Chapter Thirty-Two
Damien blew a breath through his teeth, reaching to push his damp hair from his forehead.
Autumn was well and truly here now – the falling leaves collecting upon the pavements, littering the streets – and the rain that had been a fine mist when he’d left the Rainbow Hotel was now a veritable downpour.
And yet, each step towards Manchester Street felt heavier than the last, as though perhaps if he could just walk slowly enough, he would not have to arrive at all.
Ava was waiting for him outside the apothecary – co-cooned beneath her umbrella, one, gloveless hand reaching from underneath its canopy to let the rain speckle it.
But it was not Ava who kept his feet rooted to the pavement – it was the man leaning against the lamppost on the other side of the street.
He had a pipe between his teeth – one leg crossed over the other, and Damien felt the familiar coil of fear in his chest, felt his skin begin to tingle, each muscle winding tighter.
It’s nothing, he told himself. No one.
It was likely a dock worker – though he didn’t seem to have the build of a dock worker, and instead of a flat scally cap he wore a bowler that shadowed his face.
Damien watched as the man pinched the remnants of tobacco from his pipe, crushing them beneath his boot before he straightened, and disappeared around the corner.
Though Damien couldn’t shake the feeling in his chest, the heaviness, even as he crossed the street to meet Ava.
The wind chimes sang as she and Damien walked through the door, and a voice called out: ‘Careful! I just mopped!’ – though it wasn’t Jem’s gangling form Ava found behind the counter.
It was Mrs Foster, who beamed at her the moment the door opened and said: ‘Ava, dear! How long it has been!’
Mrs Foster was the kind of woman who always dressed as though she might step out to tea with nobility at any moment. Today was no exception – for her dress was fashionably striped, the lacing around her collar beautifully detailed to match her gloves.
‘It’s nice to see you, Mrs Foster,’ Ava said, trying to wrangle her umbrella closed without further soaking the wooden floor. ‘Jem mentioned you’d been away?’
‘At my sister’s, in Driffield,’ nodded Mrs Foster. ‘My son thought I needed some time to “right my thoughts”.’
This was what Mrs Foster called her memory lapses, for she had trouble remembering.
The doctors, however, were stumped, for her lapses were so intermittent and so specific that they could not say where her forgetting stemmed from.
Ava had tried to help in the beginning, though the more work she had done with Mrs Foster, the more she had come to suspect that there was nothing wrong with Mrs Foster’s memory at all.
She simply wished to pretend the world was arranged precisely the way she wanted it: usually with her husband still alive, and everything going the way she wished it to go.
‘And who might this be?’ Mrs Foster turned her wide smile upon Damien.
‘I’m a client of Ava’s,’ said Damien, removing his hat, and dipping her a short bow. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Mrs Foster.’
Mrs Foster’s eyebrows raised a little, though she turned back to Ava. ‘My dear, I meant to ask – have you set a date yet? Only my sister asked me, and I couldn’t remember.’
‘A date?’
Mrs Foster stared at her as though she had gone mad.
‘For the wedding.’
Ava felt the umbrella slither from her grasp and land with a clatter upon the sodden floor. She stared at it there for one moment, two, listening to the thudding of her own heart in her ears.
‘Wedding?’ Damien repeated quietly. ‘You’re engaged?’
‘No,’ said Ava quickly.
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Foster brightly. ‘To my boy, Jem. Oh, they’re a good match, these two. Known each other since they were ever so small.’
When Ava straightened, Damien was watching her – his green eyes unreadable. ‘Then I suppose congratulations are in order,’ he said. There was no warmth in his voice. Only a slow, dragging ache.
‘No,’ said Ava, her voice low. ‘Truly, I—’
The wind chimes rattled again.
‘I’m back, Ma.’
Jem’s voice from behind her made Ava’s heart sink even lower. Damien stepped back from her a little, and now when she looked at him she realized she couldn’t see him anymore – the Damien she knew was now hidden beneath the mask of another man entirely – one wearing a wide, easy smile.
‘And this must be the man himself,’ said Damien. Only his voice belied him – for it was stiff, and stilted – though nowhere near as jittering as the startled look that flashed across Jem’s face.
‘Excuse me?’
‘We were just discussing your engagement, dear,’ said Mrs Foster, rolling her eyes. ‘What else?’
Ava cast a furtive glance at Jem, whose expression was a mirror for her own squirming discomfort.
‘We spoke of this, Mother,’ Jem said, removing his damp coat quickly. ‘Remember?’
Mrs Foster’s forehead creased gently, and then she shook her head. ‘I can’t remember dates very well, dear, you know that. Numbers have always been a weakness of mine.’
‘There is to be no wedding,’ said Ava, not looking at any of them but instead at the door to the storage room, wishing she were already there, already hidden amongst the other unwanted things. ‘We broke off the engagement. Do you remember, Mrs Foster?’
Mrs Foster blinked rapidly, her mouth slackening. ‘Ah,’ she said, turning to her son. ‘I suppose … I suppose when you say it like that I must remember.’
She gave Ava a much smaller smile this time, one with a lot more questions behind it.
‘Still,’ continued Mrs Foster. ‘That’s no reason to be a stranger. You should come for tea. Wouldn’t that be nice, Jeremy? If Ava came for tea?’
Jem’s expression flickered. ‘That would be lovely.’
‘What do you say, Ava?’
Ava nodded. ‘Of course. You know how much I enjoy your cooking, Mrs Foster.’
‘Why don’t you go and rest for a while, Mother?’ Jem offered. ‘I’m back now. I can mind the shop for a few hours.’
Mrs Foster looked between the three of them. ‘Don’t forget to come up for lunch,’ she said, pressing a quick kiss to Jem’s cheek.
‘I won’t.’
Together they listened to her creak up the stairs, and it was only when they heard footsteps on the ceiling above them that Jem turned back to Ava.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry, I had no idea that she was coming back today, or else I would’ve—’
Ava shook her head. ‘I understand,’ she said, trying to force herself to hold his gaze, and finding she could not. ‘Just let me know when you want to set tea for, and I shall be there.’
Jem’s expression twitched, his gaze sliding to Damien, and back again. ‘Oh, well. There’s really no need—’ He reached to rub at the back of his neck, his red-blond hair spiking from the drizzle outside. ‘I just said that to keep her happy. Chances are she won’t remember inviting you after her nap.’
Ava felt his words like a cold ache in the pit of her stomach, and it took everything she had to give him a brisk smile.
‘Well, perhaps she’d like to come with you to the tombola then,’ she said, as cheerily as she could.
‘With the Widows’ and Widowers’ Club. I know Mrs Moss would be glad to see you both.
Oliver, too.’ She could feel how strained her voice was becoming, and she turned to Damien, grateful not to have to look at Jem for a moment.
‘You could come too, if you’d like? A tombola is always fun, isn’t it? ’
Damien didn’t reply, he merely nodded, his focus on Jem.
‘Now, if you’ll both just excuse me for a moment,’ Ava said, the wind chimes tinkling together as she left.