The House at the End of Hope Street - By Menna van Praag Page 0,86
say, she visited me; well, anyway . . . She told me to tell you she replied to your last letter. She wrote to you every week for a year, asking you to come back. She thinks Charles had them destroyed, so they never reached you.”
Albert stares at Alba, unable to move or speak. He starts to shake.
“She never stopped loving you,” Alba says softly. “She loved you right up to the day she died, and even after that.”
Albert nods, tears falling down his face. Alba rests her hand on her father’s sleeve and gives him a small, hopeful smile. And, when she slips her hand into his, his heart swells until it fills his whole chest.
—
That night Albert sits on the sofa in his small, dingy flat, staring at the flickering television, but not really watching it. Next to him, on a scuffed cushion, is a TV dinner he’s barely touched. The overcooked carrots and slightly burned sliver of white chicken glisten with congealed gravy. He plucks at the cuffs of his cardigan, widening the holes in the wool. He misses Alba already. If he loved his daughter before, it’s nothing to how he feels now. The feeling is so deep, so infinite, so strong that it never fails to shock him. Albert thinks how lucky he is, that this love for his daughter fills the jagged hole inside him left by the loss of Liz.
He wonders, for the hundredth time that evening, if his daughter would consider moving in with him, if she might let him be a real father to her for a few years. It would be the greatest gift, so great, in fact, that he’s scared to ask for it. The idea entered his head when Alba told him she has to move out of Hope Street in a few weeks and has nowhere to go. But he doesn’t want to put her under any pressure. Perhaps, he thinks, gazing at the carrots, he should just stick with what he’s already got and be grateful. After all, it’s much more than he ever thought he’d have.
—
When Carmen stumbles into the kitchen in the early morning Peggy is at the table, sipping a cup of tea. She lifts a delicate hand. “Sit.”
“Okay.” Carmen nervously slides into the nearest chair.
“I’m afraid, my dear girl,” Peggy says, “the time has come for things to be faced.”
With a little sigh, Carmen closes her eyes and waits.
“I’m sorry, but you must leave,” Peggy says. “That ring holds your husband’s spirit and it clearly can’t be destroyed. You have to face what you’ve done. If you stay here and hide he’ll soon suck the life out of you.”
“But I can’t leave yet. I can’t, I don’t want—”
“I’m sorry, sweet girl, I really am.” Peggy takes Carmen’s hand, which is trembling and cold. “But his spirit is getting stronger. The house can’t contain it anymore. So you must. You must turn yourself in and face what you’ve done. You will get through it, I can promise you that. Have faith and you will be fine. And, when it’s all over, you’ll be much better than that. You’ll be free.”
“Faith?” Carmen whispers. “You can give me no more help than this?”
“You must trust me,” Peggy says. “It’s the only way to be rid of his spirit. As long as you run, he will chase you. He’ll feed on your fear and, eventually, it will kill you.”
Carmen closes her eyes. She can’t fight this. Staying at Hope Street has been a gift; the old woman could throw her out of the house right now if she wanted to. But the thought of faith, of putting her trust in the God she believes abandoned her is rather more than she’s ready and able to do.
“How much longer I can stay?”
“I think we can hold him off for another seven days,” Peggy says. “Until you’ve sung your song, my dear. And then you must go.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Later that evening Carmen tries to focus on the piano and the new verse Alba has given her, but her mind keeps returning to two things: the fact that she has to leave the house, and to Greer. Greer has barricaded herself in her bedroom, ignoring the notes Carmen slips under her door. No matter what Carmen writes, Greer isn’t listening. Which is a shame. But she understands. Surprisingly, the thought of leaving the house fills her not just with terror but also with a sense of calm determination, determination to