‘How stupid, how weak you’ve been, Willa Robinson. You’ve allowed her to rape your mind over and over again.’
Time, something about time makes her body want to rock. Time has passed so swiftly, decades gone in a blink. She’s wasted so much of it already, she’ll never get it back, and there is not enough time, never enough. Even though … there is.
She suddenly remembers the market, and groans. She must get back.
The five-minute walk seems like fifteen. A film star strolls through the crowd unrecognized, in large sunglasses and a floppy hat. Hundreds descend on the club Dingwalls, for jazz at lunchtime. The market is relaxed and friendly at peak trading time and the only real worries are theft and rats. A large black one runs by Rafe’s feet now, as he stands near her stall, anxiously looking for her.
‘Where’ve you been? I bought you a sandwich.’
‘We never talk about our freedom any more,’ she says. ‘Why don’t we talk about it?’
Rafe frowns, glancing down at the sandwich in his hand and then back up at her. ‘You want to talk about this now?’
‘Yes. Right now.’
‘Complacency? Shamefully. Because sometimes the act of getting on is all we can do. What’s up with you?’
‘I can’t believe Jonesy’s been dead for twenty-four years.’
‘Willa. Hey. What’s wrong?’
She is too humiliated to tell him the truth. Too ashamed to tell him, as they stand amongst hundreds of people, that she isn’t strong enough to refuse the haunting notes Clovis plays to lure her. Too embarrassed to admit that she is addicted to the deep, calm place she inhabits when she gives over to the hypnotism. No matter how desperately alone she feels, or how much she would like to change, she cannot.
‘Just missing Jonesy,’ she says.
‘Come on, let’s go for a walk. Your stall’s raking it in today. They want what you’ve got.’
Pink and chartreuse light from the budding trees wavers in the gloaming of the spring evening. Rafe leads the way to the dead canal spur. They stop across the street from Lawless House. The corner pub and the zoo invade their memories. Willa looks at the new gate of Lawless House, from where Clovis had dragged the nine-year-old to the carriage. Rafe recalls that if not for Willa’s kind face that day, and her attempts to soothe his distress, he might have run away into the Limehouse night.
‘Do you know who lives there now?’ she asks.
‘No. I don’t come often. The shutters are always closed. The street is fiercely private. I came by one night hoping the lights would be on and the windows bare, but … I should stop coming here. I wish I knew where they’re buried.’
‘Are you still painting them?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Don’t you ever want to paint anything else?’
‘No. My new tutor … he’s a portrait artist and he’s been painting the same people for years.’
‘I didn’t mean anything was wrong with it.’
‘I know.’
The parrots, screeching from inside the zoo, fill the silence between them.
‘I have something I want to tell you, Willa. You seem so down, and I think it may help. But you can’t let it slip. Clovis can’t know.’
‘Then maybe you shouldn’t tell me. I try not to tell her anything … She gets stronger you know. She studies all the time. She’s reading psychology now. And she practises some kind of hypnotherapy. None of it ever worked on you or Finn – it makes me feel stupid.’
‘You’re not stupid. You should study, too. Learn how to beat her.’
‘It would take years to catch up with her.’
‘We have years.’
A small bit of laughter finds its way out of her.
‘Are you still … seeing people?’ he asks.
‘Do you mean, am I still having one-night stands with men I don’t know?’
‘Well, yes, if you put it that way. Are you being careful?’
‘Of course.’
‘Seriously, Willa. You forget that you still look seventeen …’
‘I’m careful.’
‘Listen. If you ever meet someone, someone that you, well, like a partner – I can help.’
‘Right. I’m really not in the mood.’
‘I’m serious. I still get fevers.’
Willa searches his face. He is serious.
‘I’ve been collecting my sweat.’
‘You what? Collecting it? What do you do with it?’
‘I collect it in sample jars. Mockett’s tricks. I store it. Room temperature, refrigerated and frozen.’
‘Oh my God. Does anyone else know?’
‘No, of course not. Ironically, Clovis gave me the idea. She told me that all the testing and experiments to replicate my sweat are for my benefit – so that I can have a partner. She’s insane. I can’t believe she’s my mother.’
She’s not. If he’s ever allowed to know the truth, Willa hopes he’ll forgive her for not telling him. She’s bursting to explain how Clovis threatened her, and how heavy this burden has been. She lets out a long sigh.
‘I thought it might cheer you up, not make you sad,’ he says.
‘I’m thinking about Jonesy. And how the law has finally changed, and now, with your help, he could have had a partner. That’s all he ever really wanted. But what about you?’
‘Well, since you refused me I haven’t been tempted.’
‘Don’t do that. I was your nanny for Christ’s sake. Let’s get back. The parrots are driving me mad.’
They walk to the corner and circumvent the growing crowd outside the pub.
‘What if I were to choose the wrong man?’ she asks. ‘What if after a decade, or five, he turns nasty or can’t handle the condition. Then what would I do?’
They look at each other.
‘Overdose,’ they say together.
‘Just joking.’
‘Yeah, me too.’
They turn the corner onto Park Street and then cross the street. They speak of the fireworks that will light up the market tonight, and the dragon attached to a canal boat that spits out fire and illuminates the canal’s dark water. How Jonesy would have loved it.
On the other side of Park Street, the sisters Fitzgerald alight from a taxi, a few steps from the Indian restaurant, where they stop for a takeaway. An afternoon searching the galleries for Rafe’s paintings has left them famished. They
