The Wrong Envelope by Liz Treacher

Author:Liz Treacher
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Liz Treacher
Published: 2018-04-17T07:02:58+00:00

Bed Rest

Once home, Evie quietly let herself in the back door. There was no one in the kitchen. The curtain had been pulled across to keep the afternoon sun off and the room felt cool. A fly buzzed around the shelves, seeking out the light dancing through a gap in the curtains. On the table, another fly buzzed around a vase of roses from the garden. She had picked them yesterday, was it only yesterday? She found an old shopping list and wrote on the clean side of it: Feeling unwell so gone to bed. See you tomorrow. Evie. She propped it against the roses and crept silently upstairs.

In the safety of her room, she lay on her bed and reviewed the dreadful events of the afternoon. How could she have done it? She shut her eyes, but words swam before her so she quickly opened them again. What was she thinking of? How could she have been so conniving? She had broken the fundamental rule of her profession. If it were discovered that she had intercepted the mail, she would lose her position, or worse. Bernard was right – she was a criminal. She had acted very rashly, without thinking, without considering anything else but her own pain. He had discarded her, cast her off, thrown her away, and her reaction had been to become as impulsive and volatile as he was. Was she turning into him? Would she start painting next?

She ran her hand over her bob, smiling ruefully as she remembered Bernard’s look of dismay. She sat up and peered into the mirror on her chest of drawers. She was surprised by the look, but not shocked; it wasn’t that bad. Her parents would hate it, but Cassie would like it. Dear, dear Cassie. Cassie had guessed, right from the start. She had tried to warn her parents about Bernard and she had tried to warn her. Why hadn’t she listened? Anyway, if she had hoped to literally cut Bernard out of her life, it hadn’t worked. Her neck felt cool and free, but her heart was full of hard, cold, boulders. Of course she would get over him; it was just a matter of time. She just had to remind herself of his letter of rejection, his condescending Dearest – and the rest. She lay back in the dark room, turning it all over in her mind until, exhausted from the day’s events, she fell asleep.

Evie was almost never ill. Worried by her note, Mrs Brunton decided to put her head around her daughter’s door and check everything was all right. She was met by a scene of carnage. Evie’s uniform lay on the floor, screwed up handkerchiefs lay all over the eiderdown, and there, in the middle of it all, lay Evie – a shorn sheep. Mrs Brunton stood at the door, immobilised by the horror of it all. Mr Brunton noticed and joined her.

‘Bernard,’ he said after he had looked in, surveyed the scene and quietly closed the door again.

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