Chapter Sixty
According to the flapping leaflets down at the docks, it would take Damien just ten days to reach Boston.
Ten days.
It sounded an impossibly short amount of time for one’s life to unravel, but ten days was apparently all it took for him to be so far from Ava, so sufficiently distant, that none of what had passed between them would matter anymore.
All those moments would be nothing but memories, and though they might burn hot and fierce for a while, what would happen after that?
What would happen when ten days had become two years, and she was still here, in Liverpool, and he there?
Ava huffed a breath through her teeth, reaching to rub away the wetness from her cheeks as she stepped through the black door on Houghton Street.
‘Jesus,’ Bertie swore under her breath. ‘You’re early. Rehearsal doesn’t start until six.’
‘I’m not here for the rehearsal,’ said Ava, not breaking her stride as she sidestepped the boxes in the narrow corridor, her focus upon the door at the far end. ‘I’m here for Lillian.’
‘She’s in the auditorium, sorting through the costumes.’ Ava heard the flicker-flare of a match being lit, and then there were frantic footsteps following behind her, as Bertie said: ‘But listen, Ava, whatever you have to say – perhaps it can wait until afterwards—’
‘It can’t,’ said Ava.
Lillian was on the stage, surrounded by boxes. She was holding a dress up towards the dim light, admiring the way it sparkled, and though now her gaze flitted sideways, to Ava, she kept the dress aloft.
‘What do you think?’ Lillian asked, tilting her head to the right. ‘For me, I mean. For opening night.’
‘I don’t care about the dress,’ said Ava, snatching it from Lillian’s gaze, forcing her attention to her instead. ‘I care about the fact that you have done nothing but lie to me since the day I arrived back in Liverpool.’
Lillian’s expression barely rippled, an eyebrow tweaking ever so slightly upwards. ‘Oh?’ was all she said.
‘Damien,’ said Ava breathlessly. ‘He was your creature. He has been your creature since the first.’
Lillian shook her head. ‘Damien was the right man, in the right place, at the right time.’
‘For you!’
‘No, for you,’ Lillian said, her tone softening. ‘You needed a little push. Don’t you see?’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Ava, letting the dress snake to the floor, a puddle of cornflower-blue satin. ‘I see it all very clearly now. You never wanted me to help Miss Fairchild. You wanted me back on the stage, didn’t you?’
‘No,’ said Lillian, more firmly this time. ‘I wanted you to do what you were made to do.’
‘And what’s that?’ Ava scoffed. ‘Make you money? Fill seats?’
‘To help people,’ said Lillian. ‘Come now, Ava. You help people, and it is a good thing. And it brings me an audience, which is also a good thing. It’s a – what do you call it?’
‘A fair bargain,’ said Bertie, perching upon a nearby box and stuffing her pipe into her mouth.
‘Exactly,’ said Lillian, a smile stretching at her lips. ‘Everyone wins.’
‘Except me,’ said Ava. ‘I’ve been lied to. By you. By Damien. And now …’
Lillian looked away. ‘I did not tell the man to lie.’
‘You told him to become my client.’ Ava’s voice was loud in the empty auditorium, echoing, as the heat ripped up her throat, and she felt it flush her cheeks.
‘You told him to get close to me, and—’ She swallowed, for the kiss hovered before her in great, charred lines, and instead of fuelling her it burned, hot and sad in her chest. She shook her head, biting the words back.
‘I did not tell the man to lie to you,’ Lillian repeated, carefully. ‘Just to win your trust. To gain your confidence, however he could.’
However he could.
Something within her chest loosened, and she felt it drop, felt it fall deep into the pit of her stomach, churning beside the anger, the resentment that already lay there.
‘I did it to prove to you what you have always known,’ said Lillian, her tone soft now, as though Ava were a child to be soothed.
‘Love always leaves, Ava. The kind of love you want. The kind found in front of flickering fires. The kind that sits around and breaks bread together, and brings bandages when you have an accident, or broth when you are sick. That kind of love isn’t worth chasing.
That kind of love is fickle. And now? Now you know that, too.
Now I have taught you that lesson – you can focus on the stage. ’
‘No,’ said Ava quietly. Fiercely. ‘No. You manipulated me. And you manipulated Damien. You told him to tell me all of those things—’
‘The man came to me!’ Lillian’s voice lifted into a shrill laugh.
‘He needed coin, and I needed something to snap you out of your silly little sulk.’ Lillian stepped towards her, her expression transforming into a collection of sharp lines.
‘What would you have done otherwise, hmm? Moped around your father’s sitting room?
Got some sad little job at the greengrocer’s? ’
‘You say it like you wanted to help me,’ Ava countered. ‘You held the threat of my brother’s secret like a dagger over my head – and you forced me back here. And – and I don’t want to do this anymore.’
‘I helped you,’ said Lillian, heat flickering in her voice now, too.
‘Ava, for goodness’ sake, you think you are the first woman in the world to be heartbroken?
To be hurt? And yes, I used Damien, but not against you.
He was just a tool to remind you what you were capable of. That is all he has always been.’
Ava’s eyebrows furrowed, and she shrugged from Lillian’s grasp.
‘I don’t … I can’t—’
‘Now, go and get yourself cleaned up. And Bertie? Get the woman something to eat. She’s white as a sheet.’
‘You are not listening to me,’ Ava said. ‘I told you; I quit.’
‘And I told you, that day you came to see me at the Roxy, that you don’t get to do that this time,’ Lillian said, lifting Ava’s chin up so that she was forced to look at her, to look into those dark eyes and see the steel behind them.
‘Yes, Damien was my creature – but you are my creature, too. And you will go on that stage every single night, and you will perform, because the alternative is suffering – your brother, suffering – and this time it will be your fault. And you will not be able to bear it. Because you are not strong like me, Ava. You are weak. And you know it.’