‘I don’t … Ican’t—’
‘Now, go and get yourself cleaned up. And Bertie? Get the woman something to eat. She’s white as a sheet.’
‘You are not listening to me,’ Ava said. ‘I told you; Iquit.’
‘And I toldyou, that day you came to see me at the Roxy, that you don’t get to do that this time,’ Lillian said, lifting Ava’s chin up so that she was forced to look at her, to look into those dark eyes and see the steel behind them. ‘Yes, Damien was my creature – but you are my creature, too. And you will go on that stage every single night, and you will perform, because the alternative is suffering – your brother, suffering – and this time it will be your fault. And you will not be able to bear it. Because you are not strong like me, Ava. You are weak. And you know it.’
Chapter Sixty-One
Time moved differently now, for Ava. She didn’t mark it in hours anymore, or minutes – only in distance. The day her brother left for his interview in York was the day Damien’s ship would have arrived in Queenstown, Ireland. Today – when Oliver was due back – Damien would be halfway across the Atlantic, nothing stretching before or behind him but icy waves. And the day Damien stepped onto the soil of a country she would never see, Ava would be stepping onto Lillian’s stage. She would be waiting in the darkness for the lights to lift, knowing that the distance between them had never been greater.
She heard the sound of a key in the front door then, the tell-tale creak as it opened. She thought it would be her father, returned early from the flower market with Mrs Moss, but it was her brother’s voice that called into the hallway, and she felt something within her lift.
‘Ava?’
‘In here,’ she replied, shifting so there was space beside her on the settee.
‘Is Pa here?’ Oliver said, throwing his hat towards the end of the settee and brandishing something wrapped in brown paper. ‘Because I only got you a present.’
‘He’s out,’ said Ava, frowning at the box. ‘With Mrs Moss.’
Oliver’s eyebrow tweaked upwards. ‘Is he now?’
Ava unfolded her legs so that her brother could sit beside her. ‘My birthday is in May, Oliver.’
‘I know. Think of it as an early Christmas present.’
Ava looked from the thin, brown package up to her brother’s face, the eager look that sat behind his eyes. ‘I know what this is,’ she said slowly. Meaningfully. ‘And I know why you felt the need to buy it.’
‘Oh, do you now?’ Oliver’s expression was still bright. Still humorous. ‘So you’ve branched from mesmerism into future-telling, have you?’
‘And I want you to know that you don’t need to feel guilty, Oliver. You don’t need to—’
Oliver huffed an impatient breath through his teeth. ‘Not all the gifts I buy are bribes, Ava. Justopen it, would you? And a “Welcome home, Oliver. How did the interview go, Oliver?” wouldn’t go amiss, either.’
‘How did the interview go, Oliver?’ Ava asked as she slid her fingernail beneath the twine, working it off carefully.
‘Well, I got it,’ he said – though there wasn’t much triumph in his voice. Instead, he watched with his lips pressed into a line as she peeled the brown paper back and saw what he had bought her.
‘Oh,’ she said softly.
It was a book. Abeautifulbook, bound in rich, reddish brown leather, and Ava turned it, running her fingertips over the golden inlay upon the spine, tracing the word:Memory.
‘Have you read it?’ Oliver said, moving her quilt so that he could sit beside her. ‘I found the oddest bookshop in York. Small on the outside, enormous on the inside, and it had awhole sectionwith these sorts of books up on the mezzanine. The woman said that this one was quite new. And theybind it themselves there, so you won’t find it quite like this anywhere else.’
‘Oliver …’ Ava said, opening the cover, listening to the leather upon it creak as she smoothed a hand over the marbled pages. ‘This looks …expensive.’
‘Well, once I start this job I’ll be able to buy you books by the wheelbarrow-load.’
Ava furrowed her brows, flicking through the pages.Mental images. Sensory memory.Unconscious memories. ‘Yes, but for now youdon’thave this sort of money.’
‘So?’ Oliver shrugged. ‘I wanted to do something nice for you.’
‘Because … ?’ Ava said, putting the book to one side.
‘Because nothing,’ said Oliver. ‘Not every gift I buy is out of guilt.’
Ava’s expression flattened, and she gave her brother a long, searching look. He met her gaze for one breath, two, before turning his focus instead to his juddering knee.
