"This is the third job this month." Stevie mimicked him. "Stop treating me
like a child."
"Stop acting like one then."
That was what he always said. She had never found a suitable retort to
that. Stevie wrenched the door open. "You have no right to come in here and tell me
how to live my life. You're not my guardian anymore. And after the way you've
treated me, I don't even want to call you my brother anymore. Now get out of my
flat."
For a moment Marshall looked like he'd been stung. Then anger flared in
his eyes. "Fine." He picked up his coat and briefcase. "Don't come to me when you
need help."
"And give me back my spare key."
He threw it onto the kitchen counter as he walked out. The door
slammed. Stevie stood still and listened to the sound of his footsteps receding. It
was only when she was sure he'd gone that she let herself burst into tears.
Chapter 2
From: Dr. Evelyn Blackwood
To: Tom Blackwood
Hello Darling.
Guess what, Dan's latest paper is going to be published in Nature:
Biology. What a coup for his publication record. It will stand him in
good stead with this new funding application he's involved in. I must
open a bottle of wine when he's next around.
Will you be coming
home this weekend? It's just that the lawn needs doing
again.
Mum
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Dr. Evelyn
Blackwood
I'll be home
on Sunday.
Pass my congratulations to
Dan.
Tom
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
Mum just emailed me to tell
me that golden boy is getting something published in Nature. Bloody
Dan.
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Tsch. Tsch. Green is never a
nice colour.
Anyway, so what?
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
I'm not jealous. I'm
angry.
I tell Mum about the Doha job (or, in fact, any promotion)
and I get 'that's nice dear'. Dan gets his name in a magazine and she's
telling everyone.
He's off gathering beetles or something again.
They've left poor Alice with Mum again. Why did they have her if
they're just going to ignore the poor kid?
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Evelyn's an academic, so she
understands what Dan does. The business world is a little far removed
from her experience. Don't take it to heart.
Anyway, aren't you
supposed to be going to the doctors about now? You're not using your
mobile phone in the waiting room are you?
* * * *
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Well? What did the doc
say?
Is it just old age catching up with you.
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
I'm only 6 months older than
you. Cheeky cow.
Doc says the headaches are probably caused by
stress (he asked me if I had a stressful job, it was all I could do not to
laugh in his face!). Apparently, if I take it easy, the headaches and
insomnia will go away. He even offered to sign me off for a month.
Since taking it easy isn't an option, he's given me some sleeping pills so
that at least I can sleep a couple of nights.
T
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Why exactly can't you take
some time off? Sounds like you need it?
OG
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
Don't be ridiculous. I can't
take time off now. I've got two weeks to wrap up this project and I have
to prepare my pitch for the Doha job. I need to do a good job. The
competition is quite fierce. Dierdre is going for it too.
Also, I've got
a second interview with Lambert Kassel on Friday. I'd much rather get
the Doha job. More money. More kudos.
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Money and Kudos isn't
everything.
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
Okay, who are you and what
have you done with Og?
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Sorry. Don't know what
came over me there. Money. Kudos. Yes.
Besides, you can't let
Dierdre win. You're better than she is and those white stilettos she has
on today are just criminal.
* * * *
It was the sort of dream where she knew she was asleep, but she couldn't
wake herself up. Stevie walked into the hall of the house she had grown up in.
Looking down, she could see her pale legs appearing from under the grey school
skirt. The house was exactly as she remembered. The nice portrait photo of her and
Marsh had pride of place in the hall. A photo taken outside Marsh's student house
was tucked to the frame. There were shoes collected under the coat rack. Post on
the bottom step.
The photo was taken the last time they'd all been together. They'd gone
to see Marsh at uni and were standing outside his student house. Less than a year
later, her parents were dead.
Stevie looked up at the stairs, a feeling of dread starting to rise in her
chest. She didn't want to go up, but her feet moved of their own accord. Her heart
beat faster. Her hands felt clammy. She tried to stop, but her feet kept going.
As she got near the top, her sense of panic increased until she was
breathing in shallow gasps. "It's a dream," she said, and tried to pinch herself. Her
feet took her onward. Onward. Into her parents' bedroom. Onward. To the foot of
their bed. And there they were. Lying peacefully side-by-side in their best clothes.
Each with a lily held in white gloved hands.
Tears slid down Stevie's face and she knew she was crying for real. They
were her parents, but not her parents. The thing that animated them, that made
them more than just their bodies, was gone. She tried to study their faces and found
them curiously formless. She knew they had eyes, noses, mouths in the right places,
but she couldn't remember the detail of any of them. Each year, it became harder
and harder to recall. Rarely, when she was least expecting it, something would
trigger a memory so strong that it would knock her off her feet--a waft of
aftershave, the clink of a wedding ring against a china cup, the smell of lapsang
souchong--and then, just as quickly, they'd be gone.
Slowly, she backed away from the figures on the bed, half wishing, half
dreading that they would sit up. Once she reached the door, she was able to run.
She turned and fled to Marsh's room. Marsh. The only one she had left. He was lying
on his back, white gloved fingers interlaced on his chest. Stevie reached forward,
her hands shaking. Fingers outstretched, she reached towards his cheek. His skin
was drained of colour. She stared at his chest, there was no sign of him breathing.
Her fingertips were millimetres away from his face. Trembling, she leaned
closer.
She woke up with her arms held out in front of her. Her face was hot and
wet from crying. To be awake was a relief, but the realisation that her parents
really were dead was always savage. She curled up into a ball and reached, as she
always did, for her phone. It was turned off. Stevie frowned. She never turned her
phone off. As she turned it back on and let the glow light up the hollow she'd made
under the duvet, she remembered. She was avoiding Marsh's phone calls. As the
phone came to life, she saw that there was another missed call from him.
Her hands were still shaking as she dialled in his number. Her memory
was faster than the address book. Her thumb hovered over the dial button and she
thought of him, in bed with his warm pregnant wife. He wouldn't drag himself out
of bed to come and comfort her now.
She stared at the phone, debating. Finally, she hit cancel. She was alone
now. All alone. She would have learn to live with it. She threw the phone to the
bottom of the bed, curled up tighter and started to cry all over again.
* * * *
The next morning, Stevie woke up with a headache. She took two
paracetamol and finally looked at her messages. There were four voicemail
messages and three emails from Marsh, all of which she deleted without opening.
There was also a message from Dr. Evelyn Blackwood, suggesting she came up on
Sunday to meet her.
Stevie stared thoughtfully at the message. Louise had made it clear that
there wasn't much money involved in the venture. However, it was a break. And a
break was just what she needed, in every sense of the word. Oxford would be quite
fun to explore. It would almost be a holiday.
She drew her shoulders back and sat up straighter. If she was to be all
alone in the world, she might as well make a go of looking after herself. After all,
she'd looked after her stressed out brother while he was doing his qualifying exams
and managed to take her own GCSEs at the same time. If she could look after two of
them, surely she could manage on her own. This project of Dr. Blackwood's could
give her just the opportunity she needed. It also meant that she'd be spending a lot
of time away from London, which made it even less likely that Marsh would catch
her. That would show him.
Feeling defiant, she walked over to her pinboard and took down the
picture of her family outside Marsh's student house. She looked like a child in it.
She replaced it, face down. Still, that didn't seem to be enough of a gesture.
Searching her room, she saw a postcard of Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones.
"You'll do," she said and pinned him up so that he covered the back of the
photo. "Now then," she said to the postcard. "You are about to see the
transformation of poor needy little Stevie into Stevie the strong woman." She threw
her arms out and lifted her chin. "Ta daa."
* * * *
From: Stevie Winfield
To: Dr. Evelyn
Blackwood
Hi Dr.
Blackwood. Would it be possible to come up on Saturday instead of
Sunday? Given the time frame, I think it would be best to start as early
as possible.
##
From: Dr. Evelyn Blackwood
To: Stevie Winfield
Of course Stephanie.
I'd be delighted to see you. Would you like some
directions?
##
From: Stevie Winfield
To: Dr. Evelyn
Blackwood
I don't have
a car, so directions from the bus station would be brilliant,
thanks.
See you tomorrow.
Stevie
Chapter 3
The house was in a quiet road in North Oxford. Walking along the
sun-dappled pavement, Stevie felt as though she'd stepped into another world. The
houses were all set well back from the road and stood, elegant and aloof, in
detached grandeur. Every house had at least three floors and high pointy roofs with
chimneys. She smiled to herself. It was impossible to feel harried in such tranquil
surroundings.
What an ideal place for an event venue. Most of the houses appeared to
be used as offices by different departments of the university. Louise had mentioned
that Dr. Blackwood was planning on running the house as a B&B. She imagined
Oxford attracted visitors all year round and business would never be slow.
Dr. Blackwood's house had a gabled white porch and high gothic
windows. Stevie half expected there to be some sort of interesting door knocker
and was disappointed to see a plain one, with a laminated notice saying 'please ring
the bell' and pointing to an electronic doorbell. She rang and waited for what
seemed like ages. Wondering whether there was no one in, she rang the bell again
and crouched to peer through the ornate copper keyhole. Through the hole she
could see a sunlit hall with red and yellow tiles on the floor. A shadow moved as
someone walked towards the door. She quickly straightened up.
The door, which was twice as wide as a normal door, swung open to
reveal a teenage girl in skinny jeans and a Triphoppers tour t-shirt.
"Yes?"
"I'm Stevie Winfield. I'm looking for Dr. Evelyn Blackwood."
The girl frowned for a moment, and then her expression cleared. "Oh,
you're the party organizer. Come on in." She opened the door wider and let Stevie
past. "I'm Alice. I'm Evelyn's granddaughter."
Stevie gawped at the hall. It was enormous. To one side a big, carpeted
staircase wound past long windows through which the sun poured in. The walls
were a warm shade of primrose and the whole effect was like stepping into a light
filled cocoon.
"We only finished painting it last week," said Alice. "Do you like it?"
"It's amazing."
"Why don't you wait in the library?" Alice led Stevie into a room off the
hall. "I'll go tell Gran you're here."
The library turned out to be just that. The walls were lined with books,
their multicoloured spines as decorative as any wallpaper. Light slanted in through
more tall windows, casting the room in patches of bright and dark. A number of
mismatched comfy chairs were arranged around a fireplace. Stevie sank into one of
them.