‘I am,’ Ava said, though as she watched the woman upon the stage, she’d begun to question it. ‘That’s me.’
‘But it cannot be,’ Lillian said. ‘You’re sitting right here.’
Ava felt something twist in her stomach then – and when she’d turned back to the stage, she’d realized she was right. For it wasn’t her on that stage, after all.
It was her mother.
Her mother, her blonde hair rippling over her shoulders in carefully pressed waves, pale against her long, black gown.
‘You’re nothing more than a storyteller,’ hissed Lillian, her voice cutting. ‘And if you stand up there as yourself, they’ll say the same things they said before.Hollow.Eye-wash.Naught but a neat little parlour trick – all dazzle, and no depth.’
Ava’s gaze tracked back to the stage, and she watched the woman pacing back and forth – her gown shimmering somewhere between black and violet. Even from here she could see how she teetered, how she walked that thin edge, for Ava could feel it too – could feel how she rocked with it, as though if she shifted her weight just slightly, she would fall.
She felt a nudge against her other elbow, and turned. Damien was beside her – his hair wet and dripping, raindrops sliding down his cheeks, his nose – turning his green eyes luminous.
‘Youknowyou are not the same woman now as the one who stood upon that stage,’ he said, his voice soft.
But as Ava looked up, and watched the woman on the stage, she realized that wasn’t true. The woman up there was heartbroken. Scrambling to claw together pieces of a life that, just moments ago, had all fit snugly together.
And that was how she felt now. Except this time it hadn’t been Jem upon her doorstep, shattering it all.
It’d been Damien.
‘It’s happening again,’ said Lillian, drawing her attention back to the stage – though now she could feel something warm streaking her cheeks.
The woman had stopped, frozen upon the boards, and now the crowd grew restless. She watched as the woman’s mouth opened, and closed again. As her pale eyes widened in fear, and she brought her hands to her throat, as though she couldn’t breathe. As though she couldn’t pull air into her lungs – and Avafeltit. She could feel the same chain winding around her own chest, the cold, iron links tightening andtightening until her ribs ached with it. The audience began to whisper then, and with each hushed word she could feel herself tilting forwards, could feel the ledge that awaited her.
‘Ava!’
She felt an arm come around her, felt someone pull her back – and when she opened her eyes she found herself in a crumpled heap on the landing, her father beside her on the floor.
‘Ava,wake up.’ Her pa’s voice was rough as he pushed her hair from her face, blue eyes flicking between hers. ‘You were dreaming, Ava. It was just a dream.’
She drew in a ragged gasp, and then another, each breath drawing her back. The house was dark, the only light coming from the small kerosene lamp in the hallway. She could feel her father’s hand upon her forehead, tracing a soothing line back and forth – just as he used to do, when she was a child.
‘I saw her, Pa,’ she said, her voice a thin wisp. ‘Mother. She was on the stage. I was there, too.’
His brows furrowed, his hand stilling.
‘You saw her?’
She nodded, trying and failing to swallow the lump in her throat. ‘I miss her,’ she said, her voice low. ‘I miss her every day.’
‘I know,’ said her father, pressing a kiss to her hair. ‘I miss her, too.’
‘She always knew what to do,’ Ava murmured. ‘Always knew how to fix things. And I thought I could do that – in her absence. But I can’t, Pa. I can’t fix anything. All I end up doing is breaking them a little more.’
He moved a little, so that he could look at her – so that his blue eyes could roam her face. ‘You don’t need to fix everything, Ava. That’s not your job.’
‘Of course it is,’ she said, wiping the wetness from her cheeks. ‘If I don’t do it, who will?You?’
She hadn’t meant for the word to come out quite as sharply as it had – but she saw it land. Saw the way her father’s mouth twisted downwards.
‘I’m trying,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve been going to the club – even though Mr Willows drives me mad. I’ve been taking myself for walks, despite the foul weather. I’ve been …’
‘I don’tneedyou to try now,’ Ava said, her voice cracking. ‘I needed you to try four years ago, when she died. Notnowthat—’
Everything is broken.
