The Girl in the Mirror. Cathy Glass

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СКАЧАТЬ at the car, pressed to lock it. Mandy looked around. There were no other cars on the sweeping carriage driveway, and the double garage – a separate building to the left of the house – had its doors closed. None of the rooms at the front of the house had their windows open and the whole house looked shut up and empty.

      ‘There must be someone in,’ her father said, echoing her thoughts. ‘Grandpa’s here and we’re expected.’

      She walked beside her father as they crossed the drive to the stone arched porch. Mounted on the wall to the right of the porch was a black-on-white sign announcing ‘Tradesmen’, with an arrow pointing to the side of the house. Mandy didn’t remember the sign but knew her aunt had insisted the butcher, housekeeper, gardener, newspaper boy, plumber and electrician used the side entrance, while friends and those arriving in big cars used the front door. She also remembered this had seemed strange to her as a child. At her house everyone used the front door, including those delivering goods and reading the gas and electric meters; the side gate was only used to take out the garbage.

      ‘Shall we let ourselves in the tradesmen’s entrance?’ her father asked, taking a step out of the porch and looking up at the front. ‘I don’t want to press the bell and disturb Grandpa if he’s sleeping.’

      ‘The gate is kept locked and the bell is even louder than this one. So they can hear it from the kitchen and laundry room.’ Her father looked at her, mildly surprised she’d remembered this detail. She shrugged and hid her discomfort.

      Mandy didn’t know how she knew about the bell; her reaction had been instinctive, as though she’d absorbed the information from being part of her aunt’s family during all the times she’d stayed as a child. And while she still couldn’t remember visiting the house as such, nor had the least idea what the rooms would look like once they were inside, she found she knew that breakfast and lunch were taken in the morning room and supper in the dining room, and that Wednesday was the housekeeper’s day off. Perhaps she’d remembered this because it was all so very different from her own family’s modest home and routine, she thought.

      Her father pressed the bell and almost immediately the door opened. For a moment Mandy thought the dark-haired woman standing before them was her aunt, until she saw the apron.

      ‘Good morning. Please come in,’ the housekeeper said, clearly expecting them. ‘Mrs Osborne is busy with her father.’ She smiled warmly and stood aside to let them in.

      Although Mandy couldn’t have described the housekeeper from when she’d visited as a child, she felt sure this wasn’t the same woman, but they clearly used the same polish. The faint but distinctive smell of beeswax drifted into the hall from the dining room, and Mandy instinctively knew that the dining table needed a lot of polishing.

      ‘Please come through to the sitting room,’ the housekeeper said, leading the way along the wooden panelled hall, which seemed vaguely familiar.

      Mandy felt the same vague familiarity as she entered the sitting room, while not actually recalling ever being in the room. She looked at the off-white sofa and matching armchairs, the light beige carpet, curtains and soft furnishings, and wondered if she and Sarah hadn’t been allowed in this room as children, which could explain her lack of recall.

      ‘Sit down and make yourselves comfortable,’ the housekeeper said, waving towards the armchairs and sofa. ‘I’m Mrs Saunders. Mrs Osborne will be with you shortly. Can I get you coffee?’

      ‘Yes please,’ Mandy said, and her father nodded.

      ‘That’s not the same housekeeper who was here when I used to stay, is it?’ Mandy asked her father as soon as the door closed behind her.

      ‘No. That was Mrs Pryce. She left –’ He stopped as though he had been about to say something but had thought better of it. ‘This one is new.’

      They sat for a while, both gazing out of the French windows and on to the upper terraces. Although it was only March the gardener had clearly been busy. Brightly coloured spring blooms dotted the terracotta pots on the patio and the neatly tended flower beds beyond. Instinctively Mandy knew that further down the gardens, out of sight on the lower lawns, there used to be swings, which Sarah and she had played on as children.

      The room was quiet, save for the ticking of the brass pendulum clock mounted in the alcove by the fireplace. Indeed, the whole house seemed quiet; unnaturally so, Mandy thought. It was a sharp contrast to her studio flat where the comings and goings of the other occupants meant there was always noise of some sort.

      ‘I don’t know why we have to wait here,’ her father grumbled after a moment. ‘I’ve come to see my father, not drink coffee.’

      ‘The housekeeper said Evelyn was busy with Grandpa,’ Mandy soothed. ‘I’m sure she won’t be long.’

      He harrumphed. Mandy could feel his tension and knew that unless he changed his attitude he was going to start off on the wrong foot when he met his sister again after all these years.

      ‘Has this room changed much?’ she asked shortly, still unable to place it and trying to cut the silence with conversation.

      ‘I don’t know,’ he said quickly. He looked away, deflecting further questions.

      They sat in silence again, gazing out of the window, until a knock sounded on the door and the housekeeper returned carrying a large silver tray with coffee, and biscuits arranged on a white porcelain plate.

      ‘Help yourselves,’ she said, placing the tray on the coffee table between them.

      ‘Thank you,’ Mandy said, grateful for the biscuits, having not had breakfast. Her father nodded.

      ‘You’re welcome. Mrs Osborne is on her way.’ She smiled and left the room, closing the door behind her.

      Mandy put sugar in one cup and passed it to her father and then picked up the other cup and took a sip. It felt very odd sitting here drinking coffee with the sense that it was all familiar while not actually recalling it – like watching someone’s home movie. You saw the intimacy of their lives but weren’t part of it. The sitting-room door opened again and Evelyn came in. Mandy knew immediately it was her aunt: a smaller, female, and slightly younger version of her father. Her father stood as she entered and put down his cup. There was a moment’s hesitation before Evelyn came over and they air-kissed. ‘Hello, Ray,’ she said, and then, turning to Mandy: ‘Good to see you again, love, though it’s a pity it’s in such sad circumstances.’

      Mandy felt another stab of familiarity as she stood to kiss her aunt. Evelyn had always called her Mandy, as her friends and work colleagues did, while her parents still used her full name: Amanda.

      ‘How’s Dad?’ her father asked.

      Evelyn took a step back and Mandy saw the anxiety in her face. ‘Very poorly. Sit down while I explain what has happened. You need to know before you see him.’

      Mandy thought he was going to protest at being kept longer from his father, but he clearly thought better of it. He returned to the armchair while Evelyn sat on the sofa beside her. Drawing her hand anxiously across her forehead, she looked from Mandy to her brother, her face sad and serious.

      ‘Dad is very old,’ she began slowly, ‘and his heart is weak. He was lucky to recover from the stroke last year, but it has taken its toll. His body is slowly closing down. As you know he was admitted to hospital two weeks ago with a chest infection. They put him on intravenous СКАЧАТЬ