Facing the Light (51 page)

‘Can I play?' Efe had opened the door so quietly that the girls heard nothing.

‘With us?' Efe pretended to be too old and too much of a boy to be interested in dolls' house games, but he used to join in when they were much younger, speaking for Mr Delacourt and Lucas while Beth did the voices for Queen Margarita and Lucinda.

‘Yeah, why not?' He came and sat cross-legged on the floor beside Beth. She could smell him. He had a particular fragrance of grass and soap and his own skin, and she remembered it from the days when they shared bathtimes. She blushed now to think of that. He was in a bad mood. You could always tell with Efe. His face grew stiff and frowny and he wouldn't talk properly. He mumbled something if you asked him a question, but his eyes were sad and he always looked as though he were about to hit out at something. Sure enough, he began kicking the skirting-board that just happened to be near his foot. Beth said, ‘What's wrong, Efe?' She didn't really expect a reply, but her words had the effect she was looking for. He stopped kicking the wall.

‘Nothing. Well, nothing different anyway. I'm fed up, that's all. A whole fortnight here with them bickering all the time. I hate it. Mum nags Dad and he goes all silent and then he goes out and doesn't come back for ages and
then Mum starts nagging all over again. You're lucky your parents have split up, I can tell you. It's murder.'

Beth, who would have given a great deal to live at Willow Court with her mother and father still together, said only, ‘Come and play mothers and fathers with us, then. Chloë, look, Efe's going to play.'

‘Efe!' Chloë flung herself on top of her brother and started to tickle him. ‘Efe can be Daddy. I'll be Baby. I'll cry, listen …'

‘No, Chloë, don't be a crying baby. Be a sleepy baby, please!' Beth began, but it was far too late. Chloë was enjoying her new role and was lying in Efe's arms, wailing and howling in a convincing imitation of what she did quite a lot of the time naturally.

‘Stop it!' Efe said to her, and she stopped at once. It always astonished Beth, this gift he had for getting people to do what he wanted. ‘We're playing good babies, Chloë, and if you utter a squeak I'll chuck you out of the window into the garden.'

Chloë treated this threat as the joke it was meant to be and started laughing. She wandered away to the window, to look down and see how far she'd fall if Efe did what he said.

‘I'm never going to be a dad,' Efe said to Beth. ‘It's too much trouble. My dad's never here. Your dad's gone off with someone with a ridiculous name. They're all crap. I'm not going to be crap.'

‘But if you fall in love with someone, you'll want to marry them,' Beth said.

‘No, I shan't. Girls are silly. Not you, Beth, but most girls are. Just silly. They can't play properly. They giggle.'

Beth was glowing from Efe's compliment. He didn't often say nice things, but when he did, she stored them away in her mind to take out and think about later when she was alone.

‘I expect', she said, ‘that you'll change your mind when you grow up.'

‘Shan't. I'm not marrying anyone but you.'

His expression was not one she'd ever seen before. He looked different. Sad. Sad and older. He was staring at her almost like a grown-up. She shivered. He put his hand on her arm.

‘You wouldn't mind marrying me, would you, Beth?'

She felt a funny sort of melting feeling in her stomach, and wondered for a moment whether she was going to be sick. When she tried to speak no words came out of her mouth.

Efe continued, ‘You're the only girl I've ever liked, so I think I ought to marry you. You're my cousin, but you're not properly related to me, are you? Not by blood.'

Beth shook her head. Efe stood up suddenly.

‘I know,' he said. ‘Let's become blood brothers … well, blood brother and sister. Or blood cousins.'

‘If we do that, become blood cousins, then you won't be able to marry me.'

‘Yes, I will.' Efe always sounded so definite about everything. ‘We won't really be blood cousins. It's just like a promise, that's all. That we'll be loyal for ever. I have to come and rescue you if you get captured. That sort of thing.'

‘Can I rescue you, too?'

‘I won't need rescuing, don't worry,' said Efe. He looked around for something they could use to prick their fingers. Beth said, ‘Queen Margarita's got a hatpin, look!'

‘I'd never have seen that. It's absolutely tiny. How did you know?'

‘Your mum gave it to me last time I was here, when I told her I wanted Queen M to have a hat. Leonora made the hat specially.'

Neither Efe nor Beth referred to Rilla. It was simply
understood that she didn't come to Willow Court any longer, had only come once or twice since Mark died, and then just for a day or two. She still, even after four years, could hardly mention her son without tears filling her eyes, so Beth tried not to talk about him. She remembered him every day and missed him, and wondered now whether she might speak to Efe about what happened that day, which had become mixed up in her head with the nightmares she kept having, but it was too late. He'd already taken the hatpin out of the doll's hat and was holding it up so that the tiny piece of glass that was glued to the top and pretending to be a diamond caught the light and flashed white.

‘Here, give me your thumb.'

‘Will it hurt?' Beth shrank back a little.

‘Course not. Not a bit. We're always doing stuff like this at school. Really. Don't be scared.'

Beth closed her eyes and put her arm out. She could feel Efe taking hold of her hand and then a prick, less painful than an injection.

‘Okay, open your eyes. It's all over. Look.'

Chloë chose that moment to come and see what her brother was doing.

‘I want!' she said. ‘I want to play, too.'

‘No you don't, Chloë. This is a game for big children,' Efe told her.

‘DO!' Her lower lip was beginning to wobble. Efe pushed the pin into his own thumb.

‘See, Chloë? Blood. It's not a nice game. It'd hurt.'

‘Does it hurt, Beth?' the little girl asked. Beth nodded, because Efe wanted her to say that, but it wasn't sore, really. Or if it was, she didn't notice the pain. Efe was holding his bleeding thumb over hers. Their blood was mingling. She thought that maybe she could actually
feel
Efe's blood, entering her body. He held her hand and gazed into her eyes with an expression she couldn't
fathom. His face was serious, grave. He was very close to her. She could feel his breath on her hair.

‘Friends for ever, Beth?'

‘Friends for ever and ever.'

*

They'd got to the ‘just cause and impediment' bit, and for a wild moment Beth wondered what would happen if she jumped up and objected to this whole wedding. Almost her favourite book in the world was
Jane Eyre
and she loved the part where Jane's wedding to Mr Rochester was interrupted. What would Leonora, Gwen, Rilla, Mr and Mrs McVie, all of them, say if she ran to the altar and flung herself at Efe, shouting that no, no, he mustn't marry Fiona. He was hers. They had exchanged blood, hadn't they? Didn't that mean anything? She sighed and turned her attention to the bride. Fiona looked beautiful. Beth would have liked to think differently, but was too honest to deny that all the work that had been put into the organization of this wedding had paid off. The dress, plain cream satin, flowed like liquid over Fiona's remarkable body; the jewelled snow-crystals currently poking viciously into Beth's scalp every time she moved her head were just an echo of the cascade of similar glittering shapes stitched all over Fiona's train. Her bouquet gathered together white and pale pink roses and there were roses all over the church. This was quite an achievement at Christmas time. They must have been flown in from somewhere abroad. What a waste of money! Still, money wasn't a problem Efe and Fiona had to worry about. His job as a something vaguely financial in an advertising agency was well paid, and he was also, of course, one of the eventual heirs to the Ethan Walsh estate. And the McVies were wealthy, too.

The family was out in force. They'd all come, dressed to the nines. Leonora would have made sure that everyone on Efe's side of the church was present and
correct. She herself looked amazing. She was over seventy, and still stood straight and slim in a peacock-blue suit and matching hat that suited her perfectly. Gwen wore pale yellow, some kind of dress with a jacket over the top, with a dark brown and yellow hat. Rilla had decided to pull out all the stops and her coat of burgundy brocade swept the floor as she walked, and caught the light and shimmered. Her hat was a sort of silver turban, which made her look a little like one of the three kings in a Nativity play, but Beth hadn't had the heart to tell her so. Chloë was in blue, and for once looked quite normal. Fiona wasn't going to risk having her as a bridesmaid and Beth could understand that. Her youngest cousin had a disconcerting habit of turning up with purple hair or wearing something outrageous, like a dog-collar studded with metal spikes as a bracelet.

The men, who didn't have the same opportunities for dressing-up, all looked good, Beth thought, except for poor old Alex. He hated ties of any sort and hadn't been seen in a suit since his schooldays. He seemed most uncomfortable, and Beth smiled at him. He grinned back at her, transformed. Funny how different he was, Beth thought, when he let himself go a little. Really quite nice looking, when you took the time to notice him. For a fleeting second, Beth wondered whether he was ever jealous of his extraordinarily handsome brother. Did men think about such things? I'll ask him one day, she thought. Even though Alex wasn't much of a talker, when you did ask him anything, he always turned his full attention to the question and never dismissed your query as mere silliness.

‘You may kiss the bride,' the vicar said, and Beth saw Efe lean over and raise the veil that covered Fiona's face. He kissed her full on the mouth, of course: no half-measures for Efe, even in church, and Beth closed her eyes. She had wanted very much
not
to see this kiss, but
Efe was too quick and there it was, burning on the inside of her eyelids like a nightmare. Efe's mouth on Fiona's. For ever. Efe and Fiona in bed.
Don't think of that. Think of anything else, but not that
. She found herself going over the occasion when she first realized how serious Efe was about Fiona.

*

Everyone was now in reception mode, laughing, drinking, letting their hair down. Weddings were all the same. Beth felt like an actor who'd gone through a gruelling performance and hadn't been praised nearly enough. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. The other guests were milling, dancing, standing around in small groups. She didn't feel like attaching herself to any of them.

‘Have another drink, Beth,' said Alex, coming over to her. He was carrying two glasses. ‘You look as though you could do with something.'

‘I know. I look like hell, don't I? I can't help it. This bloody wedding has gone on long enough, don't you think?'

She could hear herself sounding pinched and crabby and more than a little drunk. She'd hoped to achieve some kind of dulling of the pain, but it hadn't worked. All the booze had done was make her feel weepy. Now Alex was going to be nice to her and that would really be the end. She'd definitely burst into tears unless she could manage to change the subject.

‘Have you finished taking the photos?' she asked.

‘No, not yet. I've done the album stuff. You know, bride, groom, relations, that kind of thing. Now I'm going to get some shots of the guests and so on. I'll just wander around for a while, see what I can find.'

‘Don't take one of me. I look like a corpse.'

Alex shook his head.

‘You don't, Beth, really. You always look great to me.'

She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the nose.

‘You're very nice to me, Alex. But you don't have to stay here, you know. You can go off and see if you can find someone who's more fun. Go and photograph my mum. She's always ready to pose for the camera.'

Rilla, Beth was pleased to see, was enjoying herself. She was flirting with the bride's father. The bride's mother was nowhere to be seen. No, there she was, chatting to Leonora in a darkened corner of the room. The McVies' house had been judged too small for the wedding party and they were in the ballroom of the kind of hotel that charged three-figure sums for bed and breakfast. Small tables and gilded chairs were clustered at one end of the space, and a band played dance music at the other. Wedding guests sat about, danced around, walked from group to group, and Beth, watching it all from her place by the window, half-hidden by a velvet curtain, hated the whole thing and just wished for it to be over.

The bride had gone upstairs to change into her travelling clothes. Efe and Fiona were flying off any minute now and spending their first night together in a snow-sprinkled chalet on some mountainside. Beth turned to look out at the London twilight. Someone touched her on the shoulder and she whirled round. It was Efe. She blushed and looked up at him. He leaned his arm on the wall above her head and she was conscious of the flash of Alex's camera going off somewhere near them.

‘Lovely wedding, Efe. And if I haven't said so before, I do hope you'll both be very happy.'

‘We will, but what about you?'

‘What do you mean, what about me?' Beth tried to sound brave, but a lump was growing in her throat.

‘Are you okay? Are you happy, Beth?'

She laughed. ‘That's not the sort of question you ask, Efe. What's got into you?'

‘I don't know. I just thought … well, I thought you looked a bit sad, that's all.'

‘No, I'm fine, really. I'll be fine. I'll miss you.'