The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton - Catherine Alliott [119]
‘No. Actually, yes.’
He didn't doubt Ant. No one ever did. Ant could do no wrong. Ant would never be sitting under a cherry tree tenderly brushing hair out of another woman's eyes, oh, no. I mean, how familiar was that? Or perhaps it wasn't? Impulsively I unleashed a lock of hair from behind my ear and let it fall over my face.
‘Milk?’
‘Please.’
He glanced up. Didn't notice. I flicked it forward more so it flopped over one eye.
‘You haven't admired my tea set. It was my granny's.’
‘It's lovely.’ As he handed me the cup and saucer I held on to it a moment so he had to look at me.
‘She bought it in nineteen twenty-nine – imagine!’
He was talking to my one visible eye for crying out loud: the one that wasn't curtained with hair. In desperation I plucked a socking great clump from the top of my head and flopped it forward, right over my face.
‘Bought it piece by piece in the Army and Navy Stores. Isn't that sweet?’
‘Divine,’ I agreed through a blur of henna.
‘Evie, why are you doing that?’
‘What?’
‘Why is your hair all over your face?’
‘Is it? I hadn't noticed.’
‘Yes, you need to sort of…’
‘What?’ I waited. Held my breath.
‘Well,’ he waved a vague hand in my direction, ‘you know. Push it back.’
‘Go on then.’
‘What?’
‘Push it.’
‘Me? Why?’
‘Because I'm holding my saucer.’
‘Well, put it down.’
‘Malcolm.’ I clenched my teeth. ‘Push my hair back!’
He stared. ‘Oh, for heaven's sake.’ He reached forward and brushed it clumsily off my nose. ‘There.’
‘Was that so difficult? Why are you wiping your hand?’
‘I'm not!’
He was, though. On his trousers.
‘You are!’
‘Well, it just looks a bit – you know…’ He pulled a face.
‘I washed it yesterday!’
‘Right, sorry. Blimey, chill, Evie, will you? What's with you?’
He shrank back from me, making a you've-gone-really-weird face. I glared back, then abruptly my shoulders sagged as I caved in. ‘You're right.’ I nodded miserably, eyeballing the heavy embroidery on the cloth. ‘It is a very familiar gesture, isn't it?’
‘What is?’
‘Brushing hair out of someone's eyes. It's what Ant did to Bella. I watched from the bedroom window.’
‘Oh!’ His face flashed with recognition. ‘Oh, no, not at all. It's just – well, you know how fastidious I am, always washing my hands. I've practically got that disease housewives get, can't stop reaching for the Fairy Liquid. I'll have no skin left soon. Ooh, look, my godson gave me this heavenly badge, he found it in Woolies.’
I knew he was trying to distract me. ‘What?’ I said peevishly as he pulled a badge from his pocket and pinned it on his shirt. ‘“My name is nuff and I am a fairy”,’ I read listlessly.
‘Fairy-nuff,’ he sniggered. ‘Fair enough. Fair-y— oh!’ He froze, mid-sentence, eyes wide.
‘What?’
‘Shhh!’ He hissed, holding up an index finger. He listened, ears pricked like a rabbit. ‘Did you hear something?’
‘No, I—’
‘Shhh! What was that?’
The boat suddenly gave a terrific lurch. I clutched my tea.
‘Helloo?’ a voice called. ‘Anyone at home?’
Malcolm's face lit up like a torch. ‘It's him!’ he breathed. He got to his feet, radiant suddenly, smoothing down his hair. ‘Evie, you must go!’
‘Oh, thanks very much.’ But I was already draining my cup.
‘No!’ He grabbed it from me. ‘Now!’
‘All right, all right,’ I grumbled, as Malcolm bundled me towards the door.
He flung the trapdoor wide and scampered up the ladder with me following in his wake. As I emerged in the sunlight, it was to see pristine brown Docksides on the deck in front of me, then pale cream chinos that seemed to go on for ever, then a navy-blue jumper, topped by the face of the most beautiful black man I'd ever seen.
‘My, but this is pretty,’ he was saying admiringly, glancing around the boat. ‘Very Swallows and Amazons. Sorry I'm late, I had a bit of a crisis.’
‘No, no, not at all.’ Malcolm was beaming and squirming delightedly, simultaneously jerking his head for me to go.
‘Sooty had a difficult stool,’ he informed us.
‘Oh, poor luv!’ cooed Malcolm.
‘Sooty?’ I asked.
‘My dog,’ he explained, and I followed his gaze to where