Christmas tree that sat on her mum’s low table in the living room. It would be a nice surprise for when Rowena got home, then she would pop back later and have a drink with her. It would give her mum something to look forward to, and something to open on Christmas Day. Eva hadn’t thought about spending Christmas Day with her mum, until realising that she would be alone without Rosa. So she planned to make out that she wasn’t available, and then surprise Rowena on the day.
She walked into the room, still shivering with the cold, the word ‘mum,’ on her lips. The present fell from her hand and hit the floor without a sound as her eyes registered the scene. She tried to move, but found herself rooted to the spot, while her brain continued to process the information reaching her eyes. ‘Nooo,’ she yelled, but only to herself. No, this wasn’t right. This wasn’t happening.
Rowena lay slumped backwards in the chair, her mouth and eyes slightly open, her face a ghostly white, and expressionless. The rigidity in her body was obvious even to Eva’s untrained eyes. Eva’s hand cupped her mouth, as the blood drained from her head. Dizziness caused her to sway, threatening her balance. She wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to not believe what her eyes knew to be true. It couldn’t be true. But she could do nothing. She felt nothing. Her legs gave way and she allowed herself to drop into the armchair. Staring at her mum, she fumbled for her phone and dialled the only number she could rely on.
‘Yes Eva?’ Carine’s tone was harsh. Eva was already late, and she was still pissed at her for missing the last two deadlines and not responding to her persistent requests for information. She’d tried to get through to her, but Eva had been on a route to self-destruction, so she had backed off. Eva’s low, quiet voice took her by surprise. ‘Eva, what’s wrong?’ She stood, at the other end of the line, waiting.
‘It’s mum.’ Eva said. ‘She’s dead.’
Carine gasped. ‘What? Where are you?’
‘At her house.’
‘I’m on my way.’ The silence at the end of the line triggered Eva to put her phone back in her pocket. She sat, rocking back and forth, staring at her mum. The image would stay with her forever. The blood-red sweatband around her mum’s head clashed dreadfully with the natural red of her hair. It looked all kinds of wrong, Eva noted. Scanning her mum’s face, she looked the most at peaceful Eva had ever seen. She’s even lost a few pounds, Eva thought, as her eyes traced Rowena’s baggy t-shirt and jogging bottoms. So much for getting fucking fit. The irony of the thought flew threw her mind, energised by the red mist that seemed to consume her in that moment.
The knocking on the door summoned her attention and she dragged herself to her feet and stumbled her way into the hallway. As she opened the door, Carine bundled into the space between them and pulled Eva into her arms. ‘I am so sorry,’ she said. The words were said slowly, each word well spaced from the last, as if the scene was being played out in slow motion.
Eva stood numbly, accepting the warmth of Carine’s body against her own. She couldn’t stop the tears from falling down her cheeks, and she didn’t have the energy to move. Carine held her until the tears abated. ‘We’ll need to call an ambulance,’ she said, softly. Eva stared at her, vacantly. ‘Stay here,’ she said.
Carine walked into the living room. As she registered Rowena, she had to bite back the tears. Phone in hand, she dialled the number.
Eva was still waiting in the hallway when the ambulance arrived. She stood in a daze, watching the process happening around her. The ambulance arrived and then the police. The fair-haired medic reasoned that Rowena had had a major heart attack. They seemed to think that she had been exercising immediately before the attack and that she wouldn’t have suffered. Eva couldn’t get the impression of her mum out of her mind. The image repeatedly came back to her no matter where she directed her eyes. It was just another living hell she’d need to adjust to. Knowing Rowena hadn’t suffered should have provided some comfort, but it didn’t.
Two police officers were busy assessing the scene and she could hear the man talking into his radio. He was unusually tall, Eva noted with detached fascination. The woman looked very young, but she was kind, and nurturing. At some point, an undertaker came and removed the body. They handed Eva a leaflet, should she need some support in the immediate future. Eva took it and put it in her pocket, without glancing at its content.
The words: coroner, registering the death and funeral, seemed to float in the space between Eva and the outside world. They didn’t belong in her world; she couldn’t process them. She just nodded vacantly at whomever spoke to her until eventually, the hustle and bustle quieted.
Carine placed a hand on Eva’s shoulder. The touch barely registered and when Eva looked at her, the light blue eyes lacked focus. She handed her the gift she’d collected from the floor. Eva looked at it, but couldn’t bring herself to reach out and take it. Carine pocketed it.
‘Come on, let’s go home,’ Carine said, and pulled Eva into her arms again. She looked so young: so vulnerable. Eva still hadn’t spoken, not since she’d made the call to Carine.
*
Eva took the coffee with shaking hands. The dark rings around her eyes highlighting the paleness in her cheeks. Her face was expressionless, and her light blue eyes had shifted to dark-grey. She stared up at Carine with a look of helplessness that had Carine’s heart sinking. Nothing could be said or done to take the pain away. Eva sipped at the hot drink before sitting on the familiar couch in Carine’s living room.
Carine handed her a short glass, half filled with whiskey, distracting her from her thoughts. Eva looked at the glass and then studied it with curiosity. For some inexplicable reason the last thing she wanted right now was a drink, but she took the glass and downed the burning fluid in one swift gulp. At least there was some comfort in the heat. Carine downed her drink and placed the glass on the sideboard. ‘Can I get you anything?’ she asked. It was past 6pm and Eva hadn’t eaten since an early breakfast. ‘I’ll make an omelette,’ Carine said, deciding before Eva had the chance to refuse.
As she returned with a plate of food, Eva was crying. ‘I…’ she tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
‘It’s okay.’ Carine put down the plates, sat next to Eva, and put her arm around her. Eva leaned into the offered shoulder and continued to sob.
‘I need to let Anna know,’ Eva said, suddenly pulling out of Carine’s hold and sitting bolt upright, as the thought hit her. She picked up her
phone and stood up, tapping the speed dial for her old friend.
It didn’t ring for long before the familiar voice at the other end, caused Eva’s voice to choke in her throat. ‘Eva, what’s wrong?’ Anna asked, immediately sensing the sorrow that permeated the airwaves. ‘Eva, are you okay?’ she asked, pushing words into the silence.
Eva held back the tears, but her voice was shaky. ‘It’s mum,’ she said.
Anna’s stomach flipped then landed with a heaviness that took her legs from beneath her. ‘Oh no.’
Eva’s head was nodding at the other end of the line and she tried to speak through the tears now tracing down her cheeks. ‘She’s dead.’ She was sobbing by the time the words hit Anna’s ears.
Anna had started to shake, and it had become obvious to the others in the room that something bad had happened.
Lauren’s face had paled as she surmised, hoping the call wasn’t about Lisa or Vivian. She breathed a deep sigh of relief when Anna explained that the call was from Eva, though saddened to hear that Rowena had died of a suspected heart attack.
Anna was still shaking as she fell into Lauren’s arms and allowed her tears to wet the previously pristine white linen shirt. Lauren held her tightly, placing kisses on the top of her head.
Eva’s tears dripped onto her phone as she stared at the now blank screen. Carine crossed the space between them, cupped Eva’s cheeks and brushed away the tears. The touch was tender, compassionate, loving. She wrapped Eva in a tight embrace, pressing Eva’s head into her chest. ‘Do you want to lay down for a bit?’ she asked.
Eva hadn’t realised how tired she was, and it took all her effort to nod in affirmation. Carine released her hold and took Eva’s hand, leading her through to the large double bedroom. The blue satin quilt called to Eva and when her head hit the pillow and her eyes closed, everything in the world was back in its rightful place.
*
‘Do you want to go back to Paris?’ Lauren asked, squeezing Anna’s hand.
