Cupid's Way (14 page)

‘Gran, please stop. I’m glad you told me, I really am.’ Another lie, but this one was important enough not to count. ‘I’m proud you felt you could share it with me. Honestly, I’m okay. It’s just … it’s just hard, that’s all. Hard to hear. Hard to think of you holding this in all these years.’

Mavis nodded and hugged Evie tightly. Then she sat back on her heels and picked up the photograph from where it had dropped on the carpet. ‘He was a beautiful boy,’ she said. ‘Wasn’t he?’

Evie steeled herself and held out her hand. Mavis placed the photo in it reverentially. ‘He was beautiful,’ Evie said. Her uncle. The thought made her dizzy. Her mother’s brother.

She said, ‘Does mum know?’

Mavis shook her head. ‘We never told her. Your mother came along a year later, and at first I didn’t think I could do it. Any of it. I thought I would just lie down one day and die, that the life in me, the will to go on, would just creep away one night while I slept. Because it was unbearable, all of it, but you do bear it. You have to. Losing Tommy was bad enough, but having another baby was intolerable. It was like we were replacing him. It felt so disloyal. At first I … Well, it doesn’t matter now.’

‘What, Gran? It’s okay. You can tell me. Whatever it is, you can tell me.’

‘At first, I didn’t like her. Angela, I mean. She was so different to Tommy, so full of life and spirit, such a bundle of energy. This is going to sound ridiculous, but I resented her. I used to think, Why couldn’t you have given your brother some of your energy? Even though she hadn’t even been born when he was alive.’

‘It’s not ridiculous,’ Evie said. Who the hell could say what made sense and what didn’t in a situation so tragic? It was too horrible to imagine.

‘So, she grew up and she was healthy and bright, and Frank and I convinced ourselves we were lucky, that this was our second chance, and by and by I grew to love her. Too much, I think, looking back. I became over-protective, which isn’t so hard to understand, but I also think I was trying to overcompensate. For not loving her enough when she was born. For wishing she hadn’t been born and for wishing I could have kept Tommy instead.’ Mavis took the photograph out of Evie’s hand and held it to her lips. ‘For years I’d say to God that if I could only have one child, he should have let it be Tommy. Do you think that’s terrible, Evie? I’ve often wondered if your mother sensed any of this.’

Evie held her gran in her arms and reassured her, all the while wondering how anyone managed to sustain any kind of faith in a world where children died and people’s lives were regularly broken by the most horrific events. They sat on the sofa side by side and Evie listened while Mavis talked about Tommy, recalling him in as much detail as she could.

‘It’s how I keep him alive,’ she told Evie. ‘It’s how I keep myself alive.’

‘Why are there no photos of him in here?’ Evie asked, gesturing up at the living room wall. Her mother stared down at her from the nineteen eighties, all permed hair and bright blue eyeshadow. Evie looked away.

‘Frank can’t talk about it. He never could, not since the day it happened. He went away, I still don’t know where. I didn’t see him for three weeks. He wasn’t here for the funeral. Not that I’d wish it on anyone,’ she added, shaking her head.

‘He left you? I can’t believe it.’

‘Ah, Evie, don’t get on your high horse. It was eons ago, and it was how he dealt with it. Men were different then, it’s just how things were.’

Bollocks, was Evie’s response to this, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

‘Seriously, Evie, I don’t want you judging your granddad over this. In fact, I don’t want him to know I’ve even told you.’

‘You’ve never talked about it? Not ever?’

‘No. Not everything has to be raked over constantly. Some things are best left alone.’

Except her gran was raking over it, Evie could have said. She had been for over fifty years. Without any support.

She bit her lip, weighing up how best to phrase what she wanted to ask next. ‘Gran, how did Tommy die? I mean, did the doctors ever find out what was wrong with him?’

‘He had a weak heart, my lovely. That was all. These days he’d have been whisked off and operated on hours after he was born, would probably have lived a long and healthy life. But in those days some children were just sickly. We were expected to accept it and get on with our lives.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Evie said, wiping her face on a clean tissue. ‘I just can’t imagine what you went through.’

‘And nor should you. But I am glad I told you, Evie. Because now at least you understand why I can never move away from here. And if it comes to it, you’ll understand what I have to do.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘This house, this street, it’s my connection to Tommy. He’s here, don’t you see? He’s here with me every day.’

Evie looked around. ‘You don’t mean he’s … actually here?’

Mavis laughed. It was an edgy, almost hysterical sound. ‘He’s not buried here, if that’s what you mean. And I’m not saying I can see him, like a ghost. But I can feel him. Sometimes I can really feel him. As though I could reach out and touch his cheek. His cheeks were always so soft, so smooth. He needs me, you see. He’s only a baby. Tommy never got to grow up, so he needs his mum. If I left this house I’d be leaving him, leaving my memories of him behind, and that’s something I could never do.’

‘But, Gran …’ Evie stopped herself and swallowed. What right did she have to tell this woman what she could or couldn’t do? Staying here in Cupid’s Way might well be impossible, but her gran didn’t need to hear that right now. She needed support. She needed Evie to understand.

She needed Evie to lie.

‘It won’t come to that,’ Evie said. She cleared her throat and looked at Tommy’s photograph. ‘It definitely won’t come to that. I promise we’ll save Cupid’s Way, and you can stay here with Tommy.’

‘Until I can join him,’ Mavis said softly.

Chapter 13

Evie was up early again the following morning. She’d spent a sleepless night thinking about Tommy, and Mavis and Frank, and about her mum and the older brother she’d never had. She wondered how having an uncle might have changed the path of her own life – she might have had cousins, an aunt to share her problems with, a father figure. Uncle Tommy. It was like looking into a time vortex and seeing the future she never had.

She pulled on thick socks and a clean jumper over the top of her pyjamas and took her cup of tea outside to see the sun come up. Funny how when she had to get up for work and be in the office for nine sharp getting out of bed seemed impossible. But here, where there was nothing to do and nowhere to go, she couldn’t force herself to lie in.

Leaving Cupid’s Way by the north gate, Evie circled its perimeter, peering into the little back yards and noticing more of the dilapidation Michael had talked about. Her face grew hot when she thought about him, despite the chill in the air. Harry’s news about Dynamite Construction’s master plan might have been temporarily drowned out by her gran’s revelation, but Evie was still smarting over Michael’s betrayal. The backhander deal with the council shouldn’t have been a shock – Evie knew how these things worked, after all – but she couldn’t help wishing Michael had just told her about it. He must have known she’d find out one day.

Just like he’d known she’d find out who he was the day of the community meeting. And he hadn’t felt the need to enlighten her then, either.

He’d be in Edinburgh now. She’d ignored his three texts last night, and had no intention of responding if he texted her again. How long until he figured it out? And what would he do then?

Evie left her empty mug on the wall by the renters’ house and decided to wander further out. She crossed the road and went into the new estate, which was heralded by two red-brick columns topped by grey Atlas stones. Classy. The houses here were your run-of-the-mill fare, detached and boxy, each slightly different from its neighbour, as though this would make the occupants feel more individual. She smiled, picturing Cupid’s Way with its brightly painted front doors and window boxes and its haphazard gardens. A regimented terrace, each house identical, and yet Cupid’s Way had more character than this architect-designed estate could wish for.

She turned back, suddenly dispirited, shielding her eyes from the rising sun that glinted off the McAllister building. On impulse, she followed the road around to the gates that led into McAllisters’ car park. The arched iron gates were closed and the car park empty, but Evie grabbed a railing in each hand and looked up, tipping back her head to see the top of the office block. She remembered when they’d first proposed their new head office, the furore over the planning application, the protests and sit-ins when the builders turned up on site. And for what? Here it was, large as life – larger than life, in fact. Compared to the toy-town houses and the Monopoly-style retail park – compared to the cute little terrace it overshadowed – the building was monstrous.

A clanging noise caught her attention, and she thought she saw someone sneak around the back of two enormous black dumpster bins situated at the end of the parking area. Evie peered through the gate. No one there now. But she could have sworn she saw something. The arm of a jacket and a flash of red. She shook her head and started to walk away, but then doubled back and crept along the side of the wooden fence until she figured she was level with the bins. There was a hole in one of the panels where a knot had fallen out; Evie pressed her eye to it. She’d misjudged the distance but was only a couple of metres from the dumpsters. There, perched on top of the nearest one, gripping onto the side with one hand while rummaging around inside with the other, was Stig.

There was no mistaking that red neckerchief, or that worn old face so wrinkled he looked like he slept on corduroy pillows. Poor Stig. It wasn’t a good sign that he was having to scrounge around in dumpsters, although what he hoped to find in McAllisters’ bins Evie couldn’t imagine. The remainder of yesterday’s lunches, perhaps? Or maybe something that had been thrown away by accident that he could sell?

She walked back to Cupid’s Way, considering. What with Bob Peacock’s rag and bone business and Stig trawling the trash, it was hard to think of it as a place where people were on the up. Tim had been made redundant and still had no job; Frank and Mavis were retired and struggling to survive on their pensions. Pip and Cissy had told her the allotment wasn’t only for fun and recreation – they all needed the produce. Sarah and Zac were the only residents with proper jobs, and Evie knew that Sarah was worried about her contract at the local school.

They’d all be a lot better off if they just accepted Dynamite’s offer and moved on.

She clapped her hand to her mouth as though she’d spoken this thought out loud. Where had that come from? Talk about left-field. If she was going to be any use to her gran at all – to any of the residents – she’d have to stop allowing the slightest doubt into her mind. The residents would
not
be better off selling. Michael Andrews was
not
in the right in any way, shape or form. Dynamite Construction was a shark, and Evie’s job was to try and help save the fish from being swallowed up. She owed it to her gran to do whatever she could. She owed it to Tommy’s memory. And once Cupid’s Way was safe, she’d think of a way to help restore the street to its former glory. If they got listed status maybe there’d be a grant available. Somehow she’d make it work out.

Maybe her so-called rescuer complex was finally being put to some good use.

*

‘Evie, over here.’

Sarah Lowry was waving from the allotment when Evie came back through the gate. She collected her abandoned mug from the wall and made her way across the cobbled path. The allotment looked idyllic in the early morning sun. Sarah was digging with a long-handled garden fork, making it look effortlessly easy, while Tim hammered stakes into the freshly turned earth.

Sarah stuck her fork into the ground when Evie reached them and put her hands on her hips, tipping back from her hips to stretch. ‘I hear you were out here yesterday, doing your bit. It was nice of you to take a turn.’

Evie nodded. ‘Pip and Cissy had me on my hands and knees, though. I didn’t have the proper equipment like you.’

Sarah laughed. Tim had looked up when Evie joined them, but hadn’t made eye contact. She remembered what her gran had told her about the residents finding jobs for him to do, and had a moment of inspiration. But before she could speak she heard a door slam shut a few houses down, and Zac started up the path towards them. He was wearing his blue jeans and trademark white T-shirt, and the sun gleamed off his blonde hair, making him look polished and golden.

He reached the allotment and called out hello. Sarah looked up and smiled. She didn’t look at Zac the way she looked at Tim, Evie noticed, but Zac certainly seemed to be looking at Evie with more than just a friendly interest. She swallowed and squatted down on her heels, level with Tim. She waited until he sensed her gaze and glanced up.

She said, ‘I’m trying to get a few things started to fight this planning application, and Gran told me you might be the perfect person to help out.’

Tim put down his hammer and inspected his hands. He was wearing his overalls, but they were no longer pristine. ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘I could help,’ Zac said, leaning forward with his hands on his over-developed thighs. ‘I know loads about planning and stuff.’

‘Thanks,’ Evie said. She carried on talking to Tim. ‘I was wondering if you’d be up for a bit of research? If I’m going to apply for Cupid’s Way to get listed building status, we’re going to need to know as much about its history as possible.’

Tim nodded. ‘I could do that. I’ve got a friend who works at the city archives, I’m sure he’d help.’

Sarah clapped her hands together excitedly. ‘Evie, what a great idea. Listed building status – do you think they’ll say yes?’

‘We have to apply to English Heritage, but as far as I know the government have the final say.’

‘So nothing to do with the council?’

‘No, thankfully. Still, we need to get a wriggle on. Put together a really convincing application.’