The Illusions by Liz Hyder

Author:Liz Hyder [Hyder, Liz]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781786581884
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

‘Here we are,’ Eadie says, smoothing her emerald-green dress down as she and Louis arrive at the Perrises’ home on St Michael’s Hill.

It’s the night of Harry’s long-promised dinner party and Eadie glances up at the large Georgian townhouse before lifting the unusual door knocker, shaped like a key.

Harry answers, a grin of delight, as she welcomes them in.

It’s a wildly appealing place inside, full of nonsense and clutter. Wherever Eadie looks, there are more delights to take in: the head of a velvet ‘unicorn’ mounted in the hallway as if it were a stag; a ‘phoenix’ feather framed in a box; carpets from the Far East; and throws from Persia. Blankets and scarves, throws and rugs, a clash of colours and patterns, all old and faded, lived with and loved. And there are books everywhere: shelves crammed to overflowing, stacks on little tables next to comfy armchairs. It is chaotic and delightful in equal measure, and Eadie loves it.

Louis follows Harry through to the dining room as Eadie trails behind George, peering in at the sitting room on her left and glancing up at the stairs on her right. To her astonishment, a black cat appears in the hallway, having apparently walked through a solid wall.

‘I see you’ve met Ambrose.’ George smiles as the cat winds itself around her legs, purring.

Eadie drops to her knee and examines the wall. A small hole, just big enough for a cat, carefully concealed by trompe l’oeil. She puts her hand through, smiling as she realises the trick.

‘My grandfather’s little jest.’ George grins. ‘Good, isn’t it? I was fascinated by it as a boy. He used to create things like that all the time to entertain us when we came in the summers. We always loved it here, so when we inherited it, it seemed obvious we should move here. Bristol’s such an exciting city, after all.’

George smiles at her and Eadie feels, for the first time, as if she’s beginning to truly understand him.

She’d attended The Professor’s funeral partly on impulse and partly out of curiosity, but George’s eulogy had given her a new insight into him. That vulnerable boy she sometimes catches a glimpse of in his eyes. The loss of his mother that he still feels so deeply, just as Eadie feels the loss of her own Papa. Perhaps, Eadie thinks, remembering what Chaplin had said, she and George really are more alike than she might care to admit.

They go into the dining room, a large light space full of an eclectic assortment of furniture: a mishmash of styles with chairs that don’t match, a dresser painted Moroccan blue, and a kilim that looks worse for wear.

‘Sorry about the mess,’ Harry apologises as they all find a seat around the table. ‘I’m afraid neither of us are particularly tidy, and we’re still working out where everything lives.’

‘It’s lovely,’ says Eadie, truthfully.

‘Our grandparents travelled a lot,’ George explains. ‘Brought back all sorts of souvenirs. Old necklaces, mirrors, rugs. They once brought back some shrivelled dates, asked if we wanted to try them .

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