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Authors: Margot Livesey

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BOOK: Eva Moves the Furniture
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Anne was sitting up in bed, her fair hair tied back, her face calm, and beside her, wrapped in a woolen blanket, still somewhat rumpled from his passage into the world, was Robert. Together we praised his eyelashes, his tiny fingers. I touched his cheek, dizzy with desire.
“Feel his hair,” Anne instructed.
“Did everything go all right?” I asked.
“They told me … look, he's opening his eyes.”
I leaned forward to catch my first glimpse of Robert's deep gaze.
On the drive back I could speak of nothing else. Matthew probably
heard one word in ten, but he smiled and bobbed his head. We were almost back at the school, cresting the final rise, when he pulled over. “They claim babies can't really see,” I was saying, “but I'm sure he was watching us.”
He turned off the engine. In the sudden silence I heard the mournful cries of the lapwings watching over their nests in the nearby fields. Before I could ask what was wrong, Matthew was speaking.
“This isn't the way to ask,” he said, “but will you marry me?”
I thought of Robert's tiny mauve hands, waving like sea anemones, his grey eyes. I looked over and saw how tightly Matthew held the steering wheel. In the fields the birds no longer sounded melancholy. Yes, yes, they seemed to cry; I had only to echo them. “Yes,” I said.
“You will?” He sounded so incredulous that, at the same moment, we both burst out laughing. Awkwardly, across the gearshift and the brake, we embraced.
That evening Matthew came to my sitting room bearing a small box. He slid the ring, a sapphire with two diamonds, onto the appropriate finger. “The man in the shop said he could alter it, but there's no need, is there?”
“No, it's beautiful.” I held out my hand for him to admire.
Neither of us knew what to say or do next. Then Matthew looked at the clock and announced he'd better be going. “Well, good night,” he said, kissing my cheek. Touched by his ineptitude, I flung my arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips.
When his footsteps were gone, I sat down to wait. No one came. The chairs remained all four feet on the floor, the carpet lay flat, the
pictures hung still. As the minutes passed, a kind of peace descended upon me.
I did not feel that I had to tell Matthew about the companions. Nor did I fear their intervention. From that day in the churchyard, when the girl had kept her distance, I knew they would not come between us. As for the other things, the fluttering of the heart, the eagerness to touch and hold, I looked down at the ring and thought perhaps such feelings could be learned. Perhaps we could learn them together.
Everyone was pleased by the news of our engagement. Mrs. Thornton took it as a personal triumph. “The first day I laid eyes on you,” she said, “I told my husband you wouldn't last six months.” Between us we agreed I would finish out the school year. Matthew and I would get married in the summer and in the autumn I would return as a master's wife. Anne burst into tears. So did Mrs. Plishka. Dr. Singer shook my hand and wished me joy. The girl brought a bunch of primroses. The woman exclaimed,
“C'est fantastique.”
The one person I did not tell was Lily. “I want to do it in person,” I explained to Matthew and Anne. But it was more than that. A few days after his proposal I was stocking the medicine cupboard when I found myself remembering my conversation with Lily in the lane. Suddenly I wondered if she might still expect me to offer her a home. Of course, said Matthew over supper that night, and I could
see he meant it. My own feelings, however, were more complicated; at the thought of living with both him and her, a kind of darkness came over me, as if upon reaching the climax of a book I turned to a blank page. Try as I might, I could not picture our household. On one pretext or another, I put off visiting Edinburgh until the Whitsun holiday in May. Then I wrote, asking if Lily could meet my train, hoping to speak to her alone, but she had a church meeting to attend.
As I climbed the gloomy stairs to Violet's flat, I repeated to myself the sort of remarks Daphne used to make. I was twenty-six, a grown woman; besides, Matthew had all the credentials of a good husband. Lily opened the door, dressed in her best suit. I was exclaiming how smart she looked when Violet appeared, resplendent in brown. “That coat's certainly seen better days,” she said, kissing my cheek.
“Father gave it to me the winter I went to Glasgow.” I turned to Lily. “Remember going to Forsythe's to choose it?”
“Thank goodness you got it before coupons.”
I excused myself. After five years of rationing, Violet still had prewar soap, a privilege which, at Christmas, she had warned me not to abuse; now I took pleasure in lathering my hands vigorously. When I came into the kitchen, Lily was setting the table. “They must be overworking you at that school,” she said. “Violet and I were both saying how pale you are.”
“I'm fine.” I was taken aback that she could not tell, just by my face, that something wonderful had happened. While Violet talked about the cleaning rota for the church, I crossed my legs and straightened my skirt. I had never worn a ring before and, to my
eyes, the small stones were dazzling, but the aunts did not appear to notice. Violet continued to hold forth, with occasional comments from Lily. At last tea was served and I could wait no longer. “I've something to tell you,” I said. “I'm engaged to one of the masters.”
Violet bounded across the room. “Congratulations, my dear. May the Lord bring you many years of happiness. Oh, look at your ring. That's a sapphire, isn't it? Such a pretty stone.”
Lily meanwhile sat as if nailed to her seat. I felt a despair which, now that the moment was here, seemed entirely predictable. When Violet, still exclaiming, had sat down again, Lily said quietly, “When did this happen?”
“A few weeks ago. I didn't want to tell you in a letter.”
“How old is he?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“How much money does he have?”
“Whatever he earns.”
“Who's going to pay for the wedding?”
I had not thought of that. “I will,” I said impulsively. “I have Father's money.”
“That's not what he intended it for.” She went over to the fire and rattled the poker in the grate until Violet complained she was wasting coal.
Not until after supper, when Violet went to turn down the beds, did I have a chance to speak to Lily alone. Then, desperate to placate her, I blurted out the invitation. “We thought you might come and live with us,” I said. “Once we have a place of our own.” She was at the sink and at first I thought she was going to continue to ignore me. She scrubbed furiously at a plate.
“Aunt Lily,” I pleaded.
“The idea of you getting engaged to a total stranger, Eva. What on earth are you thinking of?”
“He's not a stranger to me.”
“We know nothing about him. He could be the trunk murderer. Or Jack the Ripper.” She set the plate to drain, started on another. “David's only been gone a few months. When I think how he was faithful to Barbara for a quarter of a century.”
If she had hit me, I would not have been more confounded or more stricken. David was always in my thoughts, but it had never occurred to me that I was getting engaged within the traditional period of mourning; perhaps the years of nursing had dulled me to such distinctions.
 
 
By the time I left next morning, Lily had still not vouchsafed the smallest sign of approval. Staring out of the train window at the green blur of the newly planted fields, I thought she was right. During the war I had seen many short engagements, but now there was no need. We could wait another year; Matthew would understand. And surely Lily would come around when she got to know him and saw that we wanted to respect David's memory. As these sensible ideas took shape, my agitation was replaced by hunger. I had eaten almost no breakfast. I was unwrapping my sandwiches—meat paste and cucumber—when the door of the compartment slid open.
“Those look good.” The woman took a seat opposite.
“What are you doing here?” I exclaimed. Although the companions could find me anywhere, I was startled that they would board a train.
She gave a little smile. “So how was Lily?” she said, gazing at me with her deep grey eyes so like those of Anne's small son.
“All right.” Then I ended up telling her about Lily's reaction and how it seemed best to postpone the wedding. “I wouldn't mind being matron for another year.”
The train lurched and we both seized an armrest. “Lily was just surprised,” the woman said. “You were very closemouthed. And you know David wanted you to get married. Besides,” she added, “it would be hard to change your mind now. Mr. Thornton has already advertised your job.”
The engine let out a piercing whistle and we plunged into darkness. When the train emerged from the tunnel, I was once more facing an empty seat. The thought of someone else occupying my cosy rooms gave me a pang, but the woman's comment about David had comforted me. After all, Lily had said the same thing. And as for Lily herself, she had never liked change, but that didn't mean she wouldn't come around. I picked up a sandwich and began to eat.
 
 
In July I treated two sprained ankles at sports day; then my duties were over. Matthew was going home to Stoke-on-Trent, and I was staying in Edinburgh until the wedding. We had chosen a Saturday in August, almost the exact anniversary, Lily was swift to point out, of David's death. Besides the aunts, I knew no one in the city. Mrs. Nicholson had moved down to Bath, and I had lost touch with Shona and Flo. Matthew and I had booked the church and sent out invitations before he went south, but the flowers and reception were still to be organised. And I had no dress. For years Lily had kept Barbara's
dress at the back of her wardrobe. Now it turned out to be too small; I couldn't even begin to do up the buttons. Lily, however, only sighed and went on scouring the knives. Meanwhile, Violet reminisced about her own nuptials but offered no practical assistance. I took to leaving the flat, on the pretext of errands, and going instead to the park at the end of the road.
One afternoon as I sat watching some boys play cricket, the woman strolled across the grass to join me. Her yellow cotton dress was very like one Lily had worn twenty years before. “What an excellent overarm that boy has,” she said.
The boy in question had just bowled a thoroughly mediocre over. Now, following her gaze, I saw he was sending balls whizzing towards the wicket.
“You know,” she said, “what always saved me from difficult situations were my friends. You have friends too.”
“Not in Edinburgh.”
“It's not hard to get here. Oh, good hit!”
The ball was still soaring as she rose to her feet and headed towards the gate. When the next over began, the bowler had returned to his former mediocrity.
Back at the flat, I wrote to Daphne and, once the letter was posted, felt more cheerful than I had in weeks. After supper, I suggested a round of whist. Lily dealt and Violet campaigned to raise the stakes from a farthing to a penny. In bed, however, the jolliness of the game vanished. I lay there, puzzling over the companions' role in my upcoming marriage. One evening towards the end of term when we were strolling across the cricket pitch, Matthew had confided in me his version of the day we got engaged. “I felt as if I were hypnotised,” he said. “After I dropped you off at the infirmary,
I was on my way to the bookshop. Suddenly I found myself stopping in front of a jeweller's.” He laughed. “Once I'd bought the ring, there seemed no point in delaying so I proposed on the drive home.”
In the shadow of the cricket pavilion he drew me to him. Since our first clumsy embrace, he had grown more ardent and I had felt my own stirrings. But that evening, after a couple of kisses, I had said I must get back to my patients.
I shifted uneasily. Beneath me the bed creaked. It was not only Matthew whose actions were governed. Hadn't the girl arranged for me to be walking up Front Avenue as he drove by? Anxiety seized me. I remembered how the companions had helped me to a job at Mr. Laing's and then got me fired; how after bringing me together with Samuel, they had torn us apart. Now they could not do enough to make sure I married Matthew, but who knew what their motives were or when they might change their minds? Once again I was struck by the notion that all the seemingly random events of my life were in fact organised according to some hidden pattern I knew nothing about.
“I won't betray you,” I whispered. “Don't betray me.”
 
 
As so often before, Daphne came to my rescue. During several day trips from Glasgow she found a dressmaker, booked a hotel for the reception, ordered the flowers. And, like the woman, she reassured me about Lily. “She's just scared of losing you,” she said. “She'll come round.” Even as the day drew near, this seemed to be happening: Lily began to take an interest in my plans, make the odd matrimonial joke. On the morning of the wedding she stood behind me doing up the thirty hooks on the back of my dress. “There. Let me have a look at you.”
When I turned around she stared, without saying a word, until I tugged at the bodice. “Is it all right?”
“I was just thinking how much you look like Barbara. She was a lovely bride.” She kissed me and hurried away to help Violet.
Alone, I approached the mirror. There stood a young woman in a high-necked full-skirted dress. My trunks were packed and I was ready to embark upon what the chaplain called the journey of matrimony. Then I thought of Lily's comment. Barbara, too, must have stood before a mirror on her wedding day, imagining a life bright with promise.
The door opened. “What are you doing?” Violet demanded. “Don't you know it's bad luck for a bride to see her reflection?”
She stepped in front of the mirror, immense in her beige frock, and I smelled her dry gardenia perfume. “The time to look in a mirror,” she went on, “is after the wedding, with your husband. It brings good luck. Andrew and I did that, and we were happy for thirty-seven years. God rest his soul.”
I had not laid eyes on Matthew for nearly five weeks, and as I walked up the aisle on Mr. Thornton's arm and saw him, waiting at the altar, I was amazed at how handsome he was. For months I had been rolling back my ambivalence. Now, as the minister joined us together, it finally tumbled away. How gladly I gave and received the promises of marriage. We turned to face our guests. In the front pew, Lily, Violet, and Matthew's parents stood watery-eyed. For a moment, all I could think of was David. Then the organ started, Matthew gave me a gentle tug, and we were walking down the aisle, past other friends from the infirmary and the school. And there, standing near the back, were the companions, dressed in their best clothes, smiling.
BOOK: Eva Moves the Furniture
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