‘But I might’ve helped you!’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know, but …’ He sat cross-legged on the settee. ‘Try it now. With me. Perhaps it was just the pressure of the theatre – Ma’s act, Ma’s name on the dressing room. Try it here.’
‘Oliver …’
‘Come now, how hard can it be? You put them to sleep – and then you guide them back to their memories. That’s how it works, is it not?’
‘That is a simplified version of how it works, yes.’
‘So then put me to sleep.’
She shook her head, hating how tight her throat felt, how she could feel the panic swimming beneath her skin once more. ‘It won’t work.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I need tobelieveit will work, Oliver. Because I need to be sure of it – sure of myself – and I’m … I’m notanymore. That’s why I went to Edinburgh. I wanted to try and find it again. This … this piece of me that I have lost.’
‘And?’ he asked softly. ‘Did you?’
‘What do you think, Oliver?’ She looked at him, her expression weary. ‘I’m going upstairs to rest. No need to wake me for supper.’
Chapter Seven
Noises drifted down amongst Ava’s dreams like ash, turning the soft crackle of the fire into a harsher, rattling sound. She turned to Jem, his cheeks flushed from the wine, or the warmth, or both. It was November, just a month after he’d proposed, and a flurry of snow had blown in over the water that morning, turning the cobblestone streets glittering and slippery. Between them sat half a bottle of wine and Jem reached for it, his white shirt rolled up to his elbows.
‘I think Oliver would make a great chef,’ Jem said, pouring clumsy, crimson droplets down the outside of their glasses, which Ava watched soak into the scratched pine of her mother’s kitchen table. ‘He’s serious about it, too. It’s the only idea he’s come back to, time and again. Someone just needs to give him the chance he deserves. Just like Lillian did, putting you on the stage.’
‘It’s Ma’s act she wants, really,’ said Ava, feeling the wine pucker her tongue. ‘But I’m not sure I’m ready for that, yet. To take her stage name. To perform with that hanging above me.’
‘Well, I think you are. And I think she’d be proud if she could see you.’
‘Would she?’ Ava watched him from above the rim of her glass. The firelight cast his features in slants of orange that somehow made him even more handsome.
‘Of course she would,’ said Jem. ‘You know, you and Oliver are the same in more ways than you think. Neither of you see how special you are, how talented. But that doesn’t mean that others don’t see it. Wedo.’
She looked at him then, and saw his gaze soften. Her pulse was thumping in her chest as though her ribs were wrought from wood, her brass heart slamming against them cautiously at first, and then louder, more urgently.
‘You do?’
‘Of course I do,’ he said, his smile growing. ‘I’ve always seen it, Ava.’
The quiet that stretched between them crackled, and it made something flicker deep in the pit of her stomach. But instead of leaning in to kiss her, like she wanted him to, like she’d hoped he would, he reached to rap his knuckles against her forehead.
‘Miss Adams?’ Jem said, in a voice that sounded strange.
‘Why did you stop loving me?’ she asked softly. ‘Why didn’t Iseeit?’
But Jem didn’t answer. Instead he stood, eyes glassy, and strode towards the front door – forcing her to follow. Forcing her to chase him until the floorboards beneath her feet turned cold and slick, the glow of the fire doused in an instant, replaced with a ragged wind so fierce she imagined she could feel it tugging at her dress.
‘Jem, wait.’ She could hear how hoarse her voice had become. How breathless she felt – the shame of it, the panic clawing at her throat. This wasn’t how the dream usually went. This was the dream where he kissed her – not the moment when he’d walked away.
‘Talk to me,’ she called to his retreating back, but the voice that replied wasn’t Jem’s.
‘Miss Adams? Are you … are you quite well?’
She ignored it – pushing herself to move faster. Perhaps if she couldreach himthen it would mean something. That he would come back to her. That hewantedto come back to her. And the part of her that knew this was a dream knew that was foolish, and the part of her that wanted it to be real didn’t care – though now he was walking faster, his footsteps clanging against the stone like they were shod in metal, and she heard the other voice – that strange voice – grow louder, shout something she couldn’t understand.
