Whenever Eva tried to cuddle the twins, their little bodies would go rigid and two sets of eyes would stare into her own without even the ghost of a smile.
67
In the world outside, the Sun headline blared, ‘EVA STARVES!’ And there was a quote within the front-page story:
Mrs Julie Eppingham, 39, said, ‘The last time I saw her, I was horrified. She is obviously anorexic. But she won’t talk to me or look at my new baby. She obviously needs medical attention.’
Nurse Spears was walking through the surgery waiting room when she saw a copy of The Sun that had been discarded by a patient. She picked it up and read the front page. Her first thought was for her career. She should have visited Mrs Beaver more often to check for bedsores and muscle atrophy – and her mental health.
She drove round to Bowling Green Road and sat outside in her car, reading Eva’s full notes.
Sandy Lake knocked on the driver’s window with her good hand. The other was encased in plaster. As yet nobody had written on it. William didn’t do writing on plaster.
She asked, ‘Is Eva poorly?’
Nurse Spears wound the window down and said, ‘I can’t disclose information about my patients.’
She wound the window up, but Sandy Lake was beyond shame and continued to ask questions. Nurse Spears felt intimidated by the woman in a silly knitted hat. She was relieved when she saw a policeman. She parped the horn and PC Hawk walked towards the car.
He didn’t believe in hurrying, he was always solemn and purposeful. He bent down at the driver’s window, and Nurse Spears asked if he would escort her to number 15.
Sandy Lake demanded to accompany Nurse Spears.
PC Hawk said to her, ‘You’re supposed to be five hundred metres away.’
Sandy said, ‘I’m going further than that soon. William and I are going to live in a squat.’
Nurse Spears said, ‘That’s shocking.’
Why? It’s my own house.’
PC Hawk looked at Nurse Spears, and waggled his forefinger at his temple.
Nurse Spears snapped, ‘I’d already worked that out.’
Upstairs, in the pitch dark of her bedroom, Eva was nearly through the gentle exercise regime she’d copied from PE lessons at school over thirty-five years ago. Eva hated any lesson that involved communal showers. She was amazed that some girls stood around naked, talking to the PE teacher, Miss Brawn. Eva was ashamed of her towel, which was not big enough to wrap around her body, and was grey and musty because she repeatedly forgot to take the thing home to wash.
Over breakfast in the 19705 it had been Ruby’s pleasure to teach her daughter good manners. On one such occasion Ruby had taught her that, should there be a conversational lull, it was Eva’s duty to fill it.
Eva was an earnest girl at twelve and anxious to do the right thing. Once, when walking back from the athletics track in the extensive school grounds, she had caught up with Miss Brawn as their steps became synchronised. Eva had not known whether it was right to stay synchronised, fall back or run ahead. She snatched a quick glance at Miss Brawn’s face. She looked unbearably sad.
Eva blurted out, ‘What are you cooking for Sunday dinner?’
Miss Brawn looked startled, but said, ‘I thought a leg of lamb-’
‘And will you make a mint sauce?’ asked Eva, politely.
‘Not make, buy!’ said Miss Brawn.
There was a long silence, which Eva filled with, ‘Do you have roast potatoes or mash?’
Miss Brawn sighed and said, ‘Both!’ Then she continued, ‘Didn’t your parents teach you that it is bad manners to ask so many personal questions?’
‘No,’ said Eva, ‘they didn’t.’
Miss Brawn looked Eva full in the face and said, ‘You should only speak when you have something worth saying. Idiotic questions about my plans for Sunday lunch are not appropriate.’.
Eva had thought to herself, ‘I’ll keep my mouth shut, and I’ll think my own thoughts.’
And after all those years the grown-up Eva could still smell the cut grass, see the sunlight on the old red brick of the school building, and feel the thud of humiliation in her heart as she ran from Miss Brawn’s side, to find somewhere to hide until her cheeks had stopped burning.
Eva finished her exercises and lay on the bed on top of the duvet. She could not stop thinking about food. Her principal feeder, Ruby, had a very lackadaisical attitude towards time, and the rota kept getting messed up because Ruby was increasingly forgetful, and sometimes forgot Eva’s name.
Stanley opened the front door of Eva’s house, saying, ‘How do you do?’ to the nurse and the constable. He shook their hands, led them into the kitchen, and said, ‘I need to call on your expertise.’
As he wandered around the kitchen making tea, he said, ‘I’m afraid Eva’s condition has deteriorated. She managed to use her considerable charm on Peter, our mutual window cleaner, and subsequently she has been barricaded into her bedroom, with only a slit in the door that we on the other side can peer through and, in theory, pass her a plate of food.’
As soon as Stanley said the word ‘barricaded’, PC Hawk saw the scene in his head. He would provide the intelligence, call for a Special Support Unit, and would be present when Eva’s door was shattered with a metal battering ram.
Nurse Spears saw herself at a medical tribunal, trying to justify her neglect of a bedridden patient. She would plead overwork, of course. And it was true – there were only so many diabetic foot ulcers, injections and wound dressings she could fit into one day. She said, When I get back to the surgery, I will inform her doctors. We may be talking a mental health intervention and admission to a unit.’
Stanley lied, quickly, ‘No, she isn’t insane. She’s entirely rational. I spoke to her this morning and made her a boiled egg with white bread soldiers. She looked very happy, I thought.’
Nurse Spears and PC Hawk exchanged a look which said, Who cares what civilians think? It’s we professionals who make the decisions.’
Leaving their tea on the table, the three of them went up to Eva’s barricaded room.
Stanley went up to the door and said, ‘You’ve got visitors, Eva. Nurse Spears and Constable Hawk.’
There was no reply.
‘Perhaps she’s sleeping,’ he suggested.
‘Look here,’ asserted Nurse Spears, ‘my time is precious.’ She shouted, ‘Mrs Beaver, I want to talk to you!’
Eva was working through songs from the musicals in her head. She sang ‘Being Alive’ from Company throughout Nurse Spears’ monologue about insane people she had cured.
Titania put her lips to the slot in the barricaded door and said, ‘Eva, I need to talk to you.’
Eva groaned, ‘Please, Titania, I’m not having an in-depth conversation about your relationship with my ex-husband.’
‘It’s about Brian,’ said Titania.
‘It’s always about Brian.’
‘Look, can you come to the door?’
‘No. I can’t get out of bed.’
Titania pleaded, ‘Please, Eva, use the White Pathway.’
‘I can only use it for one purpose.’
Eva had no strength left. She had felt it leaking from her for some days. She could hardly lift her arms and legs, and when she attempted to move her head off the pillows she could only manage a few seconds before dropping it back with relief.
Titania said, ‘We could have been good friends.’
‘I’m not good at friendship.’
Titania peered through the slot and thought she could see a small shining light and, below it, a prone white figure. She said, ‘I came to say how sorry I am for those eight years of lies. I’m here to ask your forgiveness.’
Eva said, ‘Of course I forgive you. I forgive everybody everything. I even forgive myself.’