heard.
‘Have you been friends with Eve a very long time?’ John unbuttoned his cuff, and let the girl stoop to wrap the string of beads around his wrist.
‘She’s not my friend, not really. She knew my brother from school. I didn’t see her for years, not for years, then she came to St Jude’s and of course we saw her all the time then, sometimes every day.’
‘I see,’ said John. St Jude’s? The image of Eve’s black head bent over folded hands vanished as soon as it came. From across the lawn the patterns of music changed to an insistent motif that made him uneasy. ‘She’s very good,’ he said, though really he couldn’t tell.
‘See, they suit you – yes, they say she is, and if she makes a mistake she slams the lid so hard you’d think she’d smash it in pieces. Did you know it was Eve who found the piano at St Jude’s – it was old and damp and none of the notes would come out right – but she paid to have it fixed. Alex liked to hear it.’ She gave him a curious look that was, he thought, half-pitying: ‘Of course everyone did.’
Did she feel pity for him, then – for the man that should’ve been there, kneeling on the lawn with his wrist in her hands? The idea baffled him, and he put it away to examine later by a better light. Then she fastened the beads and said, ‘You know, sometimes she plays so long her fingers bleed. You can’t go near her now, not until she’s done.’
‘I promise I’ll never disturb her,’ said John, remembering how quickly her mossy eyes had darkened. ‘I wouldn’t like to make her angry. Listen: isn’t someone calling for you?’
At the kitchen window, almost hidden by the half-closed blind, Hester beckoned the girl indoors, and dropping the blue beads in the grass she dashed away, forgetting him as easily as a child might.
He retreated into the strip of shade thrown by the high walls that divided the garden from the road, imagining an iron gate set within the bricks, its lock and hinges choked with ivy. I’ve wondered enough at what I have done , he thought, but what have they done; what keeps them here, pleasure or punishment… ‘Still no birds, then?’ Alex had come quietly on bare feet and stood smiling at him, his hands deep in his pockets, nothing like the frightened boy crouching by the door he’d seen that morning. His skin had tanned so darkly the long-fringed eyes appeared pale.
‘No, none; it’s like this in London – just as I left I saw one dying in the gutter – I thought here it would be different.’
‘London, eh?’ The younger man looked surprised. Then he shrugged, and said: ‘Makes you wonder where they’ve all gone, doesn’t it? But it can’t last – nothing ever does… John, I want to say something.’ He flushed, as though he thought he might be speaking out of turn and, forestalling a response, went on: ‘I know what it takes just to leave everything, not to do what they tell you to do, but you’re not on your own. And I’ll help you, if I can – oh, you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.’
John, wretched with confusion and guilt, said, ‘You’re very kind.’ Casting about for a means of moving the subject to firmer ground, he gestured to the packets scattered on the lawn. ‘Ought we to take these in?’ He took up the book and concealed it beneath his arm. The young man stooped obediently and began to gather up what remained, now and then exclaiming, ‘What is all his, anyway? And where did she find them? Let’s take them to the red room, and find a home for them there.’
Singing under his breath something that echoed by chance or design the melody that reached them across the lawn, he led John towards the house and a glass door which stood open at the edge of the stone terrace. Pausing at the threshold John saw a piano with its lid raised and a dark head bent low over the keys; remembering his resolve not to trouble Eve he slipped quietly inside.
It was a larger room than any he’d
‘Have you been friends with Eve a very long time?’ John unbuttoned his cuff, and let the girl stoop to wrap the string of beads around his wrist.
‘She’s not my friend, not really. She knew my brother from school. I didn’t see her for years, not for years, then she came to St Jude’s and of course we saw her all the time then, sometimes every day.’
‘I see,’ said John. St Jude’s? The image of Eve’s black head bent over folded hands vanished as soon as it came. From across the lawn the patterns of music changed to an insistent motif that made him uneasy. ‘She’s very good,’ he said, though really he couldn’t tell.
‘See, they suit you – yes, they say she is, and if she makes a mistake she slams the lid so hard you’d think she’d smash it in pieces. Did you know it was Eve who found the piano at St Jude’s – it was old and damp and none of the notes would come out right – but she paid to have it fixed. Alex liked to hear it.’ She gave him a curious look that was, he thought, half-pitying: ‘Of course everyone did.’
Did she feel pity for him, then – for the man that should’ve been there, kneeling on the lawn with his wrist in her hands? The idea baffled him, and he put it away to examine later by a better light. Then she fastened the beads and said, ‘You know, sometimes she plays so long her fingers bleed. You can’t go near her now, not until she’s done.’
‘I promise I’ll never disturb her,’ said John, remembering how quickly her mossy eyes had darkened. ‘I wouldn’t like to make her angry. Listen: isn’t someone calling for you?’
At the kitchen window, almost hidden by the half-closed blind, Hester beckoned the girl indoors, and dropping the blue beads in the grass she dashed away, forgetting him as easily as a child might.
He retreated into the strip of shade thrown by the high walls that divided the garden from the road, imagining an iron gate set within the bricks, its lock and hinges choked with ivy. I’ve wondered enough at what I have done , he thought, but what have they done; what keeps them here, pleasure or punishment… ‘Still no birds, then?’ Alex had come quietly on bare feet and stood smiling at him, his hands deep in his pockets, nothing like the frightened boy crouching by the door he’d seen that morning. His skin had tanned so darkly the long-fringed eyes appeared pale.
‘No, none; it’s like this in London – just as I left I saw one dying in the gutter – I thought here it would be different.’
‘London, eh?’ The younger man looked surprised. Then he shrugged, and said: ‘Makes you wonder where they’ve all gone, doesn’t it? But it can’t last – nothing ever does… John, I want to say something.’ He flushed, as though he thought he might be speaking out of turn and, forestalling a response, went on: ‘I know what it takes just to leave everything, not to do what they tell you to do, but you’re not on your own. And I’ll help you, if I can – oh, you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.’
John, wretched with confusion and guilt, said, ‘You’re very kind.’ Casting about for a means of moving the subject to firmer ground, he gestured to the packets scattered on the lawn. ‘Ought we to take these in?’ He took up the book and concealed it beneath his arm. The young man stooped obediently and began to gather up what remained, now and then exclaiming, ‘What is all his, anyway? And where did she find them? Let’s take them to the red room, and find a home for them there.’
Singing under his breath something that echoed by chance or design the melody that reached them across the lawn, he led John towards the house and a glass door which stood open at the edge of the stone terrace. Pausing at the threshold John saw a piano with its lid raised and a dark head bent low over the keys; remembering his resolve not to trouble Eve he slipped quietly inside.
It was a larger room than any he’d
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