Cover Your Eyes (12 page)

‘Will you talk about me?' Bridie asked.

‘Doubt it. But don't worry. He's already told me how well you're doing, so there's nothing to worry about, even if we do.'

‘Will you tell us? What he says about us?' That was Dee.

‘I shouldn't think he'll even mention you.'

I changed the subject after that and they went to do Hallowe'en-type preparations without any further references to boyfriends.

When I was talking to Tom, it was quite easy to forget stuff. I found that I was enjoying myself. At one point during the meal, he went to the Gents and I thought: so far this evening, you've not given Simon, or that telephone conversation, one single thought. That's got to be good. But I'd called them to mind now, hadn't I, so maybe the forgetting bit didn't really count.

‘You look as though you're thinking of something sad,' Tom said, sliding back into the bench opposite me.

‘No, I'm not,' I said. ‘I was just thinking what a nice time I was having.'

‘Right! Me too!' He had a way of looking at me as though my answer had really mattered. He never interrupted me when I was speaking and he listened better than anyone I'd ever met.

‘You're a good listener,' I said. ‘I expect it comes with being a teacher.'

‘I dunno,' he grinned at me. ‘Most of the time, I'm trying to get the kids to listen to me. But you did look sad.'

‘I'm fine.'

‘It's that boss you mentioned, isn't it?'

‘How do you mean, Tom?'

‘You told me you'd left
lipstick
because of a difference with your boss. But it was more than that, wasn't it?'

I was silent for a few moments because he went on: ‘Sorry, sorry, it's none of my business,'

‘It's okay. I don't mind talking about it,' I said, and didn't know if I was telling the truth. Surely talking about it would make me feel better? Talking about some of it, anyway. ‘I had an affair with my boss. He was married. He dumped me. Very boring story.'

He reached out across the table and took my hand. ‘I can see that you're still hurt by it. You're not over it, are you?'

‘Yes, I am. Truly.'

He smiled. ‘You're a liar. Not a terribly good one, either. I'm okay with the truth, if you felt like telling me.'

‘Okay, then. Maybe not completely all right but getting there.' I smiled as brightly as I could. ‘Can we talk about something else? I've got to be home soon, too. The girls'll have got back from their Hallowe'en party ages ago.'

‘No problem,' he said. Before he let go of my hand, he squeezed it. ‘Let me get the bill.'

‘We're going to split it,' I said and before he could object I added, ‘I'll only have meals and things with you if we do.'

Once we were in the car, he said, ‘Next time you can come and have a meal at my house. I'm not a bad cook. No worries about the bill then.'

‘Okay, that'd be good. I'll bring some wine, if it's not a school night.'

I could easily have walked back to Salix House. We were there within seconds. He didn't drive to the front door but stopped the car at the side of the house.

‘Megan,' he said and I knew what was coming. I'd probably known it as I walked down to the Fox and Hounds. I was waiting for it. I'd sort of been waiting for it all evening. Tom put his hand across me and turned me to face him. Then he kissed me. It wasn't like the last time. I'd forgotten what being kissed seriously was like. I didn't think about whether I wanted to respond or what it meant, but somehow my body knew better than I did that it was okay. When we stopped kissing, I had my arms around him. I didn't remember doing that, reaching for him, but I must have done. I felt suddenly shy. I opened the car door.

‘Must go, Tom. Thanks for the lift.' I tried to keep my voice casual but I could hear that it sounded a little wobbly.

‘I'll email you, Megan.' Keeping hold of one of my hands, he bent to kiss it. ‘See you,' he said and he was smiling.

His kiss stayed with me. I might be able to do this, I thought. I might be able to put Simon and everything else behind me. Tom might be able to make me forget what I'd done.

The hall was in darkness. I could hear the television in the drawing room but I couldn't face Rowena and Conor and I was pretty sure Eva would have gone to her room. As I walked upstairs, I heard someone crying. Dee or Bridie, I thought, and walked quickly towards their room. I opened the door as quietly as I could and peeped in. Both girls were fast asleep, but I could still hear weeping, coming from somewhere quite far away. I stood for a moment on the landing, trying to decide if it was coming from the television. It must have been, I told myself. What else could it possibly be?

There was no point in sulking but sulking was what Eva felt like doing. Rowena had arranged the day and Megan was only doing what she'd been told to do: taking her to look around some flats near the new London house. Things were moving too fast for comfort. Luke Fielden had confirmed that he was seriously thinking of making an offer. Rowena and Conor were pleased and relieved and she realized that she ought to be happy for her daughter and not feeling as though there was something in her throat that wouldn't be swallowed however hard she tried.

‘Is anything the matter?' Megan asked and Eva blinked. Was it so obvious?

‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘I'm trying to be sensible but the thought of everything moving so quickly … the thought of leaving Salix House. I don't know. I'm being difficult. That's what Rowena would say.'

‘No, I know how much you love the house. It must be so … well.' Megan couldn't look directly at Eva, who was in the passenger seat beside her, but glanced to her left and smiled at her.

‘It's nice to have someone who understands,' Eva said. ‘Rowena is very keen on this Luke person. What do you think of him?'

‘He's okay. I thought he was a bit stuck-up at first but I think that's only his manner. He told me the house would be … well, he said he wasn't a vandal.'

‘That's something to be grateful for, I suppose,' said Eva. ‘I don't so much mind the idea of its becoming a hotel. I rather like it in a way … it stops me from being jealous of one family, one set of people living there if I can imagine it simply as a setting for lots of stories unfolding under one roof. That's how I always think of hotels … collections of many small dramas happening at the same time.'

‘Eva, do you mind if I ask you a question?' Megan said. She looked, Eva thought, embarrassed.

‘No, of course not. Anything you like.'

‘It's just that I've noticed something. About Salix House. I don't quite know how to say this. Sometimes, in some rooms, there's a kind of atmosphere. I can't really describe it.'

‘Nothing's changed as far as I know. I haven't noticed anything different.'

Eva watched Megan closely as she negotiated a roundabout in silence. The short interval gave her time to wonder why she was lying. Of course she'd always been aware of a strangeness in the house, but the last thing in the world she had expected was for Megan to have noticed as well. Isn't it, she thought, all in my mind? And if it isn't, what does that mean? She shivered. Maybe Megan was referring to something entirely different. She was smiling at Eva now, saying, ‘Do you feel like stopping for a coffee? There's rather a nice café along here.'

‘I'd love to.'

They parked in a side street and made their way to a modest-looking place which Eva would never even have noticed.

‘I stopped here on my way back from interviewing you,' Megan said once they'd sat down and ordered cappuccinos and Danish pastries. ‘I was so happy. I rang … well, it doesn't matter now.'

Eva didn't pursue it. Megan must have rung her boss, the one she'd been in love with. The one who'd sacked her. Part of her wanted to go back to the conversation about the house but she said, ‘I oughtn't perhaps to ask you, Megan, but are you feeling better these days? About everything?'

‘You mean about Simon?' Megan made a face somewhere between a grimace and a smile and said, ‘Well, it's hard to keep on being miserable, I suppose. And have the girls told you about Tom?'

‘They have. Anyone would think they'd engineered the whole thing. Are you …'

‘No, no, it's not like that, honestly. We really are just friends.' She blushed a little as she said that, and Eva didn't press her. She went on, ‘Though I think he'd like it to be … well,
more
. But I'm not sure …'

‘You're not madly in love with him, then?' Eva bit into her pastry and sighed. ‘It would be so restful to talk about you and yet I find myself so worried about Salix House and
problems
…' she made inverted speech marks with her fingers in the air, ‘to do with settling me and making sure I'm provided for, etcetera etcetera. It's constantly on my mind. I'm sick to death of being difficult and yet, I can't seem to face leaving my home.'

‘You'll feel better when we've found you somewhere you like. Maybe we'll see it today.'

Eva wrinkled her nose. ‘Maybe. I hope so. But what did you mean when you spoke of the changed atmosphere in Salix House?'

Megan stirred the froth on her cappuccino. ‘I don't know how to put it, to tell you the truth. Just I've sometimes felt that … well, it sounds mad but I've sometimes felt that I'm not alone in rooms where I know I'm by myself.'

Eva looked at her. ‘What have you seen exactly?'

‘Not seen. Not exactly. Sometimes I think that someone's just left a room I've come into. Sometimes it's cold … the downstairs loo is freezing. Well, I try not to go in there. I thought I saw …'

‘What?'

‘I was doing my face the day I brought you the magazine and burst into tears all over you. I saw someone in my make-up mirror.' Megan laughed. ‘I
thought
I saw someone, of course nobody was actually there. How could they have been?'

Angelika
, Eva told herself.
Angelika had been there
. A chill fell on her.
She can't be a figment of my imagination if Megan has seen her
. She said, ‘I suppose you must have been feeling very emotional that day. I've long thought that what everyone calls ghosts are simply our guilty feelings made real in some way. They're real to us, in any case. But that can't be right because you haven't got anything to feel guilty about, I'm sure.'

But to Eva's surprise, Megan turned her face away, and began to cry.

‘God, I'm sorry,' she said. ‘I don't know what …'

Eva stared at her for a moment, not sure what to do, not knowing the right thing to say. She opened her handbag and took out a white cotton hankie.

‘Here, Megan. Take this. Better than a tissue. Take it. Dry your eyes.'

Megan took the hankie. ‘Oh, God, Eva … honestly, it's nothing. I'm truly sorry. It's just—'

‘Don't speak. Calm down. Take your time. We're not in any hurry. I'll order some more coffee.'

‘I'll go and wash my face.'

Megan fled to the Ladies and a nervous-looking waitress approached the table.

‘Will the young lady be all right?' she asked.

‘She'll be fine,' Eva said. ‘Could we have two more cappuccinos, please?'

The woman hurried off and Eva waited. They'd been talking about guilt. What on earth could Megan have done that a mere mention of it reduced her to tears? Eva had been living for so long with her own burden that she was used to it. The memories were painful but she'd learned how to divert them; how to turn her mind to something else. For many years her work had been a blessing. While she was absorbed in sketching the clothes and then overseeing the translation of the drawing from the paper image to a real garment, everything had been, if not fine, then at least manageable. Since her retirement and then Antoine's death, it had become harder and harder to find distractions. The births of Dee and Bridie had helped. Small children are labour-intensive and Eva, who'd always thought of herself as having been a bad mother, was surprised to find that at one remove, so to speak, everything about childcare she'd previously thought of as mind-numbingly boring was actually not as bad as she remembered.

*

‘Sorry, Eva,' I said. I slid into my seat and part of me was hoping I could just forget about what had just happened but I had to say something. ‘I don't know what happened to me. I thought I had it all … well. I didn't mean to burst into tears.'

I was trying to smile but I don't know how convincing I was. Eva said, ‘You can tell me, you know. If it'll make you feel better.'

‘Tell you what?'

‘What is worrying you. Why you're feeling guilty.'

It came out before I could stop myself. ‘I killed a baby.'

Eva was silent for a bit and I began to wish I'd never said a word. ‘I didn't hear you properly. Did you say you'd killed a baby?'

‘Yes.'

She said, ‘Do you mean … forgive me, but do you mean you had an abortion? Is that what you're saying?'

I never thought of that. I realized with horror that I'd let my abortion slip so far to the back of my mind that I'd practically forgotten about it. I couldn't think of what to say at first, and sat in silence, unable to gather my thoughts together properly. I can't, I told myself. I can't tell Eva about it. Never. In the end, I said,

‘No. No, I'm sorry. I should've made it clearer. I killed someone else's baby. Not my own.'

‘How? How did it happen? You can't have meant to kill it, surely? An awful accident of some kind.' Eva looked as though someone had struck her across the face. ‘Oh, my God. A hit-and-run accident.'

I shook my head. ‘No, not that. On the night when Simon broke up with me, I rang him up. Much later. He was at home. I shouted at him. His wife, who was pregnant, must have heard some of it. She was in bed next to him. I meant her to hear. I wanted her to know about us, about me and Simon. I was yelling. It made me feel better to think of Simon and his wife having a blazing row after my call. It was awful of me, I know, but …'

Eva nodded. She didn't speak and I couldn't bear the silence so I just carried on talking. ‘That day, when I brought you the magazine and you found me crying in my car, do you remember? I'd just had a phone call from him. He was completely drunk, but he told me his wife had lost the baby. They must have had a row after that phone call. A dreadful one. It was probably what led to a miscarriage. I know when I'm being rational that it maybe wasn't my fault, but in my heart, that's what it feels like. That I was responsible. So. That's it. I feel … I know it sounds melodramatic but I really do feel … that I'm a murderer. That this poor little baby's blood is on my hands.'

Eva put her hand out across the table and took mine, ‘Oh, Megan!' she said, ‘Poor, poor Megan, I'm so sorry. Oh, I know exactly how you must feel but your phone call, the row he had with his wife … you don't know that that had anything to do with the miscarriage. Millions of women have dreadful rows in pregnancy without such consequences, and miscarriages happen even to the happiest and most harmonious of couples. I think – I know you feel differently because you're emotionally involved and guilt in any case isn't a thing that you can get rid of by applying logic – but I think that it's a horrible coincidence and no more than that. You'll come to see that in time, I'm sure. You shouldn't blame yourself. You shouldn't. Simon is the one who's guilty of adultery. Guilty of letting down his wife. It's not your fault.'

I couldn't agree with her. I could have stepped back from the relationship and I didn't. I'd brought everything on myself.

I was silent for so long that Eva said, ‘Have I said something to hurt you, Megan? I didn't mean to.'

‘Oh, God, Eva, no … no. No one's ever been as nice to me as you. I feel … Well. And perhaps you're right. I should try and think of it like that. But it's hard when I feel that sometimes the baby is watching me. Talking to me. I've heard a baby crying. I feel that he's … don't think I'm mad, please, Eva. I think the baby's haunting me.'

Eva put both her hands over mine then, and squeezed them. ‘Try not to torment yourself, Megan. And thank you for telling me. I won't say a word to anyone else, I promise.'

‘It's good of you to listen. I feel better, just knowing that you know. And I'll think about what you've said. I'll try to believe it.'

‘We should go now, Megan, if you're okay to drive. Rowena won't forgive me if we don't look at those places she wants us to see.'

I stood up. I made an effort to smile and tried to bring myself back to what we were meant to be doing. ‘We might be about to find the flat of your dreams. Fingers crossed, eh?

We walked to where the car was parked on a side street. Low clouds filled the sky, threatening rain.

*

‘I don't think this is too bad, is it?' Megan whispered to Eva while the young estate agent made himself as scarce as it was possible to be in such a cramped flat. Poor Megan! She was trying to sound cheerful but Eva herself was dismayed. She was still getting over what they'd already seen. Someone had made an attempt to plant trees, but they were spindly and seemed out of place in a street where most houses kept their wheelie bins in the front garden. This block of flats (an ugly, sixties, box-like structure) had a purpose-built lean-to arrangement at the side of the building where all the bins were housed. Eva tried to imagine herself going out there in all weathers carrying binbags tied up at the top and recoiled from the thought. As they walked into the entrance (dirty concrete-like floor, with a bank of letterboxes on the wall to the left of the door) her heart sank. I can't live here, she told herself and that was before the estate agent had even opened the door to the flat.

‘You have to imagine it with some furniture in it,' Megan continued. Eva nodded as she took in the dun-coloured carpet, the walls which were once cream but were now scattered with rectangles of various sizes, where pictures had hung. In order to take her mind off the squareness of the room, the undersized and badly framed windows which gave way to a view of a scabby bit of lawn edged with weed-filled borders and roses that couldn't have been pruned in the last decade, she thought of other rooms she hadn't much liked. There was Agnes Conway's front room with the red swirly carpet and the brown armchairs sporting crocheted antimacassars. Her first flat, before she'd moved in with Antoine, was in Chelsea. ‘World's End, really,' Antoine used to say. ‘But you are what makes it Chelsea, darling!' Well, Eva thought, that was true in its way. It had been a horrid flat, and on the third floor, with no lift. The radiators had a mind of their own. The walls were dark red and you felt as though you were in a gothic horror film sometimes but still, she'd made it liveable. Artist friends had painted murals on the walls. She'd filled it with people and food and tables piled high with photographs and fabrics and it was a flat she now remembered with affection though at the time she'd moaned about it constantly.