The House at the End of Hope Street Read online

  There’s a sharp knock on her bedroom door and before Greer can sit up or say anything, the door opens and Peggy shuffles in with a cup of hot chocolate.

  “You missed a beautiful show,” Peggy says. “Carmen was quite breathtaking. You really should have come.”

  Greer scowls. “I was asleep.”

  “No you weren’t, dear,” Peggy says. “I’ve brought you a drink.”

  “I don’t want one, thank you.” Greer knows she sounds a little rude but doesn’t really care. It’s ten o’clock and she could have sworn her door was locked.

  “It’s topped with cream and laced with liberal amounts of rum. I’ve just had one myself, it was quite delicious. Anyway, I hope you don’t mind the interruption, dear.” She eases herself onto the bed next to Greer. “But I didn’t imagine you were doing anything productive.”

  “Well, I…” Greer takes the cup Peggy places in her hands.

  “Exactly.” Peggy smiles. “I know what you’re up to and I’ve come to tell you not to do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Now don’t play dumb with me, young lady.” Peggy raises an eyebrow. “The house is heaping gifts of inspiration upon you and you’re stubbornly and stupidly ignoring every last one.”

  “That’s a little unfair.” Greer frowns. “I’m being realistic.”

  “Oh, tosh!” Peggy snaps.

  “Well, hold on now.” Greer sits up straighter, abandoning the hot chocolate to her bedside table. “That’s a little harsh—”

  “Not at all,” Peggy retorts. Every now and then she has to get a little tough with a particularly stubborn resident, one who won’t pay attention to the more subtle signs, and in all honesty she rather relishes it. “If it’s right for you then it’s possible. You’re not eighty-two, you’re not even forty. You’ve plenty of time to live the life you want, without compromising anything.”

  Greer’s frown deepens. “Having a child is what I want, more than anything. I know I can be a wonderful mum, and it’ll make me happy—”

  “Yes, no doubt,” Peggy says, “for a time, at least. But when your child needs to learn about her own heart, what will you teach her? To give up one herself, to sacrifice what she wants?”

  “No, I won’t, because she, or he, they won’t have to. I’ll tell them that.”

  “But she’ll have seen you do it,” Peggy says. “And children are sharp little buggers you know. You can’t simply say one thing and do another—”

  “Really?” Greer leans forward to regard the old lady more closely. “Is that true?”

  “Of course.” Peggy nods, shifting a little uneasily under Greer’s gaze. “And when she grows up and leaves you altogether, what will you be left with then? A mother who’s given up on herself is the worst sort of role model—”

  “Really?” Greer says again. She looks into Peggy’s eyes and, as her landlady glances away, Greer is greeted all of a sudden with a flash of insight. During all her days of recent self-reflection a sense of intuition has been growing more strongly inside her and now she sees something she can’t back up with evidence or reason but something she knows, quite clearly, is true. “So you, the landlady of this marvelous house, the role model to all the women who live here, the mother-figure, essentially—”

  “Now, wait here,” Peggy protests, “this is not—”

  “Oh no, I rather think this is about you,” Greer interrupts. “You, as my… my surrogate mother are telling me not to give up on my life because that would be setting a bad example to my child. But then isn’t that exactly what you’ve done?”

  A flicker of sorrow passes over Peggy’s face. It’s gone in a second but Greer sees it and now she’s absolutely certain she’s right. She has no idea where this sudden ability to see into people’s souls has come from but she knows, unequivocally, that she can trust it.

  “You’re being a little hypocritical, then,” Greer says softly. “Don’t you think?”

  —

  A little drunk on celebration cocktails and euphoria, Carmen wanders through the streets of Cambridge. It’s a perfect night, cloudless and full of stars. The moon is full and the air is warm; it brushes Carmen’s face as though stroking her cheek. She doesn’t know what she’s going to do now and the terror of being adrift and alone, not allowed to return to Hope Street, is only slightly tempered by the lingering thrill of the show and the song.

  She stops for a moment to gaze up at the silhouette of King’s College, its turrets and towers lit by the moon, marble against the dark purple sky. How can the world be so beautiful, she wonders, but so painful, all at once? For another hour, with the ring still hot in her pocket, Carmen meanders along streets and through parks, just as she did before she found Hope Street, stopping sometimes to look at things she loves: the Bridge of Sighs, punts tied up along the river waiting for tomorrow’s tourists, the golden grasshopper clock, the chapel in Clare College… She memorizes each one, imprinting them in her mind like photographs so that she’ll never forget. And just after midnight, though Carmen never knew where it was, she finds herself crossing the park in front of the police station. She stands on the pavement, looking up once more at the moon. Her cheeks are wet. Not with tears of sadness, but relief. Carmen takes a deep breath.

  She releases one last, long note of song into the air, and then walks inside.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  It’s long past midnight when Alba unlocks the door. The house is so silent and still, that it’s almost as if it’s holding its breath. She takes off her coat and hangs it up, then slips off her shoes. The floor sinks softly under her feet, welcoming her home, the ceiling dips down and she glances up, blinking into the bright light of the chandelier that switched itself on as she walked up the garden path. On her way to the kitchen Alba is stopped by Joan Greenwood.

  “We’re all very proud of your progress,” she says, her husky voice sending a little shiver of delight through Alba. “I know you’ve only written a lovely little song, so far. But we all have a feeling that you’ll make quite a mark in literary history one day.”

  “You do?” Alba asks. “Well… thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Joan smiles. “It’s been a pleasure watching you.”

  Alba walks into the kitchen, glancing around for her aunt Stella. Her aunt. She has so many questions, so much she wants to know. Of course Stella is still nowhere to be seen, but this time Alba has decided she’s going to wait at the table and not move a muscle until Stella materializes. No matter how long it takes.

  Ten hours later, when Peggy shuffles into the kitchen the next morning, Alba is sitting in the same chair, gently snoring. Peggy coughs until Alba stirs. “Oh, sorry, I was just—”

  “Yes, pet,” Peggy says, “I know who you’re waiting for. But I’m afraid she’s gone.”

  “No.” Alba tries to contain a rush of panic. “She can’t, not now, I haven’t…”

  “I know, dear, but she has. I’m certain. I can feel it.”

  “But, no, she can’t… I thought she couldn’t leave, I thought she had to stay forever.”

  “She only had to stay until she was done.” Peggy flicks the kettle on.

  “Done with what?”

  “With you.”

  “But how could she leave, just like that?” Alba protests. “She didn’t say good-bye.”

  “I don’t think she knew,” Peggy says, taking a teacup from the cupboard above her head. “I don’t think she had any warning.”

  “But she… she was my aunt,” she says, the word still feeling strange on her tongue.

  “I know, I’m sorry,” Peggy says softly, wishing she at least had a better explanation. She pours water into her cup then carries it to the table and sits.

  “She was waiting for me,” Alba says. “Did you know that?”

  Peggy nods as she sips her tea. Alba watches as the
steam curls into the air in pale blue spirals, perhaps unsurprisingly, quite a different color from everyone else’s.

  “I still don’t understand, though,” Alba says. “How did she know I was coming? How did she know to wait for me?”

  “The dead understand all sorts of things we couldn’t possibly hope to,” Peggy explains. “They know everything that’s happened and most of what’s going to happen; time is rather different for them than it is for us.” With a twinge she remembers that this will be true for her soon, and she’s sorry for it. She’s not scared anymore, but she would have liked longer, she would have liked to say a proper good-bye to Harry. Seeing the look of longing on Alba’s face, Peggy suddenly knows that a letter isn’t enough. She has to go to him. She has to be with him for as long as she has left. Greer was right. To hell with the house. She’s given it sixty-one years of her life, nearly as many years as Queen Victoria gave to the British Empire. Surely that’s enough?

  “It’s more than enough!” Peggy exclaims suddenly.

  “Sorry?” Alba frowns. “What’s more than enough?”

  Peggy looks at Alba across the table, coming to her senses. “Oops, my apologies, that wasn’t, I was having another… What was I saying?”

  Alba frowns, a little concerned. There is a look of fierce determination in Peggy’s eyes that she’s never seen before, and it’s a little unnerving. “About the dead understanding,” Alba says. “But I don’t understand how I knew to come here.”

  “Oh, my dear, but didn’t you realize?” Peggy says. “It wasn’t a coincidence. You didn’t simply find yourself on the doorstep, you weren’t beckoned by the house, like everyone else. You came because Stella called you.”

  Alba is silent, because what can she say? She is loved. Really and truly loved.

  —

  Peggy is standing in front of her wardrobe, hurling clothes in the direction of a suitcase that lies open on her bed. Mog sits next to the suitcase, eyeing his mistress reproachfully.

  “There’s no use looking at me like that, kitty, I’m not changing my mind,” Peggy says, without turning around. “You can come with me, if you like, but I’m not staying. I don’t know how many days I have left, but I’m going to spend every single one of them with Harry.”

  Mog emits a little sneeze of disgust.

  “I’m not listening.” Peggy discards three skirts she hasn’t worn in twenty years, dropping them on top of the pile at her feet. She thinks of Alba and Stella. She’s already torn up her letter to Harry. Before rushing up to the tower, Peggy had told Alba one more thing, the last piece of family history Stella hadn’t had a chance to tell her niece. Just over forty years ago Elizabeth had come to Hope Street, the only woman to arrive on the doorstep who didn’t stay. Peggy had opened the door before Elizabeth had a chance to knock, startling her so that she stepped back, nearly falling into the flowers.

  “Nice to meet you, Beth.” Peggy had smiled, rather enjoying the woman’s shock. “She’s been waiting for you. It’s the door at the end of the corridor.” And with that, she disappeared up the stairs.

  Elizabeth stumbled along the corridor, staring at the photographs, just as her daughter would do forty years later. The ceiling came down to have a look at her, the chandelier flickered above her head. The floor softened under her feet and the pipes gently rattled in greeting. That morning Elizabeth had been shopping at the farmers’ market in Covent Garden, tasting chocolate brownies with spiced cherries, elderflower truffles and ginger biscuits. Just as she bit into a biscuit, Elizabeth had heard a song in the air, the words floating past her, the letters sparkling silver and gold—the lullaby her sister had sometimes sung to help her sleep. She had followed it. She found a train to Cambridge, walked through the city and arrived on the doorstep of the house at the end of Hope Street, without knowing what she was doing or why.

  When she reached the kitchen door, Elizabeth slowly opened it and peeked inside. There, sitting in the sink, was her sister. It was several moments before Elizabeth could speak. It wasn’t the shock of seeing a ghost that silenced her, since she had grown up seeing things that most people couldn’t. Her sister’s ghost was a different matter altogether. Elizabeth had always held out hope that one day she might meet Stella again. And here she was. Elizabeth walked slowly to the sink, wondering if perhaps her sister was a figment of her imagination, a desire so desperate it’d tricked her unpredictable mind. But when her sister smiled, she knew.

  “Oh, Ella,” she sighed, “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I know, sis, I’ve missed you too.”

  “I never stopped looking for you, around every corner, in every room…”

  “I know, my love. I’m sorry. I couldn’t stay. I wanted to be with you but I couldn’t risk it,” Stella said. “Somehow I thought that seeing ghosts wouldn’t have made you feel much saner.”

  “Yes.” Elizabeth smiled. “I know. But I’m on medication now. It’s not perfect but it’s better, I’m better, as long as I take it.” The last ten years seemed to disappear then, and she felt as though they’d never been apart. “I can’t believe you really are here, that I’m not imagining things.”

  Stella floated down from the sink to the table and sat cross-legged next to her sister. “I’m sorry, Beth, I’m so sorry I left you while I ran off round the country with—”

  “It’s okay, I survived.” Elizabeth smiled, though they both knew it had only been barely. “Are you okay—like this, I mean?”

  “Oh, I’m fine,” Stella said. “Apart from anything else, death does give you a rather beautiful perspective on life. So, tell me how on earth you ended up being engaged to that idiotic, self-centered philandering playboy known as cousin Charlie?”

  “Don’t say that,” Elizabeth protested. “He’s fine and I love him, at least I think—anyway, he wants to marry me, Ella, and we’ve… I wanted to wait, but Charlie said we should give it a go, so…”

  “Oh, that’s nothing, it doesn’t matter.” Stella laughed. “It doesn’t mean you have to get married.”

  “I know I don’t have to,” Elizabeth said. “I want to. Anyway, how did you know? He only asked me this morning. We haven’t told anyone yet.”

  “I’ve never left you, Beth, I’ve always been watching, just in case you needed me.”

  “Oh? And why do I need you now?” Elizabeth frowned. “I needed you when you died, when I was a kid, all alone in that house. Now I’m actually happy. Why have you waited until I’m happy?”

  “I couldn’t go to you,” Stella explained. “I had to call you to me. I couldn’t do that when you were a little girl. Goodness knows I wanted to.”

  “Well, I don’t need you now,” Elizabeth said. “I’m fine.”

  “Please, Beth, I know you think you love him, but you don’t, not really, he isn’t the love of your life—”

  “Stop it, Ella,” Elizabeth snapped. “Look, I’m really happy to see you again. But please don’t tell me I don’t know my own mind. I’ve had people doing that all my life. I thought at least you would respect me enough not to.”

  “Oh, Beth, I do. I don’t mean it like that. It’s just, I know more than you do about—”

  “You know what I want?”

  “No, that’s not…” But it was no good. Stella knew it. She’d called her sister here to stop her marrying Charlie, to save her years of heartbreak, but it was too late. The grand dames upstairs had attempted to explain what could be influenced and what couldn’t, and why. But she hadn’t understood it then and she didn’t understand it now. She wanted to save her sister.

  “You really love him?”

  “Yes.” Elizabeth nodded. “I do. I’m happy. For the first time in my life, I’m really happy. So don’t worry, it’ll all be okay.”

  “I hope so, Beth, I really do.” Stella looked at her sister’s innocent smile and only wished she could hug her, one more time
. “But just in case, I’ll always be here. Until the day you die. Okay? You can talk to me, wherever you are, and I’ll hear you. Don’t forget, all right? Promise me that.”

  “Don’t be silly; don’t talk about such morbid things. You should be happy for me.”

  Stella nodded. “Just promise me, please.”

  “Okay, I promise,” Elizabeth said. But she knew she didn’t have to worry, that nothing bad was going to happen. She would have a husband, she would have babies. Everything was going to be wonderful.

  —

  “I’m leaving.” Peggy stands in front of the door to the forbidden room. Mog is at his mistress’s side, twitching his tail in a rare moment of support and solidarity. She won him over with thirty minutes of tummy tickling. Peggy knocks on the door again. “I know you can hear me. I’m going to spend my last days with Harry. I gave up my life, everything I might have wanted… And now that I’m going to die, I’m going to do something for myself for once. So, if you want another martyr to run Hope Street, then you can find her on your own.”

  She turns back to the kitchen table and sits down to her waiting cup of tea, the last she’ll enjoy in her kitchen. Mog jumps up on her lap, pushing his face against her cheek—and the door finally swings open. Peggy is surprised, but her resolve is strong. The inhabitants of the forbidden room won’t sway her now.

  “That won’t work.” Peggy sips her tea. “It’s too late, I won’t change my mind. Frankly, I don’t know why you’d bother, I’m not much use to you for much longer—”

  “Stop sulking, you silly woman,” Virginia Woolf’s voice snaps through the air. “Before you flounce off in a huff, we’ve got something to tell you.”