Never Close Your Eyes (44 page)

‘What do you expect me to do?' she said. ‘What do you want?' She pulled her face away from him but his arms were still wrapped tightly round her. ‘Are you going to blackmail me?'

It was his turn now to step back. He pushed her off. ‘How could you think that?' His voice was raised. His eyes were black and fiery.

Becca folded her arms across her body. She was shrinking, occupying an increasingly small space. She might disappear altogether down a crack in the pavement.

‘You could make a fortune,' she went on. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists, waiting for his tirade.

There was a pause. When he finally spoke his voice was surprisingly calm. ‘I'm not interested in blackmailing you, Dawn,' he said. ‘I don't want your money. How could you think that?'

‘What
do
you want then? I don't understand.'

‘I want you.'

She shuddered. She wondered how she could ever have found him handsome. He was mad. She must have been mad. ‘But we hardly know each other.' She stared into his eyes, pleading with him.

His eyes were blank and unresponsive. ‘We've been through this,' he sighed. ‘I've told you I know all I need to.'

‘I can't leave Tom,' she wailed. ‘The children. Is that what you want me to do?'

He stepped forward, right into her body space. He was so close that she could feel his breath on her face and smell his warm, musky odour.

‘Of course you can't leave now,' he said. She felt her body, her legs and shoulders, relax slightly. ‘You mustn't upset the children,' he whispered. One arm was round her shoulders now, the other round her waist. She stayed stock-still, rooted to the spot. He brought his hands up and took her face in them. ‘I just want to see more of you, then I'll be happy. Then we can keep your secret to ourselves.'

She felt as if she were someone else: an actor in a tableau; a marionette jerking to its master's command. His lips pressed against hers. She opened her mouth slightly and allowed his tongue to roam around. There was so much saliva; she'd never known so much saliva. She felt as if she were drowning in a pool of blood and saliva and tears.

Is this how Jude felt when she was on the point of dying?

I can't do this, her body was screaming. I've got to do something.

Her hands reached out and around her, scrabbling in the thin air, searching for something, an object, a memory. It was all coming back; her past present and future converging.

‘Ye little cow, it's no more than ye deserve,' Jude spat back.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

‘Have you been under a sunbed recently?'

Evie was on the floor on her hands and knees, pinning the hem of the bride-to-be's dress. She'd dropped Michael at school an hour before and had the rest of the day to herself.

The woman was tall, blonde and slender – a delight to design for. She'd look good in a binbag. There was just one small problem. Evie had been thinking about how she was going to raise the subject since her client arrived. It was important to be tactful.

‘No,' the woman said. ‘Why do you ask?'

Evie glanced up. She was a most peculiar, orangey colour. ‘I just thought you looked very, erm, tanned,' she said.

‘It's funny,' the woman replied. ‘A few other people have said that. And look at the palms of my hands.'

She held them out so that Evie could see. They were an even darker orange than the rest of her body. Evie cleared her throat. This wasn't an isolated case – she'd seen it once before.

‘Have you, um, been eating lots of carrots?' she said as nonchalantly as possible, continuing to pin the hem.

‘Yes,' the woman cried. ‘I'm on the carrot diet. I've lost five pounds already. Only another two to go.'

‘Ah,' said Evie. ‘That accounts for it. It happened to another lady that I made a dress for. Your body can only store so much vitamin A over a short time so it's showing up as an orange tint on your skin. It won't do you any harm but maybe you should try a different diet. Switch to sweetcorn or something.' She laughed.

‘God, I will,' said the woman. ‘I don't want to look like a satsuma on my Big Day.'

As soon as the woman left, Evie went into the kitchen, closed the door behind her and put the kettle on. She fetched the small cafetière from the cupboard, put two heaped spoonfuls of fresh coffee in and filled it up with hot water. Then she warmed a third of a mug of milk in the microwave, mixed the coffee in it and sat down at the kitchen table.

The phone was waiting there expectantly. Her stomach fluttered. She blew on the coffee and took a sip before tapping in Zelda's number.

‘Hello, Evie,' Zelda said huskily. ‘I was expectin' you.'

Evie had been looking forward to being regressed. She'd booked the session several weeks ago, just after Christmas, and was intrigued by the idea of going back in time to a past life. She was nervous too, though. She didn't really know what to expect.

‘How are you today?' Zelda asked.

Evie hardly heard the question. She felt goose pimples running up and down her arms. ‘I must admit I'm a bit anxious. Are you sure this is a good idea?'

Zelda sniffed. ‘I wouldn't recommend it if I didn't think you'd benefit, darlin', but it's up to you, of course. You're the customer.'

‘I do want it,' Evie insisted. ‘I'm just a bit jumpy, that's all.'

‘You've got nothin' to worry about,' Zelda went on. ‘It'll help with yer confidence, see? I'll connect you with people you've spent lifetimes with before and you'll be able to recognise who they are today. It's all about understandin' how yer past is still influencin' yer present, see? Then you can create yer future as you want it to be.' Zelda made a puffing sound on her cigarette. ‘Are you ready?'

‘Er, I think so.'

‘Trust me, sweet'art. I'll put it on yer usual card, shall I?'

Evie swallowed. Seventy-five pounds was an awful lot of money, but if it really was as helpful as Zelda promised . . . She took another swig of coffee, rested her elbows on the table, clamped the receiver to her ear and closed her eyes.

‘Now I want you to concentrate really hard,' Zelda said quietly. ‘Clear your mind. Be aware of only yer face, yer forehead, yer eyelids. They feel heavy, really heavy. Yer shoulders and neck are heavy, and so are yer hands and arms.'

Evie felt her forehead and eyelids drooping. The kitchen was warm and Zelda's voice was velvety and soporific. The only noises she could hear were a slight whirring from the fridge and some builders working in one of the back gardens a few houses down. They had a radio on, but the music sounded faraway and indistinct.

‘Now I want you to imagine you're in a tunnel,' Zelda went on. ‘You're walkin' along the tunnel and it's all dark and silent. At the very end you can see a tiny pinprick of light. You want to get to that light.'

Evie could picture the tunnel quite clearly. She could feel its soft, earthy sides. She wasn't afraid, she was intrigued. She wanted to get to the end.

‘You're walkin' along and the light is gettin' nearer,' Zelda went on. ‘You really want to reach that light. I'm going to count backwards from twenty and when I get to nought, you're going to step right out into that light and tell me what you see.'

Evie's pace quickened. She was desperate to find out what was at the end of the tunnel. She was only vaguely aware of Zelda's voice, murmuring something. She tried to listen. ‘Twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen . . .'

She heard ‘nought', summoned all her energy and leaped out into the white light. Except that when she got there it wasn't light at all, it was dark and oppressive.

‘What can you see?' Zelda said. ‘Tell me what's in front of you.'

Evie peered into the gloom. ‘I can see a woman,' she said.

‘What sort of woman?'

Evie screwed up her eyes. ‘It's a young woman with a pale face and dark hair tied back in a sort of bun. She's wearing old-fashioned clothes: a long, shabby dress and an apron. I think it's me.'

‘Yes,' said Zelda. ‘Good. Where are you and what are you doin'?'

Evie scanned the room, a cold, dingy place with damp-looking walls. There was a dirty mattress on the floor and a couple of blankets, but nothing more.

‘I'm in someone's house,' she said. ‘My house.' She shivered. ‘There are small children around me, my children, pulling on my skirt. And – oh! There's a baby crying in the corner. He looks so cold and hungry. The children are frightened. They need me.'

‘How do you feel?' Zelda asked.

‘I want to pick them up and cuddle them but I'm not looking at them,' Evie explained. ‘I'm looking at myself in the mirror. It's an old, cracked mirror on the wall. I'm putting dark make-up round my eyes, rouge on my cheeks and I have bright red lips. I'm crying, too, but I don't want the children to see.'

‘Why are you cryin'?' Zelda sounded concerned, soothing.

‘I'm not sure,' said Evie. She felt uneasy. She wanted to get out of the strange room and back to her warm kitchen, to the present, but she couldn't.

‘Why are you upset?' Zelda pressed. ‘What's happenin' to you?'

Evie swallowed. She could see the pale reflection and the incongruous make-up. The staring eyes of her hungry children.

‘I'm going out to try to get some money as a prostitute,' she said suddenly. ‘I don't want to but it's the only way. The children are starving . . .' Evie felt a knot in her stomach. Her heart was thumping. ‘I know it's dangerous. I don't want to leave them . . .'

‘Where's yer husband?' Zelda said gently. ‘Why isn't he lookin' after you?'

Evie paused for a moment, searched her mind. ‘He's not here. I think he's dead. No, he's left us. He's gone off with another woman.' She clenched the phone in her fist.

‘Has he now? That's interestin',' she heard Zelda say. ‘Now why has he done that, do you think?'

‘I don't know,' Evie moaned. Her chest was tight. It was a horrible, familiar feeling. ‘I have no idea.'

‘I wonder if you haven't bin lookin' after him properly, usin' yer womanly wiles to keep him happy?' said Zelda.

Evie's heart fluttered. ‘No, no,' she said, ‘it's not that. He's a womaniser, another woman caught his eye. I was busy with the children . . .'

Zelda's voice cut through the air. ‘I can hear your anger. Don't be angry, Evie, this is all part of the therapy. Just listen to me, darlin', don't try to oppose me.'

Evie felt her shoulders relax slightly. Zelda was right, this wasn't for real, she was supposed to be learning from it. It was therapy.

‘Now,' Zelda went on, gently, ‘I can see already that there's a pattern here. The husband from your past and Neil. You can't hang on to your men, can you? That's what the past is tellin' us. We need to find out what you're doin' wrong, then you can put it right, see?'

‘But it's not my fault,' Evie cried.

‘Oh, but I think it is,' Zelda whispered. ‘You see, I think you have to change your ways, not be so selfish. Tell him how wonderful he is. Stroke him. Love him with all your heart . . .'

‘But I did love him with all my heart,' Evie sobbed, ‘I adored him.'

‘Well, you didn't show it, did you?' said Zelda. ‘You was obviously doin' somethin' wrong, otherwise he'd still be with you now. You must of drove him away.'

Evie tried to open her eyes but they were too heavy. ‘I want to stop now,' she said desperately.

‘You can't, you need to finish the treatment,' Zelda replied.

‘Please . . .'

‘Be calm,' Zelda went on. ‘You're doin' very well, this is very revealin'. One of the best regressions I've done. Now I want you to imagine that you're back in the tunnel. But this time you're going to move forward from where you're at, ten, twenty, thirty years in time.'

Evie felt herself crawling through the tunnel now. It seemed much narrower and very claustrophobic. She couldn't stand up. She was desperate to reach the light again. She was wriggling along on her elbows and knees.

‘Now,' said Zelda suddenly. ‘You're outside again. What do you see?'

Evie blinked and looked around. At least she wasn't back in that dingy room. ‘I'm in a street,' she said. ‘There are lots of people and horses and carts going by. It's raining.'

‘What sort of people?'

‘Poor people,' she said. ‘They look tired and dirty. Some of them have bare feet. I'm in a street near where I live, I know it. The houses are very close together. Everything is shabby and old.'