The Girl in the Mirror Read online

  Shortly before 9.30 the doorbell rang. ‘That’ll be the nurse,’ Gran said. ‘Evelyn or John will see to him.’

  ‘I think John’s asleep,’ Mandy said.

  ‘Then Evelyn will see to him. Evelyn likes me to stay here until the nurse has finished. I usually do as I’m told.’

  Mandy returned Gran’s smile and they continued eating. They heard Mrs Saunders answer the front door and then Evelyn’s voice greet the nurse in the hall. When they’d finished eating Mrs Saunders cleared away the plates and they remained at the table until Evelyn had seen the nurse out and came into the morning room and said Grandpa had had his wash and injection.

  Evelyn helped Gran onto her walking frame and Mandy followed them to the study. As she entered she saw the commode had gone and a capped polythene bottle was now beside the bed. Gran noticed it too.

  ‘He won’t use that,’ Gran said indignantly.

  ‘We’ll give it a try, Mum. It should stop the accidents and make it easier for Dad.’

  ‘And his pain relief?’ Gran asked. ‘You were going to see if it could be increased.’

  ‘It’s all taken care of. Don’t you worry, Mum.’ Mandy thought Evelyn sounded patronizing but Gran either didn’t hear it or chose to ignore it. She nodded and returned to her chair by the bed.

  ‘Why don’t you have a lie-down?’ Evelyn suggested to Mandy. ‘Grandpa should sleep for most of the morning now, and I’ll be popping in and out.’

  ‘If I’m not needed I might go for a short walk,’ Mandy said. ‘Get a breath of fresh air.’

  ‘Of course, love. Do whatever you please.’ Evelyn smiled. ‘We’re all very grateful you stayed.’

  ‘I’m pleased I stayed, really I am,’ Mandy said. ‘I think I might walk into the village. Do you want anything from the shop if I get that far?’

  Mandy saw the smile on Evelyn’s face vanish. There was a short pause before she replied, tightly: ‘No, no thank you. I don’t use that store any more.’ Throwing Gran a pointed glance she said something about having to see Mrs Saunders and left the room.

  Mandy looked at Gran for explanation but Gran had returned her attention to Grandpa. ‘See you later then,’ Mandy said. ‘Do you want anything from the store?’

  ‘No thanks, love, but you can give my regards to Mrs Pryce. She works there.’

  ‘Will do.’ Picking up her bag from beside the chair Mandy threw it over her shoulder and, kissing Gran and Grandpa goodbye, left the study.

  Pryce? Mrs Pryce? The name sounded familiar, Mandy thought as she went to the cloakroom before setting off. Why it should sound familiar she didn’t know, nor why Evelyn had behaved oddly when she’d mentioned the village store. But one thing she did know was that there were no toilets on the walk into the village, and if you got caught short you had to go behind a hedge. She remembered that Sarah and she had had to take turns to squat out of sight of the road, while the other looked out for passing cars or, worse, someone walking their dog along the path.

  Tucking her mobile into her jacket pocket – Adam had texted earlier saying he would phone mid-morning – and with her bag slung over her shoulder, Mandy let herself out of the front door. It was a lovely fresh spring morning, like yesterday – which had been Tuesday, she had to remind herself. Too much food, too little sleep and being closeted in the hot study were making her brain sluggish, but her body restless. A brisk walk was exactly what she needed, she thought, to ‘blow away the cobwebs’ as Gran would say.

  Mandy followed the path around the edge of the drive and turned right on to the narrow tarmac footpath which ran beside the single-track lane. It was the road her father had driven along yesterday, the only road leading to and from the house and which led to the main road and then into the village. Mandy walked quickly, invigorated from being outside in the fresh air, and also from the luxury of being alone. She wasn’t used to having company and making conversation for large parts of the day. Since she’d given up work she’d had solitude each day during the working week to concentrate on her painting. She’d only seen Adam in the evenings. In this at least I’ve been disciplined, she thought cynically, although she had to admit her time alone had produced very little: a few half-baked ideas, the odd sketch, but no painting. If I could just finish one painting, she thought, I’m sure it would restore my confidence and make a difference – to everything.

  She passed the driveway which led to her aunt’s closest neighbour, although the bungalow, standing in its own substantial grounds, was so far away from Evelyn’s house it hardly constituted a ‘neighbour’. Indeed, all the properties she passed had their own land and were very secluded; ‘exclusive’ was the word an estate agent would have used, she thought. And although the houses were slightly familiar from when she’d passed them in the car the day before, she had no other memory of the road despite Sarah and her often walking into the village.

  Mandy felt her phone vibrate in her pocket and quickly took it out.

  ‘Miss you,’ Adam said, as soon as she answered. ‘When are you coming home?’

  ‘Miss you too,’ she said, appreciating the sound of his voice. ‘Adam, I’ve said I’d stay and help. My aunt and uncle are exhausted.’ And grateful for the chance to off-load she told him of the dreadful pain Grandpa had been in between the shots of morphine, and the night she’d spent in the study-cum-sick room. She felt herself choking up as she described how John and she had tried to soothe away the pain. ‘He’s very poorly,’ she finished, not wanting to cry on the phone. She was about to tell him of the strange thoughts and flashbacks she’d been having since arriving at her aunt’s, but she realized how ridiculous it would sound and instead told him of the breakfast laid on the sideboard in silver tureens. Her phone began to bleep, signalling the battery was about to run out. ‘Sod it!’ she said, annoyed. ’I’ll have to phone you back later from the house.’ Quickly winding up and swapping ‘Miss you’s, she said goodbye. Before the battery went completely she texted her father, asking him to bring her phone charger, which she’d left plugged in beside her bed. Unaware she wouldn’t be returning home that evening, she hadn’t brought it with her. She now wondered how many other things she’d forgotten to ask her father to collect from her bedsit and which she would find she needed. Epilator, she thought. Never mind, I’ll buy a razor from the village shop.

  The narrow tarmac path Mandy now trod looked like many other country paths and was no more familiar. But the brilliant green of the early spring shoots, the brown earth, blue sky and picture-postcard rural tranquillity suddenly caught her artistic eye. She knew she should try and remember it, as she used to, to paint later. Whenever she’d been out, if she came across a scene that appealed she used to be able to capture it in her mind’s eye – freeze-frame it – and then transfer it to canvas when she got home. But in the last seven months, since she’d been unable to paint, the magic of the scene always faded and lost its intensity, so that all she managed were some drawings in her sketch pad. Perhaps this will be different, she thought. Try to be positive. She looked around at the beauty of the countryside and willed herself to remember what she saw.

  A house appeared through the trees to her left and then the path broke for a concealed and overgrown driveway. Mandy was about to cross the drive and then jumped back as a car suddenly appeared. As it drew level the driver nodded and she felt a sudden surge of familiarity. Hadn’t a car pulled out of one of these driveways when Sarah and she had been about to cross on one of their walks into the village? She thought it had. A Land-Rover with two large cream dogs in the back? She was sure now, for she remembered they’d been so busy chatting they hadn’t seen the Land-Rover until the last second, and had had to jump back on to the path to avoid being knocked down. Perhaps it was the shock of it nearly happening again that had triggered this memory, like the shock of suddenly bumping into John when she’d first arrived had reminded her of her schoolgirl crush. She wondered if the man in the muddy Land-Rover who’d told them off for not looking where they were
going still lived in the house along here. But which one? She had no idea. She also wondered why her recollections were so piecemeal and random, and why she had no control over them. It was not only strange but disturbing. Better not to dwell on it. She concentrated on the path ahead and checked the driveways for cars.

  Coming to a halt at the end of the lane Mandy waited to cross the road. Whereas she’d only seen a couple of cars on the lane, now the cars sped by at regular intervals in intermittent rushes of air that fanned her face and blew back her hair. She spotted a gap in the traffic and crossed the road, then began towards the village. She passed a speed camera box and further up a banner announcing ‘Bypass Now’. To her right stood the early-nineteenth-century stone church with half a dozen headstones in a small, neatly tended graveyard at the front. A massive oak tree rose on the other side of the church, its branches overhanging the pavement. Beside the church was a duck pond and next to that the village pub with its original signboard of a painting of a red lion suspended from the post outside. The road gently curved away and then rose up and out of the village, finally meeting the blue horizon in the distance. Mandy focused on the village scene ahead, so unlike London, but which did seem vaguely familiar. She made her way along the narrow pavement, keeping close to the cottage walls and well away from the traffic that flashed by.

  Close up, the village shop was even more familiar than it had been when they’d driven past the day before. Mandy was sure the door was the same shade of green as when she’d visited as a child. With a pang of nostalgia, she saw the window displays were as cluttered, enticing and unsophisticated as ever. It was one of those small village shops where a sample of virtually everything they sold appeared in the bay windows: greeting cards, cooking utensils, a pan, nails and a hammer, pencils, tea, sugar, paper, a rug; and the small china ornaments which Mandy knew had appealed so much to her and Sarah as children, and which they’d saved up their pocket money to buy.

  The bell clanged as she opened the door and entered the store. She glanced around. It was as familiar inside as it had been out, and she was sure the layout had barely altered in ten years. But then if you carried this much stock, she thought, there wasn’t much you could alter – all the floor space was taken up by tiered shelving. A woman was being served by a young assistant at the post office counter and an elderly man was examining greeting cards. Over to her right two middle-aged women chatted in front of a glass display counter, and behind the counter a similar-aged woman in a nylon overall stood patiently waiting to serve them. She looked at Mandy with a brief smile. Mandy met her gaze and returned her smile. Then she stared and felt her heart miss a beat. She was sure that the woman was Mrs Pryce, the woman Gran had asked to be remembered to. But what Mandy hadn’t realized when Gran had mentioned her was that Mrs Pryce had been the housekeeper at her aunt’s during all the years Mandy had visited as a child. Mrs Pryce had looked away; she hadn’t recognized her.

  Eleven

  It was a shock suddenly seeing her like that – a flash from the past. And why hadn’t Evelyn or Gran said something? You’ll remember Mrs Pryce. She used to be the housekeeper here when you stayed. True, Gran had asked to be remembered to Mrs Pryce, but why not tell her who she was? Mandy didn’t understand, and understood even less Evelyn’s pointed remark about not using the store any more; unless of course Mrs Pryce had been dismissed from her service? That could possibly explain it.

  Mandy made her way between the narrow aisles of display stands, careful not to nudge anything that could send an item toppling. The shop door clanged open and shut again and a small child came in with his mother who cautioned him not to touch anything. Mandy looked over as Mrs Pryce said good morning to the woman and asked if her child was better. It was definitely the old housekeeper. She was sure. She’d known her so well from all the times she’d stayed as a child. Mrs Pryce had been in her aunt’s service for years, as much a part of the household as Mrs Saunders was now, probably more, for she’d lived in and taken on the role of nanny when Sarah had been little. And while Mrs Pryce certainly didn’t seem like someone who’d be given the sack, Mandy couldn’t think of another explanation for Evelyn’s cool rejection.

  Reining in her thoughts, Mandy scanned the tiers of shelves and found the disposable razors she was looking for, then picked up a copy of the Daily Mail from the bottom shelf. John had The Times and Telegraph delivered but Mandy wanted something lighter to read. Going into the next aisle she found the stationery section; on one shelf lay three small sketch pads next to a jar of HB pencils and other writing implements. She took one of the sketch pads and a pencil, and then selected an eraser and a small plastic pencil sharpener. Perhaps if she managed to sketch some of the local country scenes she’d be able to paint them when she returned home.

  Picking up a small bar of milk chocolate Mandy crossed to the till. Mrs Pryce was behind the counter, having just served the man with the greeting card. As she approached she felt her stomach flutter nervously. Mrs Pryce looked at her with a polite smile but there was nothing in her manner to suggest she recognized her. Mandy placed the items she was buying on the glass-topped counter and summoned the courage to say something. She felt strangely nervous.

  ‘Are you Mrs Pryce?’ she asked, almost blurted, as the woman took the first item to ring into the till.

  She paused, surprised, and then looked puzzled. ‘Yes. Sorry, do I know you?’

  ‘You used to,’ Mandy said. ‘My gran is Mrs Edwards. She sends her regards. I’m Mandy.’

  Amazement and delight spread across Mrs Pryce’s face, and Mandy relaxed. ‘Good heavens! Little Amanda. After all these years! I’m sorry, love, I didn’t recognize you.’

  ‘It’s not surprising really, I was only thirteen when you last saw me, but I recognized you the moment I walked in. You haven’t changed at all.’

  To a woman in her early sixties this was clearly a compliment, and Mrs Pryce smiled appreciatively. ‘How are you, dear?’ she asked warmly. ‘And how are Mr and Mrs Edwards? I heard they were staying at your aunt’s because of Mr Edwards being ill. But I didn’t know you were there too.’

  ‘Grandpa is very poorly,’ Mandy confirmed. ‘I came with Dad yesterday, just for a visit, but I’m staying on to help.’

  ‘That’s nice of you, but then you were always a thoughtful child. You look very well. How are you and your family?’ There seemed to be no reluctance on her part to ask after her family, Mandy thought, which made Evelyn’s attitude towards her even more puzzling.

  ‘Mum and Dad are well, although they’re obviously very concerned about Grandpa. They’re visiting again later today. I’m sure they’ll be delighted when I tell them I’ve seen you.’ Mandy paused, unsure of how to continue now the initial surprise of their meeting was over. ‘I seem to remember you looked after Sarah and me when I stayed. I hope we didn’t cause you too much trouble.’

  Mrs Pryce smiled indulgently. ‘Only children having fun. I loved it when you came; there was always so much excitement. Do you still see Sarah?’

  ‘No, not since my visits stopped.’

  Mrs Pryce’s previous open and obvious delight at seeing her again after so long was now replaced by something closed and more serious. She lowered her gaze and, drawing the items across the counter, began entering them into the till.

  ‘Evelyn said Sarah will visit later in the week,’ Mandy added, and Mrs Pryce nodded non-committally.

  Mandy didn’t know what to say now. She would have liked to have talked about the past and heard what Mrs Pryce had to say about the times she’d looked after Mandy at her aunt’s, but she felt the way in was barred. Unhooking her bag from her shoulder, she took out her purse as Mrs Pryce, eyes down, rang up the last item. ‘That’s £4.78 please, dear. Would you like a carrier?’

  ‘Please,’ Mandy said, and took out a £10 note as Mrs Pryce placed the items in a bag. ‘You don’t see Evelyn and John now?’ Mandy tried. ‘You were with them a long time.’

  ‘Yes, I was. Fourteen ye
ars. I see Mr and Mrs Osborne driving through the village sometimes, but not to talk to, not since I left – ten years ago.’ She passed the carrier to Mandy and then counted the change into her palm. Mandy felt a formality had crept into Mrs Pryce’s manner, which she was sure had never been there when she’d known her as a child, and indeed didn’t sit happily with her now. ‘Well, it’s been nice meeting you again,’ Mrs Pryce said, almost stiffly. ‘Please remember me to your gran. I’m so sorry Mr Edwards is poorly. And remember me to your parents too.’

  ‘I will.’ Mandy hovered. ‘I might pop in again if I need something.’ Mrs Pryce gave a small nod. ‘Yes, dear.’ She turned to the next customer.

  The door clanged shut behind Mandy as she set off along the narrow pavement in the direction of her aunt’s. Apparently the only persons Mrs Pryce didn’t want to be remembered to were Evelyn and John, she thought. And they hadn’t spoken in ten years despite living in the same small village! Clearly the rift between them ran very deep.

  Mandy took the chocolate bar from the carrier bag and, peeling back the foil, bit off a chunk. She savoured the creamy sweet texture as it melted on her tongue. Seeing Mrs Pryce again seemed to release a few more memories, and her thoughts returned to her childhood and the times Sarah and she had been left under the watchful eye of the housekeeper while Evelyn was out or busy. Dear, kind Mrs Pryce with her neatly rollered greying hair, so conservative in dress and habit, how they’d teased her and played her up. Mandy cringed as she remembered the time Sarah and she had put damp soil from the garden in the toes of her shoes. Mrs Pryce, like Mrs Saunders, always changed into ‘house shoes’ when she arrived and she’d been too embarrassed to say anything as she’d pushed her feet into her shoes and felt the wet earth. Or the time they’d put salt in the jug of water on the table at dinner and John had taken a large gulp and spat it out, then blamed Mrs Pryce for not being more vigilant instead of Sarah and her – the real culprits. Mandy remembered too the fantasies Sarah and she had made up about Mrs Pryce: caught in a state of undress with the gardener in the potting shed, or ravishing the butcher as he delivered the meat via the tradesmen’s entrance. Or compromised in the laundry room with Fred Hutch, who used to be the handyman. Very handy, Sarah and she had giggled. But now, as then, Mandy had to admit that the chances of Mrs Pryce doing anything improper were minuscule, if not non-existent, which made the cloud hanging over her leaving all the more peculiar.