The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton - Catherine Alliott [72]
Days passed. Ant was quiet and withdrawn, but loving too. Tired. I sensibly didn't offer any pennies for his thoughts as he sat with a book on his lap in the garden, looking less at the printed page than at the garden wall. I'd potter in the kitchen, half an eye on him through the window, whilst Anna bolshed around tight-lipped, defiant, not speaking to her father. We co-existed, the three of us, albeit rather tensely, but after a few days, less tensely, I thought.
I overheard them talking at breakfast one morning, admittedly rather stiltedly, about a choral concert in Christ Church Cathedral that evening. I was ironing in the utility room next door, but, ear pressed to the wall, could hear Ant tentatively suggesting it. Then heard Anna, mumble noncommittally, but at least answer him, which she hadn't done for days. I strained to hear more. Burned my tummy. Ow – shit! No matter. I set the iron on its base and as it exhaled steam, I did too: a sigh of relief, wondering if I dared hope for some thawing. Because if so – I sloshed some water on my sore stomach at the sink – now was the time – now that the dust had settled a bit – to execute my plan. Now, when the wounds were closing, looking less raw, was the time to act.
To my astonishment they did go to the concert together – an early one, six o'clock – and when they returned, and Anna had gone mutely to her room to do her homework, I cornered my husband, back in the utility room, which, unlike the kitchen, didn't give on to the stairs.
‘Ant, I have a plan,’ I said quickly, shutting the door behind us.
‘Oh?’ He went to the drinks fridge and took out a beer.
‘Yes, you see, what I thought was, we need to face this head on, don't we?’
He turned.
‘It's no good pretending it doesn't exist. That… Stacey… doesn't exist, so instead of waiting for her to call,’ which obviously I was, jumping whenever the telephone rang, ‘I've decided we should invite her here, properly. Set a date. None of this, I'll come one day. Let's ask her to tea or something, to meet the three of us.’ I beamed. ‘I've written to her.’
His eyes widened.
‘Oh, no, I haven't sent it,’ I said quickly. ‘I wouldn't do that, not without consulting you. But don't you think it's a good idea, darling? To – you know – meet this head on,’ I'd already said that. I ferreted wildly. ‘To… confront our demons?’
‘I don't think of Stacey as a demon,’ he said slowly, ‘but in theory, I agree. You're right. I came to the same conclusion. We shouldn't just wait for her to appear, we should invite her. I've emailed her. She's coming tomorrow.’
‘Oh!’ Tomorrow. And he hadn't even told me. What would I wear? I can't believe I'd thought that. Tomorrow.
‘You didn't tell me.’
‘I was just about to. I only sent it today, on a whim, really. Before I knew it I'd pressed “Send”. But she emailed straight back. We're meeting in Browns for lunch.’
‘Right,’ I breathed.
‘Her mother's coming with her.’
‘She's not!’
‘She's only sixteen, Evie. She needs some moral support. I can understand that.’
‘Yes,’ I croaked, holding on to the washing machine, which was churning like my stomach. Blimey, what would I wear? ‘But… what about Anna?’
‘I asked her this evening. She wants to come.’
‘Does she?’
‘Well, grudgingly. But I gave her the choice as we walked to Christ Church, and after the concert, she said yes.’
‘You asked her before me?’
‘Only because I had the opportunity; it's the first time she's talked to me for days. I was coming back to talk to you.’ His words, as usual, rang with the clarity of truth.