Miriam's Talisman (10 page)

‘I've never been so glad to leave anywhere as I was to leave Ireland. I know it wasn't America, but I thought Cambridge was heaven. Real houses, and shops that sold fashionable clothes like I'd seen in the magazines. Somewhere to live that wasn't coated in mud.' She left the room, her voice trailing behind her. ‘Mind you, it had to be that awful dump of a cottage, but at least it had hot running water and indoor plumbing. By then I was old enough to go straight into the local high school and I started to make friends. In fact people were impressed when they found out who my mother was. That took some getting used to. But we weren't different here. That's so important, Chloe, to be the same, to fit in. If you try to set yourself apart, you only cause yourself pain.'

I looked around Hannah's neat little house, the ruffled curtains and the display cabinet of crystal glasses that were polished so meticulously. I'd never thought of her as hurt and vulnerable before. I followed her into the kitchen where she was filling the bowl with soapy water and wrestling with the coffee plunger.

‘At least Miriam's money will guarantee you a secure future. You and Paul are going to have such a good start, and I'm happy for you both, really I am. And we can begin to make plans for the wedding. There's no reason to put it off now, is there? You'll be able to afford your own home. Once the cottage is cleared and up for sale, you can start looking round for property. You'll be able to afford something really nice, too. I noticed there are some new buildings going up near the science park, three- and four-bedroom detached …'

I didn't hear anything else she might have said; my mind had hooked on to three words. Cottage…for sale. I felt something rising in my stomach. A heaviness, a pressure, which at first I couldn't identify. I thought it might be anticipation, or maybe just confusion, but then, as it started to tighten, I realised that it was fear.

I
WAS EXPECTING RAIN
.

I thought it always rained at funerals, death symbolised by all those umbrellas at the graveside like a field of black, decaying mushrooms. But no, there was no rain that day, no abundance of tears to wash the faces of those who could not weep. Instead the morning sprang to life with dazzling sunshine that splintered my eyes and dripped from the trees like breakfast honey.

I had arrived at the cottage early, thinking there would be a lot to do. As it turned out, there wasn't. The little band of caterers arrived and commandeered the kitchen. They asked me to clear the dining table of Miriam's papers, but I forbade them to touch anything, and they were forced to set up a trestle table and spread it with a white, starch-glazed cloth. It looked like a huge wedding cake awaiting decoration. Clearly put out by my refusal to co-operate, the caterers, too, became glazed and starchy, indicating that I was in the way.

So, I had nothing to do and nowhere to go. I wandered through the garden, snapping the dew from spider's webs and stirring up newly fallen leaves. The bright flowers of
summer were all but over, making way for the subtler hues of amber-tinged foliage and yellowing grasses. I decided to gather some and arrange them in vases in the house. They would make a pleasing contrast to the garish carpet of reds, pinks and purples that had been creeping up either side of the front path since early morning. People had entered the gate in reverent silence, then slipped away unnoticed, leaving flowers swathed in crackling cellophane, with copperplate cards bearing messages for the deceased. Who did they think would read them? Were they expecting Miriam to open the door herself and walk down the garden, pausing to inspect each card politely before stepping into the hearse? Unaccustomed to the bizarre rituals, I felt lost and useless.

I meandered from room to room, picking up various objects and carefully replacing them. The air seemed charged with the faintest tingle of excitement, the cause of which I could not define. But I knew that something was about to happen.

In Miriam's bedroom I sat down at the dressing table. It was littered with bright, shiny things, beads and earrings spilling out of glass trays. There were the ornate combs that she used to fasten up her long hair. I always wore mine loose, an unruly cloud of red curls that I used to veil my face. Picking up a hairbrush, I swept the hair back from my brow, twisting it into a knot behind my head and fastening it with matching silver combs. A new face looked back at me from the mirror, an unexpected face. This woman looked surprised, startled even, and somehow familiar.

I turned to the oval mirror in the wardrobe door to judge the full effect. But oh, how drab I looked. Of course I had
dressed in black as Hannah said I should, but is that what Miriam would have done? Her perfume of jasmine oils washed over me as I opened the wardrobe door. The colours of her clothes were soft, rich but natural, the fabrics silks and velvets. She loved Indian styles, long and flowing and heavily embroidered with silken threads. Hippy clothes, Hannah called them. There was a swirling skirt of heavy cotton inset with panels of velvet. It was the colour of crushed fruits, blackberries and dark cherries, worked with silver flowers and tiny spangles of glass. I found a silk shirt in a paler lilac and an ornate leather belt with a silver buckle that sat tight around my waist. A neat-fitting jacket in mulberry velvet toned perfectly with the skirt.

I closed the door and stared at the stranger in the mirror. I had never seen this woman before, and yet I had. There was something so familiar about her, but I just couldn't make the connection. I was both frightened and fascinated. She was like some bright, exotic bird, twirling and sparkling in a way that I would never dare.

The neckline was cut low, exposing the talisman glinting at my throat. No, that wouldn't do! There must be something…yes, in a drawer, a long gossamer-fine purple scarf. I wound it around and over the collar to hide the jewel and tossed the ends over my shoulders to trail down my back. Yes, perfect. Then I was skipping down the stairs. I had to show Miriam.

The morning sun illuminated the still unfinished portrait as I posed and danced before her, spreading the skirt wide in my hands. ‘I hope you don't mind, but my outfit looked so awful. You would have hated it. It was the only black coat I had, all heavy and shapeless. You always said I used clothes to hide myself in. This feels so…so
free.' She looked at me with patience, an enigmatic smile lighting her eyes, as if she knew something I didn't and was waiting to surprise me. I was still for a moment, trying to read her thoughts. Then I whispered, ‘You will help me through today, won't you? Please be there.'

I left the room quietly, then wondered if I ought to lock the door. There would be people all over the house. This was my studio, my secret place. I didn't want it discovered, not today. I turned the small key, removed it and tucked it deep inside my pocket. As I turned back down the hall I was startled by a rapping at the door.

Hannah and David stood in the porch. I stepped back to let them through, but David remained still, staring at me, while Hannah reeled back, her eyes widening in fear. Her prepared smile melted as both hands rose to cover her mouth, stifling a pathetic whimper.

‘What is it?' I gasped. ‘What's wrong?'

David pushed past her, his eyes blazing, roughly grabbing my elbow and dragging me back inside the house. ‘What the hell do you think you're playing at, Chloe?'

‘What do you mean? I don't understand.'

‘You've gone too far this time! Haven't you done enough to hurt your mother without staging this ridiculous pantomime?'

‘But I haven't done anything!'

‘Don't play innocent with me! Do you think I don't know what you're up to? Final twist of the knife, is it?'

Then, somehow, Paul was there, forcing himself between us, shielding me with his arms as David shouted and pounded at the air with clenched fists. Paul herded me down the length of the hall and pushed me onto the stairs,
then went back to face the others at the doorway. I hunched into a tight ball on the bottom step, hands clamped over my ears to shut out the hail of words ricocheting off the stone floor and walls of the hollow passageway: ‘…fancy dress party …', ‘…overwrought …', ‘…neurotic …', ‘…under tremendous strain …', ‘…no excuse …', ‘…her doctor …', ‘…bloody psychiatrist more like …'

Gradually the shouting match subsided and Paul returned to me, crouching down to stroke my shoulders and speak softly.

‘It's all right now. Hannah's still very shaken, but I think I've convinced them that you didn't mean anything by it.'

‘But I didn't, Paul. I don't understand. What have I done wrong?'

‘You mean you really don't know? Surely you've looked in a mirror?'

‘Yes, but they're Miriam's clothes. Mine looked so awful and she wouldn't have minded …'

‘Don't you realise you look just like her? No, not even that. You
are
her! When you opened the door, Hannah thought you were Miriam.'

I was shocked into silence as realisation crept up on me. Of course, that's who she was, the woman in the mirror, that's why she looked so familiar.

‘Oh, my God! Oh, Paul, I didn't think…I would never have …' I glanced down the hall at Hannah, who was now inside, sitting on a high-backed chair and clutching a white handkerchief. David stood beside her, the image of our father in his dark suit and shiny shoes. I wasn't the only impostor here.

Paul pulled me to my feet. ‘Anyway, it's all over now,
Rabbit. Just go upstairs and change. You can't go out looking like that.'

There are moments, brief, seemingly inconsequential moments, when the universe pivots on a pinhead. I had turned. I had actually turned and placed my foot upon the stair. Then I stopped, turned and walked the length of the hall to face my family. By now Hannah had calmed down and wore an expression of tragic resignation. David was at her side, like a hound defending its mistress. I took a deep breath.

‘Mum, David. I'm sorry my appearance upset you. I…none of us…realised how alike Miriam and I are…were. However …' My voice almost cracked. I stumbled, and then regained control. ‘However, this is the reality, I
am
like her. I hope that in time we can all get used to it. And I realise that this must be painful for you both and I'm sorry for that. But it can't be helped. That's the way things are. This is who I am.'

Then I walked back to Paul, still waiting by the stairs. ‘Paul, thank you for helping just then. I didn't realise. However, I do need to say this. We're not married yet, you're not my husband. But even if you were it would make no difference. You will never, ever, tell me what clothes I can or cannot wear. Is that understood?'

For a moment neither of us moved or spoke. Then I turned away and walked into the living room, closing the door.

My stomach churned. I forced air into my body despite the steel ball that had somehow lodged in my throat. My hands were clenched together to stop them from shaking. After a few moments I became aware of muffled voices beyond the door but couldn't make out the words. The
caterers scuttled to and fro, clattering objects onto the table, and I wondered how much of the family scene they had witnessed. To avoid looking at them, I gazed steadily out of the window. The sun still sparkled on the trees and occasionally a golden leaf would pirouette down onto the overgrown lawn.

There was a sudden movement, a dark shadow among the trees. A branch bowed and swayed as if something heavy had weighed down upon it, then sprang up in a scattering of bright leaves. Then stillness—nothing.

The hall door opened. Someone was standing behind me. I pretended to be busy rearranging the leaves I had gathered earlier, but my hands were still trembling and grass seeds quivered down onto the windowsill.

‘You OK?' It was Paul, his voice barely a whisper.

I nodded in reply.

‘Is there anything I can do to help?'

‘No, nothing.'

‘Anything I can get you?'

‘No, I'm fine really.' I heard the sharpness in my voice, the unfairness of it. I looked down the garden to the trees but there was no one there. ‘Is Hannah all right?'

‘Yes, she'll survive.'

‘I suppose I ought to go and make my peace with her. We can't go to the funeral like this. Where is she?'

‘She's out the front. I think she went to look at the flowers.'

Hannah was bending down to read each card in turn, perhaps trying to decipher the signature, then replacing them among the blossoms.

‘So many flowers. She had a lot of friends.' I said it quietly, but she heard me approach and looked up.

‘Yes, people seemed to take to her. She was very lucky.'

I didn't think luck had anything to do with it, but I held my tongue and went through the motions of looking at the cards with her. After a few minutes, I plucked up the courage to ask. ‘Did you ever come across a friend of hers, a man called Iolair?'