In Her Shadow by Louise Douglas Read Free Book Online Page A

occasionally dipped a little. Her feet were tucked under the piano stool. She wasn’t using the pedals.
    I hadn’t known Ellen could play the piano, let alone that she could play so well and so beautifully, as if it were something she had been born to do. Why had she kept this part of her life from me? Why wasn’t I allowed to share it? I wanted to knock on the window and interrupt her, so that she would be forced to let me into her world, but then I realized I was enjoying watching her secretly. It gave me a kind of power over her.
    It was only when she had finished, when the piece trickled delicately to its end, that I noticed Ellen’s parents were also in the room. Her mother was lying on the chaise longue. She was covered by a cashmere throw; just one deformed ankle, one narrow foot with lumpy joints, the white growths stretching the skin, was visible on the pale velvet. Her hair was loose and messy and she too had her back to the window. Beside her, on the floor, was an almost-empty wine bottle and a long-stemmed glass lying on its side.
    As Ellen slowly turned on the piano stool, as if she were in a dream, her father raised himself from the chair where he had been sitting, went over to Ellen, and leaned down to kiss her. He held his daughter so tenderly, his hands on hershoulders and his hair falling over his face, and the two of them seemed to be caught in a moment of exquisite intimacy. It was perfect, Mr Brecht looking down at Ellen, she looking back up at him, and smoke from the cigarette pincered between the first two fingers of his left hand curling elegantly around them, wreathing them in a delicate mist.
    I felt a pang of loneliness in my heart.
    I wanted Mr Brecht to hold me like that.
    I wanted to be part of that perfect family so closely bound by their private music. I had thought they included me in everything, but I had not known about this, and if I did not know about this, what else was there? What other secrets?
    ‘Play that piece again, Ellen,’ Mr Brecht said, ‘for your mother.’
    Ellen gave a little smile and a nod. She turned back to the piano, and Mr Brecht stood beside her as the music started up again, just a few notes to begin with, trickling over one another brightly like water running over stone.
    A few days later, during our school break-time, I asked Ellen outright if she could play any instruments. I expected her to lie, but she shrugged and said, ‘Yeah. Piano.’
    ‘How long have you been learning?’ I asked.
    Ellen frowned. ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she said.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘I just don’t, OK?’ She narrowed her eyes and looked at me with an intensity that was a warning to me not to pursue the subject.
    ‘I don’t see why it has to be such a big secret,’ I said. ‘It’s only a stupid piano.’
    ‘Shut up!’ Ellen hissed. She pushed me, hard, in the chest, so that I stumbled backwards and nearly fell over. ‘Shut up, Hannah, you’re so stupid. You don’t know anything!’
    We didn’t speak to one another for the rest of the day. Ellen was furious with me and I couldn’t work out what I had done wrong.

CHAPTER NINE
    BY THE TIME John dropped me back at the flat after our meal, the soporific effect of the alcohol was kicking in and I was tired. I made some lemon and ginger tea and took the mug, and Lily, into the living room. The red light on the answering machine was winking at me and the display informed me I had three messages. I pressed the button. Rina had called to see how I was, and there was a confused message from my mother, who obstinately refused to grasp the concept of talking to a machine. I felt a pang of guilt at having missed her, deleted the message and moved on to the third one. A woman’s voice said, ‘ Hannah, it’s me … ’
    Was it Ellen? I stepped away from the telephone with my hands over my mouth and my heart pumping. The cat, alarmed, fled the room. Time seemed to stand still. Panicky thoughts careered through my brain,