‘Good morning!’ Othman announced.
Ancient heads all turned to stare. He walked into the middle of the circle of chairs and turned round slowly to inspect each raddled face. The mother of Eva Manden raised a hand and stabbed the air emphatically with a rigid finger. She said nothing, but her eyes were bright.
Mariam’s first thought when the tall, long-haired man walked into the middle of her charges was that he was a Murkaster. Her heart almost stopped for a moment. ‘Can I help you?’ she enquired.
The man turned to looked at her with deep blue yet snake-like eyes. She realised then he was no Murkaster, even though there was something very familiar about him. He was too fair; all the Murkasters had had rich, auburn hair and golden eyes. And yet, despite his fairness, there was something dark about this one, dark as a wood shadow.
Othman, as he regarded this female, realised she was insignificant. However, she was a relative outsider, and he hoped she wouldn’t be a prohibitive presence while he examined the old ones for signs of Grigori attachment. Before he could speak, a loud cackle pealed out from the throat of Emilia Manden.
‘I told you,’ she cawed to her confederates. ‘Didn’t I tell you?’
Around her, grumbles of assent started up. Othman smiled. Dismissing the carer from his attention for the time being, he went to each of the old people in turn, making a fluttering gesture with his hands, which he concealed from the carer. As he did so, a fleeting bloom of light illumined the wrinkles and eager eyes of each face. Yes, it was there, tired and worn out, but still lingering: the taint of Grigori. When he reached Emilia, he actually reached out to touch her cheek. ‘Hello again!’
‘Not that!’ snapped the old woman, jerking away. ‘We want the juice. It’s been too long for that.’
Othman withdrew his hand. He laughed politely.
Mariam was becoming increasingly discomfited. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, in what she hoped sounded like a firm voice, ‘but would you mind telling me what you’re doing here?’
Her question provoked a sibilant hiss from Emilia Manden. ‘Get out of here, you silly bitch!’ she cried, drawing herself shakily out of her chair and tottering erect. Her grey hair hung unbound down her back; she was an image of ancient, female power. ‘Get out, Mariam Alderley! We have private business!’ Her voice echoed through the hall.
Mariam felt strangely dizzy. ‘Emilia...’ she began, in a soothing tone, but Othman interrupted her.
‘I’m sorry to cause a fuss, but I’m staying here in the village for a while, and would like to offer my services for some voluntary work.’ He turned a beaming smile on Mariam, who visibly softened under its light.
‘That’s very kind of you, Mr...?’
‘Othman, Peverel Othman.’
Mariam now felt light-headed, floating rather than dizzy. She had an intense desire to accommodate the requirements of this imposing, handsome man. In her right mind, she would have wondered about him; he did not look like a volunteer. ‘Right. Have you got experience of working with older people?’
‘Oh yes. It’s something I’m always involved in. And I like to fill my time with worthwhile work wherever I am. I’m staying at The White House. Mrs Eager told me about the day centre.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, in that case, I’m sure we can do with an extra pair of hands.’
‘So what can I do to help?’
Mariam wanted to sit down. She felt overwhelmingly grateful someone was here to help her. ‘Well, we generally have a game of housey-housey after tea. P’raps you’d like to call the numbers for us.’
The old people all uttered eager murmurs of assent. Ignored, Emilia Manden sat down again, fixing Othman with a glinting, raptor’s eye. Othman made a covert signal to her. He recognised her seniority in status among these people, but it was totally inappropriate to arouse the carer’s suspicions. He hoped Emilia Manden would go along with him for now.
Lily felt uneasy. Why hadn’t Peverel Othman come back to see her and Owen? Was he disgusted by what had happened on Sunday night? She couldn’t bear to talk to Owen about it. In fact, the thought of sharing with Owen now made her feel slightly sick. Last night, he’d gone out with the Cranton boy again. Lily still wasn’t convinced Owen didn’t have a thing about him. Why had she agreed to go to that wretched meal at Low Mede? At the time it had seemed like a good idea. At the time, she had actually warmed to Daniel Cranton, and had wanted to put aside her jealousies. Now, she had changed her mind again. What was happening? It felt as if her life was cracking apart, and something, which had been contained, was flowing out, changing everything. She wrote in her notebook: I was asleep for a thousand years, and he woke me up. But he did more than kiss me...’
Sighing, she put down her pen, stood up and went into the kitchen. Here, she put the kettle on for her fifth cup of tea of the morning, and picked up one of her cats, Titus. As the kettle groaned and bubbled in the silence of the room, she swayed around to unheard music, cradling the cat against her shoulder. Why hadn’t Othman come? Should she go to The White House to look for him? No. No. Don’t be stupid! Where was Owen now? Was he with Othman? Surely he wouldn’t go without her? Her thoughts were too crowded, she didn’t want them. If only she had someone to talk to. Lily surprised herself with that thought. Normally, Owen was the only confidant she needed, and if he was absent, her desire to talk could always wait until he returned home. She had lived here in Little Moor for the greater part of her life, yet didn’t have a friend. She knew it hadn’t been that way when she and her mother and brother had lived in the town further south. She could remember friends from school there, summer evenings spent playing outside together. But since moving to Little Moor, she’d struck up no new friendships, and the ones from her childhood had faded away through distance and time. She’d known girls at Patterham High, and had not been unpopular, but had never confided in any of them, or spent time with them in the evenings and at weekends. There was something about the village that repelled outsiders, and the local girls all kept a distance from Lily, in a furtive kind of way. They were polite but unapproachable.
Lily swayed on the spot, considering an idea that came to her. She could go and call on Barbara Eager. Barbara was forever hinting at visiting the cottage, and Lily knew the woman longed to take her in hand. She could go and ask about the writing circle, or tell Barbara about the Crantons’ invitation. Two excuses! What more could she need? This, she told herself, had nothing to do with the desire to come across Peverel Othman.
Lily washed her face at the kitchen sink, dried herself on a tea-towel that smelled of cat food, and put on a pair of Owen’s boots. Halfway to the back door, she reconsidered, and changed the boots for a pair of sandals. Then, she caught sight of herself in the mirror above the sink, and decided her hair could do with a brush. As she was dragging a greasy comb through the tangles, she noticed there was a large tomato sauce stain on her dress. Uttering a muted cry of annoyance, she picked up a damp, grey rag from the draining board. After scrubbing uselessly at the stain for a few seconds, she stamped her foot and wriggled out of the dress, which she threw on the kitchen floor. Beneath it, she was naked. What to wear? What to wear? Lily darted upstairs. Perhaps she should put some knickers on. She did not possess a bra. Eventually, she found a faded lilac coloured dress, which she thought might once have belonged to her mother, and which wasn’t too wrinkled. In fact, it looked quite good. She inspected herself in the cloudy cheval glass in her bedroom. And groaned. Then, grabbing a long cardigan, with holes recently darned, she hurried out of the house before she could change her mind.
It felt strange, going to The White House during the day, but then Lily knew that all buildings possessed different personae for the dark hours and the light. As usual the small reception desk in the hall was unstaffed, with a printed notice sitting on the counter, advising potential residents to make enquiries in the bar.
Shuni Perks, a girl Lily’s age, and sister of Owen’s friend, Ray, was slouched behind the bar, chewing her n
ails. She always made Lily shudder; there was something basement-like about Shuni Perks, which Lily detested, a hint of damp and must and fungus. ‘Is Mrs Eager about?’ Lily tried to sound pleasant and friendly.
Shuni didn’t look too pleased to see her, but there was caution in her body posture rather than hostility. ‘Yeah, upstairs.’
There was a pause. ‘Well, I’d like to see her. Could you get her for me?’
Shuni smirked in a half cocky, half nervous manner and thumbed an intercom button on the wall beside the optics. Lily heard Barbara’s breathless, ‘Ye-ess?’
‘Lily Winter here to see you,’ Shuni said. It was almost as if she expected Barbara to be embarrassed.
‘Lily? Oh, right. I’ll come down.’
‘Hear that?’ Shuni said.
Lily nodded and moved away from the bar, hands deep in her cardigan pockets. She wondered what she was doing here. She wondered why she felt so excited and tense.
Barbara breezed into the bar, just as Lily was drifting back into the hallway, having been made uncomfortable by Shuni’s covert scrutiny. Barbara, as ever, was impeccably dressed in a cream trouser suit with a floor-length, wafting waistcoat. Her hair tumbled luxuriously, almost impudently, over her shoulders. Lily realised that Barbara was actually a very attractive woman, and must have been absolutely stunning twenty years ago. ‘Lily! What a surprise! I was just doing the accounts. Horrible job! What a welcome distraction! What can I do for you?’
Confronted, Lily felt completely dumb. Perhaps Barbara’s friendliness hadn’t meant anything. Perhaps she was like that with all her customers. Was Lily intruding now? She felt her face grow hot. ‘Er — well — my writing and — um — Low Mede — the meal...’ She shrugged helplessly.
‘Aha!’ Barbara laughed delightedly, putting the palms of her hands together before her face. ‘I see! You’re worried about the do at the Crantons, aren’t you!’ She put a proprietorial arm around Lily’s shoulders and dragged her towards the door marked ‘Private’ in the hall. ‘There’s no need to worry, Louis’s a perfectly lovely man! It won’t be formal, or anything.’
Relieved, Lily went along with Barbara’s assumption. ‘Well, I was a bit worried about what to wear and stuff. I’ve got some dresses of Mum’s, but...’
She followed Barbara up the private stairway to the Eagers’ first floor flat. The air smelled of fruit. Incense or burning oil, she thought.
‘Why don’t you buy something new?’ Barbara suggested, gesturing for Lily to proceed her into an airy lounge. She hoped she wasn’t being presumptuous, but it was common knowledge the twins had a private income. Poor things, they just didn’t know how to manage their money, or themselves. Barbara itched to have a hand in their affairs, confident she could work miracles.
Lily was afraid to sit down on the blonde sofa, in case she got it dirty. ‘I suppose I could,’ she said, ‘but there isn’t much time, now.’
‘Tell you what!’ Barbara said, brightly, balancing in a girlish manner on the arm of the sofa. ‘I could drive you to Patterham tomorrow morning. How about that? We could go shopping together!’
Lily hadn’t expected that. ‘That’s nice of you, Mrs Eager... Thanks.’
‘It’ll be fun. Now, come and sit down. And please — it’s Barbara.’
Timidly, Lily edged around a black lacquered occasional table and sat on the edge of the sofa. Please don’t leave marks, she told herself.
Barbara went to make tea, and Lily inspected her surroundings. It was so elegant. She wished the cottage could be like this: clean and fragrant and airy. Barbara had collected all kinds of nick-nacks which stood on various display stands and shelves around the walls. There were a couple of dark old portraits of shadowy women, obviously genuine antiques.
Barbara came back, carrying a wooden tray, rag-rolled by hand in dusty-blue paint. There was an enormous teapot in fiery red china and red mugs, decorated with birds of paradise in gold, jade and purple. What lovely things, Lily thought. I wish I had lovely things. She realised she wouldn’t know where to start.
Barbara sat down next to Lily and poured tea, Earl Grey. ‘I hope you like this,’ she beamed, handing Lily a mug. ‘So, you also mentioned your writing downstairs. How are you getting on?’ She was flattered that Lily had obviously come to her for advice or feedback.
‘It’s harder than I thought,’ Lily answered, sipping the delicately flavoured tea. Owen and she drank tea like tar: almost black and with several spoons of sugar each. Barbara had not offered sugar. ‘I mean, there’s so much I want to say, and I can think it right through, but when I come to write down my thoughts, it sounds stupid or boring.’
Barbara smiled encouragingly. ‘Everybody says that! Your writing’s probably not as bad as you think.’ She hoped she was right. ‘You must bring something along to one of my meetings.’
Lily couldn’t help frowning. ‘Well, maybe...’
‘Or if you prefer,’ added Barbara intuitively, ‘you could bring it round when I’m on my own, and I’ll read it through, and we could talk about it.’
‘That would be better,’ said Lily. She wondered how she could introduce the subject of Peverel Othman without being obvious. Perhaps Barbara hadn’t paid that much attention to him, or disliked him for having long hair and no tie. Lily would hate it if she mentioned him, and Barbara screwed up her nose in distaste, or murmured things about unsuitability. Lily was always very conscious of being unsuitable in society that considered itself polite.
Barbara touched Lily’s arm. ‘I’m so pleased you’ve come to see me.’
Lily grinned awkwardly. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come. ‘I was at home on my own,’ she said lamely, and then took a deep breath. ‘We’ve got to know one of your guests...’
‘Oh, that will be Pev!’ Barbara said.
Lily winced at the intimate short form of his name. ‘Yes. Peverel Othman.’
Poor girl, thought Barbara. Here she is, struggling to make conversation, and it all comes out so stilted! She wondered how she could put Lily at her ease. ‘Not the usual sort we attract round here, is he?’
Lily smiled. ‘No. Not really.’
‘He seems to have taken a shine to you and Owen.’
Lily wondered how much she wanted to talk about Othman with Barbara. There was no way she could, or should, confess even a little of what had happened in the cottage on Sunday night. Yet talking about him seemed the next best thing to seeing him. ‘It makes a change,’ she said. ‘I don’t get to see many people.’
Barbara’s face assumed an expression of concern. ‘Oh, Lily, are you lonely?’ She felt that might be too direct for this retreating creature, and half expected Lily to make some excuse and leave abruptly.
‘Not lonely,’ Lily answered, surprisingly readily. ‘But something.’ She smiled tightly at Barbara. ‘I must be boring you.’
Barbara shook her head vigorously. ‘No, no! I am concerned about you, Lily. You’re such an attractive, bright girl...’ She winced at her patronising tone. ‘I’m sorry. That sounds terrible. I don’t mean to be condescending, but I suppose there’s no easy way to say it. I think you could do a lot more with your life.’ There, it was said. Would Lily leave now, take offence?
Lily however was clearly not a predictable creature.
‘That could be said of most people in the village,’ Lily answered. ‘This is our life. Quite small. I’m not unhappy, though. Owen and I have everything we need. I don’t hanker for anything else.’ She wondered whether this was true. Things seemed to have changed recently.
Barbara wanted to say that Lily could tidy herself up a bit, do something with the cottage, but felt these suggestions were too forward. She would have to get to know Lily better, nudge her along gently rather than charge in. ‘Well, I’m glad you came to see me.’ She risked a more personal remark. ‘I don’t get to see my own daughter very often.’
Lily nodded. ‘Yes, I know.’
‘Do you miss your mother?’
‘Not now.
Well, sometimes, I suppose.’ She smiled, more freely this time. ‘I’m always surrounded by boys — Owen and his friends.’
Barbara laughed. ‘Me too, actually. To be honest, the women in Little Moor don’t seem to get that friendly with people they think are outsiders, and I must admit I’m not that keen on the ‘newcomers’, you know, the despised commuters etc.’ She giggled girlishly at this confession.
‘It’s funny to hear you say that,’ Lily said. ‘I thought you knew everyone in the village.’
‘I’m acquainted with everyone, because of the pub, but I wouldn’t say I knew them.’ Barbara drained her mug. ‘More tea?’
‘Please.’
As Barbara poured milk into the mugs, someone knocked on the living room door. Barbara looked up, but before she could say anything, Peverel Othman walked into the room.
Lily was astounded. This was so unexpected. And how well did he know Barbara now to come walking into her private rooms so casually?
‘Oh, Pev!’ Barbara exclaimed in surprise.
Lily noticed the woman had gone quite pink, but then so had she. She could feel her face burning.
‘Hope I’m not intruding,’ Othman said, looming over them. ‘Hello, Lily.’
Lily muttered a greeting.
‘Oh no, you’re not intruding,’ Barbara gushed. ‘Sit down and have a cup of tea with us. We were just discussing an invitation we’ve both had.’