Facing the Light (48 page)

All the time that Leonora was speaking, Efe had his head hidden in his hands. When he lifted his face, his whole demeanour had changed. He seemed younger, somehow. More vulnerable. Different.

‘I tried to,' Efe said and his voice had lost its confidence. Beth had never heard him sound more tentative. ‘I tried to that night. I went to Rilla's room and I wanted to tell her. I really did, but she was … well, she was upset and the doctor must have given her something because she was sort of asleep and not asleep and I didn't know what to do so I came to you, Leonora, and you said it would be all right. I believed you. You said no one ever needed to know and that it was a hideous accident. Not my fault.'

Efe covered his face again. Rilla coughed, breaking the silence.

‘Tell me what happened, Efe. I'm not going to blame you for anything. I promise,' she said, in a small, gentle voice. The kind of voice, Beth thought, you'd use to speak to a child.

‘We were playing down there. By the lake.' Efe wouldn't look at any of them. He directed his words straight to the floor, so that Beth had to lean forward to catch what he was saying. ‘Alex and Beth and I. We were playing trappers. I didn't want Markie to come, but he did anyway, and I thought it wouldn't matter. He was okay, for a little kid. We didn't mind him tagging along. He wasn't any trouble, really.'

Efe looked up suddenly, and Beth saw that he was crying. He'd hung his head, she thought, because he didn't want anyone to see him in tears. His cheeks were quite wet. He said, ‘Rilla, I could have saved him. That's what I came to tell you. I could have. I didn't take any notice when he called out to me over and over again. I thought he was messing. Alex was about to find the secret trap and I had to stop him. It was the most important thinhag in the world that my trap, which didn't even exist, shouldn't be found.'

He buried his face in his hands, and started crying quietly again. ‘It wasn't even a real trap. I was more caught up in a pretend game than in a real little boy shouting something that I wasn't paying attention to somewhere behind me. I didn't even ask myself what he was doing in the water. Alex was in the water and so was I, so I didn't think anything of it. It wasn't very deep, the lake. He must have lost his footing somehow. Alex was down by the willows and Beth was even further away. She was being a trapper's wife, getting the dinner ready.' He laughed without mirth. ‘We made Beth do all those girly things. She didn't mind. Did you, Beth? You always did what I told you to, didn't you?'

Beth nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak. That day, the day she'd spent years and years pushing to the back of her mind was here, in front of her, and Efe was reminding her of how she felt.

‘I heard the shouting,' she whispered. ‘I didn't know
who it was, and when I got back to where Efe and Alex were, there was Markie, all wet and lying at the side of the lake. I went to fetch someone. Efe sent me. I couldn't see because I was crying so much. I could see that Markie was dead. I never asked what happened. I didn't want to know, I think.'

‘I turned round and saw him,' Efe said. ‘I saw his arms waving and I didn't go back to help him and then I couldn't hear him any more and Alex was screaming and it wasn't till I heard Alex that I went to look for him, for Markie. It was too late, though. I didn't go when I should have, that's the truth. I killed him. I thought I'd killed him till you told me I hadn't, Leonora. You said it was an accident and I should never say anything about it to anyone. And I never have. Rilla, I'm sorry. It's a pathetic thing to say, and I don't know if you'll ever speak to me again, but I'm sorry. I shouldn't have listened to you, Leonora. When I was a kid, there was a reason for it, but lately, well, I knew how you blamed yourself, Rilla, and I still never dared to say anything. I wish I could go back and do it differently. I don't know what else to say.'

Efe went and half knelt down next to Rilla. He said, ‘Will you ever be able to talk to me again? Rilla, speak to me.'

‘Oh, Efe,' Rilla said. ‘What's there to say?' She put both arms around him and drew him to her. His head was on her shoulder. ‘I still blame myself. I always will, because it was
my
business to look after Markie and not yours or Mother's or Gwen's or anyone's. But I'm glad if you can feel less bad now, Efe, because you've spoken about it. I suppose we all ought to have spoken about it straight away and comforted one another, but we didn't, and I couldn't have at the time and then it just grows, the silence, doesn't it? Once you've started not saying things, it's so easy just to carry on. It was brave of you to speak
now, Efe, and of course I forgive you. You were still only a child. I'd never have blamed you.'

Efe sat up and took a handkerchief from his trouser pocket. He said, ‘I'd better go and wash my face, hadn't I? I don't want anyone to see me like this. Leonora, will you excuse me?'

‘Yes, Efe. I'll see you at dinner.' She turned to Rilla as he left the room. ‘Rilla, I owe you an apology, darling. You've said you forgive Efe, but I want to know whether you can forgive me. I should have told you. I see that now. I did think I was acting in everyone's best interests, but now I see that I protected Efe at the expense of your happiness. I think I felt that you could cope with tragedy rather better than he could. I'm so sorry, Rilla. So dreadfully sorry.'

Beth could see that Leonora wanted to touch her daughter, gather her up in her arms and didn't know how to. The struggle was visible in her face, in the way she was wringing her hands in her lap. Oh, God, she thought, please let Rilla do it. Let Rilla reach out to her. Please.

‘No need, Mother,' Rilla said, and she put her arms round her mother. Leonora made a sound that was something between a groan and a sigh and Beth covered her eyes with her hands. Thank heavens, she thought. Everything will be easier now.

‘Beth, dear,' Leonora said, sounding almost like herself again. ‘See that your mother rests a little before dinner. That's why I asked you to come with her. So that you could look after her. I'm going to my room now.'

She left the conservatory and Beth could hear her slow footsteps as she made her way to the hall.

‘Are you all right, Rilla? Would you like a drink or something?'

‘I don't know. I don't know what I want. Oh, Beth, it's so hard to forget things, isn't it? I've been so good at
pushing bad things away all my life but now here's Leonora bringing it all back. Am I ready for this?'

‘Of course you are, Rilla.' Beth knelt down beside her and took her hand. ‘You're so brave. I've always thought you were. You always help me when I feel bad. I can't bear it that you're feeling bad now and I can't do anything to help you. Please say something. Please smile. Oh, Rilla, I hate it when you're sad.'

‘I'm not sad, my love. Honestly. Just a bit shaken up by all this. That's all. And the heat doesn't help.' Rilla smiled as though she were trying out something new, something she hadn't done for a while. It was rather a wobbly smile at first, but it seemed to Beth that it quickly grew stronger; wider and more normal.

‘Have you ever,' Rilla said, ‘seen a run of hot weather like this? I feel as though I'm about to melt. I'm going to have a long, cool bath. And that's the first time I've heard Leonora call me your mother. Ever.' She was looking much happier now, Beth was glad to see. ‘I'll be okay now. Go and get me a stiff gin and tonic and bring it to the bathroom.'

Beth made her way to the kitchen, feeling relieved, as though a crisis had been averted.

*

Philip stood on one side of the dolls' house, which he'd moved carefully away from the wall. A bathtowel from the linen cupboard was spread out under the window for the wallpaper to lie on when it came off the roof.

‘Right,' he said to Chloë. ‘We've got to make it just wet enough to peel it away from the structure, without going through and wrecking the writing on the other side. It'll spoil the tiles, but that can't be helped. I'll do the watery stuff.'

He smoothed a moist sponge over the paper. It had been Beth's idea to get sponges from Rilla's make-up bag. There were always, she was quick to explain, a couple of
spares in case something happened to the ones currently in use. Beth had been only too pleased to let Philip have them in the cause of discovering what else Maude Walsh had written. Chloë had brought a knife from the kitchen and was busy inserting the long, thin blade under the damp paper on her side.

She said, ‘Look, it's coming away, I think.'

‘Okay, if you're sure. Take care.' Philip looked on anxiously.

‘Of course I'll bloody take care. You don't have to tell me.' She pulled a face. ‘I know what to do as well as you, you know.'

Chloë pushed the knife a little further under one edge of the paper. ‘It's coming off beautifully, look,' she said and lifted one corner. The paper peeled away cleanly in a long strip, parallel to the one that Douggie had taken off.

‘Brilliant,' said Philip. ‘Now I think you could get a piece from this side. This is, incidentally, a really beautiful piece of work. Ethan Walsh's, is it?'

‘He made the house, but his wife painted the paper, I think. My great-granny, that is. Leonora's mum.'

‘She was an artist too, then.'

‘Don't think so. Not really.' Chloë was working away with her knife again. ‘I think she went to art school but didn't do much after she got married.'

‘Shame,' said Philip. ‘It's beautiful. If we can dry it out properly, I might be able to put it back, you know. I could always paint the tiles in again.'

‘You're a gem and a treasure,' said Chloë. ‘But what if Leonora wants to keep what's on the back?'

‘She could make a copy, surely?'

‘I don't know.' Chloë sounded as though she wasn't paying attention. She placed the second strip she'd managed to peel off beside the first, which lay with its painted side face down on the towel. She knelt down and peered closely at the writing.

‘It's hard to make out, this writing,' she said. ‘But I think …'

The only sound in the nursery was the faint noise of Philip's sponge, sweeping over the remaining section of paper. Chloë was right down on the floor now, stretched out so that she could look more closely at the handwriting.

‘You're very quiet,' Philip said. ‘Is anything the matter?'

‘Oh, my God! I don't believe this,' she said quietly, and then, ‘Philip. Come over here. If this means what I think it does, it's unbelievable. It can't be, but I'm sure I've read it right. Come and see what you think.'

Philip went over and crouched down beside Chloë to read. After a minute or two, he pushed his hand through his hair and grimaced.

‘Bloody hell,' he said shaking his head. Then he said it again, ‘Bloody hell, Chloë. We'd better tell Leonora.'

‘I'll tell her, Philip. She was down at Nanny Mouse's I think, but she must have come back by now. I'll go and find her. But don't say a word to anyone, Philip, promise? No one at all.'

‘Okay.' Philip nodded. ‘I shan't say anything.'

Chloë sat down on the floor by the dolls' house and read what was written on the back of the roof tiles all over again.

*

Leonora and Alex sat close together on the bench that ran round the walls of the gazebo, looking through the photograph album open on Alex's lap. During her conversation with Sean in the conservatory, it came to Leonora that there wasn't a single photograph of Maude on display in Willow Court. She had to rack her brains for several minutes before it occurred to her that there was an ancient album in the bottom drawer of her chest of drawers. Alex had been coming in at the front door as
she was on her way upstairs to find it, and she'd sent him for it, to spare, as she put it, ‘my ancient legs'.

Alex said, ‘Are you sure you're okay, Leonora? You look a little tired. Don't you think you ought to lie down before dinner?'

Leonora shook her head. ‘No, darling. I'm fine, really. Not a bit tired. Still, you know you're old when your grandson starts wanting you to lie down. No, I simply felt like looking for pictures of my mother, and I thought you'd be interested in seeing them too. It's hard for other people to understand, but I hardly knew her, you know. That's why I asked you to get this album. I want to look at some photographs of her. There must be some, I'm sure, though I can't actually remember any.'

‘I'm always happy to look at old pictures,' Alex said. ‘Though there are some things in your albums which I wouldn't really like to see again.'

Leonora wondered whether Alex was referring, indirectly, to Mark. It struck her suddenly that poor Efe was exactly the same age when Mark drowned as she'd been when Maude died. She said to Alex, ‘I think my mother must have been the most camera-shy person ever. We've been all through this album and what have we found? Not very much, is it?'

‘Two quite good shots of her in the Quiet Garden,' Alex replied. ‘And that one by the piano.'

Leonora peered at the page Alex was holding up for her. There was her mother in the distance, but if you didn't know what she looked like, this photo wouldn't have told you. The tiny, tiny, figure of a thin woman far away down a garden path. In the foreground, a bank of white flowers. Shrubs against the garden wall taking up the side of the photograph. Quite a lot of sky filled with puffs of cloud. That was the first snapshot. The second showed Maude beside an espaliered fruit tree in full bloom. She'd evidently wanted to show off the blossom,
spread like a fan all over the wall, and her face was turned away from the camera. Both photographs were, of course, in black and white and very small indeed.

‘The piano one is better. Bigger, too. It was taken by a photographer, I'm sure,' said Alex. ‘I wonder who took the garden ones. Ethan Walsh, I suppose.'