Authors: Lesley Pearse
She realized Olive must have told the staff
what had happened because they all said how sorry they were. But no one had asked how
she felt, and she’d been very glad of that. She didn’t really know how she
felt, or even how she should feel. Was there a proper way to feel about your
mother’s death?
The horror of the scene in the bathroom was
as sharp now as it had been when she found her mother. She suspected it was going to
haunt her for ever. Yet she hadn’t really cried about it – well, except this
morning with Olive. Perhaps that was because she was angry at what had been done to the
family. But there was also bewilderment, and anxiety that she may have unwittingly done
or said something that had pushed her mother over the edge. But she didn’t feel
grief as such, at least not the way she’d read about it in magazines. Was that
because her emotions were frozen by shock?
She had asked the doctor about grief on that
morning when he called round. She was expecting to find she was abnormal
in being relatively calm and being able to do normal chores. His response was that
grief affected people in many different ways. Drinking and staring into space, like her
father was doing, was one way. Ben’s silence was another, and Sophie’s
hysterical outbursts still another. That made Eva feel ashamed that she believed her
sister was just milking it for attention, and she resolved to be kinder to her. The
doctor had added that some people went into denial and acted as if nothing had happened
for a while, but it usually caught up with them sooner or later. Eva didn’t seem
to fit into any of those camps, and she wondered if she could ask Olive her views on
it.
But her overriding distress was the way her
dad was treating her. He had never been a warm person; Mum had often said that he lacked
empathy. But to all intents and purposes Eva could have been an uninvolved lodger. The
day after it happened he had gone to both Sophie and Ben’s rooms to talk to them.
As she passed the doors she saw him cuddling them and telling them that it would get a
little easier every day. But he’d barely said a word to her.
As she drove home she decided that tonight
she was going to make him talk to her. If he had some issue with her, she wanted to know
about it. He was not going to shut her out; she didn’t deserve that.
Eva sighed as she saw the state of the
kitchen. She had cleaned it up the previous night but now it was strewn from end to end
with dirty dishes, saucepans, food packets and tins. It was almost laughable that the
rest of the family were all at home because they were grief-stricken, yet they could
still stuff their faces with food.
Music was coming from upstairs, and when she
looked in the sitting room there was more mess there – cups, empty Coke cans, plates and
crisp packets.
Wearily she went upstairs and found Sophie
wearing her
dressing gown, sitting on her bedroom floor drying her hair
and listening to a Madonna cassette blaring out. ‘I see you found your appetite
again,’ she said. ‘Would it be too much to expect for you to tidy up after
yourself?’
Sophie switched off the hair dryer, looking
contemptuously at her elder sister standing in the doorway. ‘I suppose you think
you’re in charge now?’ she shouted over the music.
Eva went into the room and turned the music
off. ‘Someone has to act responsibly,’ she said. ‘Where’s
Dad?’
‘Dunno,’ Sophie said sullenly.
‘He went out around two. He said something about making arrangements.’
‘And Ben?’
‘He’s in his room.’
‘I am not the enemy, neither am I the
housekeeper, and we’ve all got to pull together now to get through this. Now come
downstairs and help me clear up.’
‘I can’t, I’m getting
ready to go out,’ Sophie retorted.
‘Going out where?’
‘Meeting my friends, if you must
know.’
‘Do you think it’s appropriate
to go out at such a time?’ Eva asked.
‘You’ve been to work!’
Sophie sounded indignant now.
‘That’s different, and you know
it,’ Eva knelt down on the floor beside her sister. On Sophie’s bed a short
red ra-ra skirt and a skimpy top were laid out. ‘Just look at how that would seem
to people, you gadding off dressed up for a night out so soon after –’ She broke
off, unable to actually say, ‘Mum’s death.’
‘Did Mum think of our feelings? Does
she deserve any respect?’
There was such hurt in Sophie’s voice
that Eva took her hand and held it between both of hers. ‘No, she didn’t
consider our feelings and that makes me as sad as it does you.
But we
have to behave in the right way, to try to keep some semblance of dignity.’
‘She’s ruined my life,’
Sophie pouted. ‘Everyone is talking about it. I hate her now. She was a selfish
cow.’
Eva wriggled nearer her sister and drew her
into her arms. It was tempting to point out that people only knew about it because
Sophie had told them but, as irritating as her sister could be, she was only seventeen
and she hadn’t stopped to think before she spread the story around.
‘Yes, she was selfish, and I
don’t understand it any more than you,’ Eva said, smoothing back the younger
girl’s dark hair from her face. ‘But don’t say you hate her; she may
not have been able to help herself. We might find out that she had a good reason, and
then you’ll feel terrible that you said such a thing. You’ve still got me,
and Ben and Dad. I’ll cook us some dinner and maybe we can all talk about stuff,
decide what we’re going to do.’
Sophie clung on to her, crying softly.
‘Didn’t she care about us?’ she said brokenly.
‘Of course she did,’ Eva said
soothingly. ‘I’ve heard that sometimes the verdict at inquests is that they
“took their life while the balance of their mind was disturbed”.
That’s like being crazy for a short while. It doesn’t mean she
couldn’t bear us any more. Her note said “Forgive me”. I think we
should.’
‘You’d forgive anybody for
anything,’ Sophie said. But for once there was no scorn in her voice.
‘I won’t forgive you if I come
home tomorrow night and find such a mess,’ Eva said teasingly. ‘Now finish
drying your hair and come and help me get the dinner.’
Eva was just mashing the potatoes when her
father came in. She was pleased to see he looked the way he used to before
this happened, in a navy-blue suit with striped shirt and tie, no
stubble and his hair combed.
‘Did you go to the office
today?’ she asked.
‘Fleetingly,’ he said.
‘Amongst other more pressing things.’
His curt tone made her wary. She decided not
to comment on his appearance.
‘I’ve made sausages and
mash,’ she said. ‘I hope that’s OK. I’ll need to do some food
shopping tomorrow. Would you like a cup of tea?’
He didn’t reply and walked through the
kitchen to the sitting room. She heard him pouring himself a drink.
A few minutes later she heard him pour more
into the glass. She looked at Sophie, who was laying the table; Sophie shrugged, as if
to say, ‘Here we go again.’
‘Will you go and tell Ben that
dinner’s ready, please?’ Eva asked her.
Ben came down with Sophie, and Dad came back
into the kitchen. He’d taken off his jacket and tie, and his glass was filled to
the brim with whiskey. He sat down at the table and Eva dished up the food.
Nothing was said by anyone for some little
time. Ben and Sophie were eating eagerly, but Dad only took a few mouthfuls of his
dinner between gulps of whiskey.
Suddenly he put down his knife and fork and
looked pointedly at Eva. ‘Can you tell me why your mother would leave you her
studio?’
‘Studio?’ she asked, frowning in
puzzlement.
‘Don’t play the innocent,’
he said sharply.
‘I don’t know what you are
talking about,’ she said truthfully. ‘Please explain, Dad. And don’t
be nasty, I’ve done nothing to deserve that.’
‘You’ve done nothing to deserve
being left a studio in central London that must be worth a small fortune, that’s
for sure.’
Eva’s mouth dropped open. Ben and Sophie
looked equally shocked.
‘I really don’t know anything
about any studio. Are you saying Mum owned this?’
‘Well, of course I am,’ he
snapped. ‘She lived there with you before we got married.’
Eva could only stare at him in
consternation. Instinct and the spiteful look in his eyes told her he was out to hurt
her. A cold shudder went down her spine.
‘You mean, you, Mum and me?’
He sneered at her. ‘Your mother was
living there with you when I met her.’
She understood the implication in what
he’d said, but she couldn’t really believe it was true. Or that he was cruel
enough to say such a thing just because he was angry.
‘I thought I was born a year after you
married,’ she said in a small voice.
‘That’s just what your mother
wanted everyone to believe. She never did like the truth too much.’
Eva looked into his dark eyes and saw utter
contempt for her. She had a gut feeling he’d been waiting a long time to drop this
bombshell.
‘Loads of people have a baby before
getting married.’ Ben spoke out defensively, clearly not really grasping what his
father meant. ‘Don’t be mean to Eva, Dad. It’s not her
fault.’
‘It
is
her fault. I know she
was in cahoots with Flora over the studio.’
Eva was shocked and bewildered. She knew
nothing about a studio, and she couldn’t imagine why her dad believed she did.
‘Dad, if Mum had a studio, I promise
you I knew nothing about it. Are you saying she’s left a will with this
in?’
‘Yes, I bloody well am,’ he
said, his voice rising. ‘I went to
see the solicitor this
afternoon. It was bad enough having to explain to him about Flora, but then I found
she’d betrayed me. We wrote wills years ago, both of us leaving everything to the
surviving partner. But the sneaky bitch had another one drawn up for herself, and in it
she’s not only left that studio to you, but she also left her half of this house
to Sophie and Ben. That means I can’t even bloody well sell it and move on if I
want to.’
All three siblings looked at each other
anxiously. None of them really understood legal matters, but the fact that their
normally calm father was so angry told them this was something really serious.
Sophie broke the silence first. ‘Does
that mean we have to leave here?’
‘Of course it doesn’t,’
Ben said, reaching out to pat his sister’s shoulder.
‘I’ve worked my socks off for
this house,’ Dad raged, growing flushed in the face. ‘Your mother wanted for
nothing, and never did a day’s work. I even took her kid on and brought her up as
my own. This is how she repays me. I can’t even claim on the life insurance
because she topped herself.’
Only one line of that bitter tirade really
registered with Eva:
I even took her kid on and brought her up as my own
.
‘Are you saying I’m not your
daughter?’ she asked in a shaky voice, hoping against hope he’d only said it
in the heat of the moment.
‘Are you stupid along with being
conniving? Of course you bloody well aren’t,’ he said, taking a long swig of
his whiskey. Then, putting the glass down, he glared at her balefully. ‘Anyone
with only three brain cells would’ve worked that out years ago.’
Suddenly the reason she looked so different
from her brother and sister was clear. It had been commented on by
other people, but Mum had said Eva took after her side of the family.
The enormity of it, and to be told in such a
spiteful way, felled Eva. All she could do was flee, running out of the kitchen into the
courtyard and then on down the drive and out into the road beyond.
Her mother had gone and now she was just a
worthless stepchild, only there on sufferance.
She kept on running until she came to
fields. Seeing a farm gate, she climbed over it and slumped down on to the grass behind
the hedge, crying her heart out.
Earlier, she’d told Sophie they should
forgive their mother. But how could she forgive this? How many times had they looked
through photo albums together? Always Mum had said stuff like, ‘Look at you,
Daddy’s girl,’ when she was in his arms or on his lap. Taking her first few
steps, or on a climbing frame or riding a tricycle, Dad was almost always there with
her. In later pictures, when Ben and then Sophie had arrived, it was still the same.
Maybe she was now too big to be in his arms – the new baby had that place – but they
were happy family pictures, and she looked as right in them as the other two did.
She had often asked why Sophie and Ben were
taller, darker and thinner than she was. But Mum always said that was how it was in
families sometimes. Perhaps that was true, but by the time she was six or seven she was
old enough to be told she had a different father.
Eva really didn’t know anything about
a studio. She knew from old photographs that they lived somewhere else before Ben was
born, but Mum had never said where it was, just as she’d never said anything much
about her own childhood, or her parents.
Eva had asked her about them once. Granny,
Dad’s mum,
was ill in hospital, and though Eva was only nine she
sensed Granny was going to die soon by the way Mum and Dad talked. By then she knew most
children had two sets of grandparents, and she asked where her other set were.
‘They died before you were
born,’ Mum said. ‘They lived in Cornwall.’
That was it really. Scanty information
which, if today’s revelations were anything to go by, might not even be the truth.
All she really knew for sure about her mother was that she had gone to art college in
London during the 1960s. There was one of her paintings in the sitting room – a view of
a beach which Mum said was in Cornwall. Perhaps it was close to where she had lived as a
child, but she never said.
It had been dusk when Eva went into the
field, but now it was pitch dark. She only moved because her teeth were chattering with
the cold; she didn’t want to go home, but she had no money on her. And in just the
sweatshirt and jeans she’d changed into before she cooked the tea, she’d be
frozen stiff by morning. She hoped that Dad would apologize and talk to her about things
in an adult way. But she didn’t hold out much hope of that.