The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton - Catherine Alliott [34]
I looked up from the slate work surface I was gripping fiercely now, and down the garden again, to the laburnum tree. To give me my due, if I was to be afforded any, I'd said no. No, I said, we were too highly strung and emotional right now. Not in our right minds. Let's wait. But he'd insisted. Said it was all he wanted. And, let's face it, he knew it was all I wanted. Knew that that day, as we'd been fooling around in the spare-room bed, in the farmhouse, as Neville had quietly padded down to the river, I'd been angling again, not in a crass, unsubtle way, but still… Saying how lovely Tim and Caro's wedding had been, how beautiful the church was, how happy they'd looked.
I felt the blood rush to my face now as I gazed at the wisteria on the garden wall, my bike propped beside it. Well, if that wasn't crass and unsubtle, what was? And, whilst I was angling, Ant had – I forced myself to remember this, as I never had before – looked awkward. I felt a jab of horror. Had gently – and was this after we'd made love, or before? – gently untangled himself and said, ‘Evie… I'm not sure.’
I shut my eyes. Well, lots of boyfriends weren't sure. Said they weren't ready. Needed time. And I hadn't pushed it. I opened my eyes. Hadn't said, but, Ant, we've been going out for months now, as long as Tim and Caro, and I badly want a baby and she's going to beat me to it, and all our lives we've been competitive, all our lives it's mattered, to Caro and me. No, of course I hadn't said any of that, and only even fractionally thought it. It was only because I was forcing myself now, years later, to be so ruthlessly honest that these thoughts were surfacing. I was probably forcing them to surface, like squeezing a spot that wasn't quite ready. But now, now this letter had come and was making me think, what if Neville hadn't died? I knew it was important; knew we'd become closer, but had never allowed myself to think… had it changed everything? Had Neville dying changed the course of my life? Surely it was always on a trajectory to marry Ant?
I felt panicky, leaned heavily on the work surface, hands clenched together. And now – a child. By another woman. Conceived around that time. A barmaid, he'd said, a passing fancy, but nevertheless, a release from me. From my nagging. I pressed my fists to my temples. The demons were crowding in on me, making me think the worst of myself. Making me think, what goes around, comes around, Evie. A child. Two years older than Anna. And so – and this I had to really make myself do – and so think back. Think back to the moment before we'd heard the scream from Maroulla, who'd found Neville floating face down; think back to what Ant had said a few seconds before the scream had changed our lives.
‘Evie… there's something you need to know. Something I've got to tell you.’
Up to now, it had been ruthlessly erased from my memory. I'd never said – weeks, months later – what was it, Ant? What was it you had to tell me? That was my shame. That I'd pretended he'd never said it. Or that I'd never heard.
I let go of the slate worktop. Took a deep breath. Exhaled shakily. But as I went to leave the room, I looked around. Wondered what else I'd pushed. He hadn't really liked that Welsh dresser I'd found in the antique shop in Woodstock; had thought it olde worlde, cutesy. But there it was. Hadn't really liked the yellow walls, thinking them too bright, a little challenging over the morning paper. But there they were. Hadn't really liked the water-colour of the milkmaid and the chickens above the sink – too twee, too whimsical. But there it was. And here I was too.
I bowed my head and left the room.
8
‘Mum! There's a guy on the phone wanting to know if you're coming to look at his skewbald!’
I sat bolt upright in bed. His what?