‘If I wouldsee you imprisoned?’ Ava felt the warmth in her stomach turn hot, but it was not anger. This was something more painful than that. Betrayal. ‘Oliver, you’re not just my brother. You are one of my closest friends. How could you even – how could youever—?’ She stopped – for every sensible word had flitted from her mind. Instead she reacheda shaking hand to wipe some of the wetness from her cheeks – Oliver’s wretched expression coming into sharp focus. ‘All this time,’ she said quietly. ‘I thought it was the job hunt that was upsetting you. But it was this, wasn’t it? It was this. Hiding this. Keeping this. That’s what’s been eating away at you.’ She felt her voice begin to break. ‘How did Bertie know? You said you hadn’t told her – so how did she know?’
Something pained flickered across his expression. ‘She saw us together. Jem and I. At the theatre one evening, just after you’d got me the job. It was late, your rehearsal was long finished, and I thought everyone had left—’
Ava squeezed her eyes shut. ‘You should’vetold me, Oliver.’
‘How could I have told you? How could I have told you, knowing how it would hurt you?’
‘Butyouhave been hurting too, Oliver,’ she said quietly. ‘And I didn’t see it.’
‘Because I didn’t want you to see it, Ava.’ Tears slipped down his cheeks. ‘Because you’re not just my sister. You’re my friend. And I couldn’t bear it if you hated me, too. I couldn’t bear to lose you.’
‘You could never lose me,’ she said softly. Though something still pricked at her insides – hot and sharp. ‘And I could never hate you, Oliver.’
‘You would have every right to, Ava. Lord knows I’ve hated myself long enough for this.’
‘I don’t want that either,’ she said quietly. ‘I know what it feels like to wish to hide from the world – but I wish you hadn’t felt the need to hide fromme.’
Oliver opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it again. ‘Jem was right,’ he said after a time. ‘I underestimated you. And I … I’m sorry, Ava. For everything. For all of it.’
‘I am, too,’ she said quietly. ‘I am, too.’
She didn’t watch him walk from the room, but she heard the creak of the stairs as he padded up them, heard his door click shut, and only then did she sit back upon the settee, drawing the quilt around her as though it were a cocoon.
For they all did it, didn’t they? Hid from the world. Her father. Oliver. Herself. Damien. And though their worries were different – it was stillfearthat drove them all to do it – to board up the windows, or pretend to be someone else – or … orlie to her. And she couldn’t hate Oliver for being afraid. She couldn’t hate him for being scared.
For that was all she had ever been.
Chapter Sixty-Two
When Ava arrived at the theatre the stagehands were already outside, their ladders balanced precariously in the whistling wind, fighting hard to hang the last of the letters.
Behold the Memory Binder, it read.Unlock the mystery of memory.
It had been her mother’s name, once. And then hers. And now it wasn’t numbness that stalked her steps towards the stage door, and the company that awaited her there. It wasn’t triumph, either. It was something quieter. Something new.
They were in the auditorium when she found them – the company waiting on the stage, Lillian sitting, cigarette in one hand, amidst the worn velvet chairs. It had looked lavish in here once – with its red cushions, and the brass seat numbers all buffed and shining. Now it looked older, wearier – and it didn’t spark the same thread of nervousness within her as she took her place with the rest of them on the stage– Patience yapping at Mr Green’s feet, Mrs Green picking lint from her jacket, Stanley scuffing his shoe back and forth rhythmically, and in the centre of them all – Tommy. His arms crossed firmly over his chest.
In his face she saw the same question that thudded behind her breastbone.
What if it happens again? What if I freeze up there?
‘I am sure by now you’ve all heard Miss Fairchild has left us,’ Lillian said, the smoke from her cigarette curling upwards in blueish plumes. ‘And that Ava here has agreed to take her place.’
Tommy turned to fix Ava with a scowl.
‘The order of the night will be as follows,’ said Lillian, clicking her fingers rapidly until Bertie scurried forwards, and handed her a piece of paper. ‘We open with Mr and Mrs Green—’
‘And Patience,’ said Mrs Green quickly.
‘And Patience,’ Lillian said. ‘Then Stanley – for comic relief – then Tommy’s first segment—’
Mrs Green beamed. ‘Your first night,’ she said, nudging Stanley’s shoulder.
Lillian cleared her throat pointedly. ‘Then, Mr and Mrs Green return, Tommy comes back for his automaton act—’
‘It’s getting so good now, dear,’ said Mrs Green encouragingly. Tommy’s mouth drew into a thin line.
‘Then,’ said Lillian, taking a slow drag of her cigarette. Her gaze flicked momentarily to Ava’s, and steadied there. ‘We finish with Ava Adams: the Memory Binder. Curtains. Applause. The Theatre Royal weeps into their empty seats, and my variety show is the only one in Liverpool to survive – with or without Miss Fairchild.’
