I like the orange ones best.
Thank you, Sweetie
xxx
She looked up again at the man with his black violin tucked under his chin. He didn’t know who she was, or even that she was there, and yet she felt closer to him than she did to anyone else in the world. The people she worked with treated her as though she thought herself a princess because of the family she couldn’t help having been born into. All she wanted was to draw until her fingers had splinters from her pencils so she could be promoted by a boss who thought her eyes were on her chest, just so she could have a career and live the life of an independent woman, rather than giving in to her mother and marrying a man she didn’t love.
Now, she sat on her haunches looking up at a man she passed every day and who provided the soundtrack to her journey home, a man who’d never spoken a word to her or even looked at her face and yet he knew she was there by the sweets that she left and now he was reaching out for the first time, and Evie felt more connected to him than the people she was supposed to feel connected to. Her father might as well be a stranger, given how little involvement he’d had in her upbringing. On the rare occasions he saw her now, it took him just a split second too long to remember that the grown woman in front of him was in fact his daughter. Her brother had gone unusually quiet in the last couple of years. They’d been close during their childhood, and Eddie had always looked up to Evie, but recently he’d started to shy away from long conversations and hidden himself away. Before she’d moved out, Evie had seen him talking to their cook, Isla, an unusual amount, so she had a strong hunch that she knew why he’d retreated into himself. And her mother … well, her mother was the source of the majority of her problems.
There was a little flicker in Evie’s heart, a crackling spark inside her that triggered a thought in her brain: Is this the start of a new adventure? For a woman who’d only ever used her heart sparingly in her illustrations and animations, and never in matters that involved men, it felt odd to look at someone she barely knew and feel a gentle squeeze in her chest. The laws of gravity had changed and she was no longer being pulled towards the earth, but towards him.
She pushed her hand into her bag, past the sketchbooks and loose pencils, right to the bottom, where her fingertips encountered empty wrappers and her last few sweets. Excitedly, she pulled out as many as she could and picked out her last three orange ones. Then she took out a pen, flipped the cardboard to its blank side and quickly scribbled out a little cartoon self-portrait that accentuated her curly hair, chubby cheeks and big grin. She signed it, Love, Evie, then placed it back in the case and arranged the three orange sweets in a line on top of it.
He was still playing, eyes tightly shut, as she stood upright in front of him. She realised this was the closest she’d ever dared to get, and never before had she wanted him to open his eyes as much as she did now. She wanted to know what colour they were, whether they were full of life or cold and hard, whether when he looked at her, he’d actually see her. But for now, he played on, and she was reluctant to disturb him. She thought that maybe disturbing a musician mid-song was like waking a sleepwalker mid-dream, and she’d hate for his first impression of her, if there was ever to be one, to be bad.
Evie took the lift to the seventh floor and trudged to Apartment 72 in her flat brown ankle boots. Much as she loved her new shoes that looked like Mary Poppins’ carpet bag, the three-inch heels made getting off trains more difficult than she would have liked, so they now sat unnoticed under her office desk. She slid the key into the lock, pushed open the door and walked into her living room. She was greeted by the smell of paint. She’d been spending her evenings painting the walls a deep shade of green, and had just the fiddly edges left to finish, but tonight she had something else to do. She shrugged off her coat, slinging it on an armchair by the door, pulled off her boots and ran on tiptoe to the kitchen.
To say that Evie had a sweet tooth was rather an understatement, and although her kitchen was empty of most of the essentials (bread, milk, coffee – she had tea, of course), she did have a tin of hard boiled sweets, which she now grabbed and took into the living room. Her mattress was on the floor, as she hadn’t yet found the time to set up the bed frame, which stood against the wall in pieces. She’d lain the mattress so it was facing two tall windows that opened out on to a balcony. There wasn’t much of a view, just another apartment building across the street, but the inhabitants of said building were highly interesting to watch and the majority of them kept their curtains open and their lights on. Evie plonked herself down on the mattress, opened the tin and started pulling out the orange sweets.
Every day at work had been somewhat difficult for the new girl and had presented challenges Evie hadn’t even known existed. She worked in a department of two, together with a smarmy man named Grayson Pear. Grayson hated everything he drew, yet he still submitted his drawings to the editor and they were always picked above Evie’s for every edition of the newspaper, even though they lacked heart and humour and were often derogatory towards whichever race, gender or sexuality he’d decided he didn’t like that day. To make things worse, her boss seemed to think that the appropriate response to Evie’s hard work was a slap on the behind. But despite all of this, Evie knew that the office would feel very small and unimportant to her when she heard that violin. When her first train pulled in at his station, she’d savour that distant sound as she walked through the passageway and then she’d revel in the swell of music as she moved up the escalator and his increasingly shaggy hair, his purple piped coat and black violin came into sight.
After a rather eventful evening, the day that followed had been dreary to say the least. Grayson had hidden her portfolio just before she needed to show the editor her work, which had still somehow earned her a slap on the arse, and by the time she left the office for the day, she felt that the sound of that violin was the one thing in her life she had to look forward to. The thing she held on to with all her might. The thing … she couldn’t hear. As she got off the train, she strained her ears, but there was nothing. She thought maybe the hustle and bustle of evening commuters was masking his music, so she ran through the passageway to the bottom of the escalators and stopped, causing someone to bump into her and mumble something rude under their breath. Listening even more closely she was now sure there was nothing, no sound at all, and her heart dropped through her chest and into her shoes. What if he’d moved to another station? What if she never saw him again? What if she never got to give him the parcel of orange sweets that was sitting in her pocket wrapped in brown paper?
She stepped on to the escalator and braced herself to see his busking spot empty, or worse, filled by someone who was far less talented and far less interesting to watch. But as the escalator carried her higher, there he was, in his usual place, his violin on his lap under his protective hands. Her heart lifted, then immediately thudded back into her heels as it dawned on her that this was the day she’d speak to him. She was caught completely off guard and totally unprepared, and when she received a jolt in the back from another commuter, she realised that she’d stopped dead as she stepped off the escalator and was blocking everyone’s way. She moved to her right and took a moment to try to gather her thoughts, but her brain might as well not have been in her head for all the use it was being.
His eyes caught hers for a second before darting away again. He looked anxious. Like he was waiting for someone. Evie tugged at the collar of her coat, wondering why the train tunnels suddenly felt so hot. But she had ink stains down her burgundy shirt, and if she were to speak to him (and she definitely had to speak to him), she didn’t want to look a mess, so she kept the coat on and felt her neck and cheeks flush. His eyes caught hers again, and this time he held her gaze for a little longer, unsure.
She couldn’t stand it any longer. With a deep breath in and a long shaky breath out, she started to walk over to him. As she got closer, a thought struck her: I’m finally going to know the colour of his eye
s. Her stomach flipped. Then another thought: What am I going to say? It was too late. Her toes were now touching his violin case and he was looking up at her from his pop-up stool.
He smiled and she almost vomited her heart into his lap.
‘Hello, Sweetie.’ He was smiling, but the little crack in his voice gave away his nerves. This scruffy man dressed all in black, with hints of that very dark, almost not at all, purple, had the kind of smile that made you trust him with everything you held dear. You knew he’d keep it safe. Evie raised an eyebrow but couldn’t help a smile.
‘How did you know it was me?’ Evie, are you blushing? she berated herself. Stop that this instant. But the voice in her head was her mother’s, so Evie chose to ignore it. He held up the cartoon self-portrait she’d drawn him.
‘You’re very good. Although I don’t think your cheeks are nearly as big as you’ve made them out to be here.’ He put the drawing back in his pocket, and Evie realised he was intent on keeping it.
‘Thank you. I’m Evie, by the way.’
‘Yes, I know,’ he said. ‘And I’d like to thank you for all the sweets. The orange ones especially. They’re—’
‘Your favourite, yes, I know. Which is why I thought you might like this.’ She pulled out the neatly wrapped brown paper parcel filled with every orange hard boiled sweet she could find in her flat. In an instant, this man transformed into a little boy, his eyes lighting up as if it was Christmas morning.
‘For me?’ A flicker of uncertainty passed over his face, his hand hovering but not quite taking the parcel.
‘I don’t know anyone else who likes the orange ones as much as you. Personally, they’re the ones I avoid.’ As she pushed the parcel into his hand, her little finger brushed against his thumb, and she snatched her hand away like she’d been burnt. Inwardly she rolled her eyes at herself. Calm down, idiot.
‘Thank you.’ He took the parcel without looking at it. His gaze was fixed on her and he noticed she had a twinkle.
It was right there in her eyes. It wasn’t a trick of the light. It was actually, physically there. Maybe it was the slight scrunch of her nose when she smiled at him, which made the corners of her eyes crease that caused it, or maybe it was the way her eyebrows framed her eyes, but no matter what it was, when he saw that twinkle all he heard in his head was his heart laughing. He was very aware that he was sweating in this hot underground tunnel, with his coat done up all the way and with this very pretty, unusual girl stood in front of him, and he knew his hair was sticking to his forehead. He did his best to push it back so that Evie couldn’t tell. But she could and it made her feel better for the beads of sweat currently rolling down her own back.
‘And I’d like to thank you for the music …’ She trailed off. That sounded really stupid, she thought. ‘I mean your playing. You really are quite something.’
He looked down at his calloused hands holding the neatly wrapped packet of sweets. ‘Try telling that to every music school within fifty miles.’
‘They don’t already know?’ Evie felt awkward standing above him now, looking down on him, and she wondered if he had an extra pop-up stool.
‘As much as I enjoy playing, I don’t busk for fun.’ He gave his closed violin case a kick, making the change inside rattle.
‘Looks like you do pretty well, though. Every time I’ve walked past, your case is spilling over.’
‘It’s enough to pay the rent on a very tiny flat in a dodgy part of town. How often do you walk past anyway? There have been sweets in my case for a while now.’ He leaned his elbows on his knees, and she noticed how gangly he was, and how he didn’t really know how to hold himself.
‘I started working for The Teller a month ago. I got lost on my way home on my first day. I heard you playing, decided to investigate, and as it turns out, my platform is right there.’ Evie gestured to the sign on the wall behind him. ‘So thank you for leading me here. Without you it would have taken me a lot longer to find it.’ She smiled, feeling warm on the inside, and he chuckled, but she could sense a dreaded silence approaching, and she didn’t want there to be a pause because it meant …
‘I should probably get home,’ she said reluctantly. It was unlikely that he’d planned on speaking to her for long anyway. It was just a conversation out of common courtesy, after all the sweets she’d given him.
‘Oh, really?’
A butterfly in her stomach fluttered its wings. Was that disappointment on his face? Was she horrible for hoping it was?
‘Probably,’ she repeated, with a tilt of her head. So this is flirting, she thought, feeling herself smirk and glance at him from underneath her eyelashes. It felt oddly natural. She wasn’t sure if she liked that.
‘Before you go, there was something I wanted to ask.’ He leaned down and opened his violin case. Stuck to the inside of the lid, every orange coloured sweet wrapper she’d given him had been arranged to form the question DINNER? They caught the light and rustled in the breeze created by passing trains in nearby tunnels.
Any natural sense of flirting she’d felt before entirely deserted Evie. She looked up from the makeshift sign. Although he was clearly a little nervous (she could tell from his quivering eyebrows), his smile meant he was obviously enjoying her stunned silence.
‘I’m not sure how I’m supposed to answer.’
His face immediately plummeted into embarrassment. His cheeks were already slightly pink from the heat of the tunnel, but now they were flaming, and the ruddiness spread right to the tips of his ears.
‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. It’s all a bit forward, isn’t it? After all, I don’t know you at all. We’re not bloody Romeo and Juliet,’ he scolded himself and closed the lid, keeping his head down. ‘I just thought that you seemed really sweet. The sort of person I’d like to get to know, and—’
‘No, no! That’s not what I meant …’
‘It’s OK, you don’t have to make excuses.’ He spoke to the floor.
Evie bent awkwardly to try to catch his gaze. ‘No, really, what I meant was—’
‘Honestly, I totally accept it’s a no.’
‘NO! It’s not a no!’
He peered through his hair, which he’d strategically flopped over his face, and his green eyes glinted.
‘I just meant that with such a grand gesture, I don’t know how to say yes in a way that matches it,’ she said all at once before he could speak again. ‘But it’s definitely that. A yes, I mean.’
‘Wow. Erm. OK.’ He swiped his hair back off his face, which was still a light shade of red. ‘OK. Yes. OK. Dinner. Me and you. Evie …’
‘Snow.’
‘Evie Snow?’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘Evie Snow,’ she confirmed and held out her hand.
‘I’m Vincent.’
‘Vincent …’ she nudged, wanting to know his full name. (Wanting to know everything about him, actually.) ‘Vincent Winters.’ And when she saw his eyes smile without having to see his lips, she got the feeling that this might be the start of her greatest adventure yet.
5
crossing the wall
Evie and Lieffe were sitting on the floor in front of the sweet wrappers that Evie had arranged to form the question DINNER? She beamed at him with a sweet tucked into her cheek.
‘But all the wrappers were orange,’ she explained, ‘and he looked so dorky and nervous!’ she giggled, as she finished the story behind the confectionery she’d asked the Lost Box to conjure.
‘But you still said yes.’ Lieffe smiled.
‘I still said yes.’ She smiled too. ‘It wasn’t just because he was handsome and I fancied him. It was because he was the first person in years, maybe even for ever, to actually see me rather than just look.’
‘What’s the difference?’ Lieffe asked, adding one last wrapper to make the dot of the question mark.
‘When someone looks at you, they only see what’s on the surface and often miss a lot of the details. When someone sees you, they see who you a
re, what you’re actually about. They see more than what’s there in front of them. They’re willing to find out more, at the very least.’ Evie took one final look at the arrangement they’d made and then, with a swipe of her hand, she pushed the wrappers to one side.
‘Are you visiting Vincent first?’ Lieffe bunched the wrappers in his palm and put them into a waste-paper basket underneath the desk in the corner.
‘No,’ she said, very sure of her decision. ‘That would be jumping in at the deep end.’ She glanced at the Lost Box. ‘I’ll save that trip for last.’
‘Well then. Where to first?’ As Lieffe leaned against the desk and folded his arms, the air seemed to prickle with excitement. It was the same feeling Evie used to get when her family flew somewhere exotic for a holiday. That sense of impending adventure. Although the most adventure she’d had on any family holiday had been in Morocco, when she’d wandered off and almost been sold to a local man by a very persistent stallholder. Her father had been less than pleased when he’d had to buy back his own daughter. If it had been up to Edward Snow, he would have left her behind, but Eleanor persuaded him by squealing, ‘What on earth would the Summers think if we came home without a future wife for their son?’ From then on, Evie wasn’t allowed out of their sight and adventures became non-existent.
The wall hummed more loudly, gearing up for what lay ahead. Evie took a deep breath. She slipped off her coat and placed it over the Lost Box, covering the mountain of sweets, then placed her palm against the wall. It was still warm and pulsing, a heart beating in a chest.
‘I suppose I need to see my son.’
The wall stopped humming and pulsing and paused for a brief moment. It was holding its breath.
‘Are you sure?’ Lieffe asked. ‘You can’t suppose or think or wonder. You need to know.’
Evie knew she could make excuses to get out of making this trip through the wall, but there was no doubt in her mind, heart or soul that, some way, somehow, she needed to speak to her son.
On the Other Side Page 4
