says, and Mog starts to drool.
“I rather think he wants to go with you,” Peggy says, the admission a little tinged with regret. But since she’s moving out herself she can’t be possessive over Mog anymore. “Would you like to take him with you?”
“Really?” Alba’s eyes light up. “Can I?”
Peggy nods.
With a grin, Alba kisses the old woman on her papery cheek. “Thank you for everything, for all of it. You, Stella, the house, you saved my life.”
She turns then and hurries down the garden path, tears rolling down her face. The walls of the house shudder slightly, a mournful breath blows through the pipes, the electricity momentarily short-circuits, as it watches her go. Mog pads along beside Alba, his tail high in the air. When she reaches the gate Alba wipes her eyes. A moment later she is walking along the pavement. Each step is a good-bye.
Then she stops and turns around to wave.
But Peggy has gone.
The house has disappeared. And all she can see now are trees.
Epilogue
Two Years Later
Greer sits in the garden with Tilly in her lap, brushing her long black hair, winding the curls gently around her fingers. “You’re so beautiful,” she says. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” Tilly nods and Greer laughs. “Excellent, healthy self-esteem, that’s what I like to see.”
“A toast.” Edward lifts his glass. He waits as Greer and Harry pick up theirs. Peggy, who hasn’t put her glass down all afternoon, already has it in the air.
“To the house.”
“The house,” they chorus.
“The horse!” Tilly shouts, then giggles.
Every year they have a picnic party to celebrate the anniversary of Greer moving into the tower. Greer supplies the crockery, Edward mixes the drinks, Harry provides the food, Peggy brings a three-tiered chocolate cake, which she’s made herself, and an enormous bowl of cream.
“Perhaps we ought to get new cups and plates.” Edward lifts one to reveal the White Queen taking Rumpelstiltskin’s clothes off. “Yesterday she was with Lancelot. We don’t want Til unduly influenced by these kinky characters, they aren’t exactly promoting family values.”
Harry raises his eyebrows at Peggy, who snorts with gentle derision.
“Oh, love.” Greer smiles. “She’s not even five. I think we’ve got a little while yet until she starts asking questions about—”
“Sex!” Tilly shouts, then giggles again.
They all look at her, astonished. Then Peggy starts shaking with laughter, spilling her cocktail. “She’s got the gift, that one, must be her godmother’s influence.” From where she sits Peggy takes a little bow and raises her glass again.
“Oh dear,” Edward sighs. “Oh dear.”
“Speaking of influence.” Harry quickly changes the subject. “How are this year’s residents coming along?”
“Oh, they’re fine,” Greer says, “but all so young, my goodness. They try to steal my clothes, they hound me to make outfits for them. It’s maddening.”
“Maddening, but flattering,” Edward says. “They all came to Alba’s play last month. When they found out Greer had done the costumes, they wouldn’t leave her alone.”
“We saw it.” Peggy reaches for another slice of cake. “It was bloody brilliant.”
Edward quickly puts his hands over his daughter’s ears.
“Buddy bwilliant!” Tilly exclaims, then giggles again.
—
The club is dusty and dark. Carmen waits in the wings, pacing. Narciso, the scruffy manager of the dingy bar, pokes his head around the door.
“Okay, it’s time,” he yells. “Vamos!”
Carmen feels all the blood leave her body and her knees buckle under her.
“Are you having a seizure?” Narciso snaps, “’cause we ain’t insured for that.”
“No, no.” Carmen shakes her head, getting a grip on her nerves. “I’m fine.”
“Good,” Narciso says. “Now, get out there and get on with it!” With that, he gives her a friendly shove and Carmen falls through the flimsy blue curtain and onto the stage. She stumbles toward the microphone, grabs it and clings on for dear life, as if she is drowning in the ocean and it is an obliging dolphin.
Relaxa, Carmen chants to herself, relaxa, relaxa, relaxa . . .
She blinks into the single bright light, desperately wanting to close her eyes, but forcing herself to squint into the crowd. If I could cope with a courtroom, she thinks, then I can cope with this. For a moment Carmen looks back at the last two years: the judge, the jury, the cell and Tiago’s ghost, who sat with her every night so that she barely slept. But Peggy was right. The judge and jury were sympathetic. Tiago’s violent nature was well-known and, when Carmen finally took the stand and told them Tiago would have killed her if she hadn’t