Chapter 1Eve—August 2015Eve didn’t want to turn around because then she would see it. The monster. Of course, she’d laid eyes on it before, many times over the years, but there were some things you never got used to, some horrors you would do anything to avoid. It was a child’s nightmare—yet here was Eve, twenty-seven years old today, and the monster was still chasing her. It didn’t come every day, not anymore, but it never missed a birthday.
Eve kept her head down as she hurried towards the escalator that led to the Underground. She caught the train just as it pulled away from the platform, and for a moment she hoped she might have lost it in the crowds. But then she looked up and there it was on the seat opposite, the monster that was shaped like a rabbit. A rabbit, of course, had no business being there in the middle of the London Underground, especially not a rabbit like that. It was white and fluffy, with a splodge of black over one eye. It should have been terrified of all the noise and commotion. It should have been running around in circles, trying to hide, trying to find a way out. Yet it just sat there on the seat, perfectly calm, staring at Eve with warm, friendly eyes as she trembled.
The train jolted and rattled its way to her stop, and she tried not to look at the monster, or to dwell on the fact that no one else in the crowded carriage was aware of the creature at all. Finally, the train reached her platform and she got off, but the rabbit followed. It always followed. Every time she glanced back, there it was, hopping and bouncing happily in her wake, right onto the escalator.
Eve dug her nails into her palms. Eventually, she knew, the rabbit would go away. The trick was to keep her eyes locked ahead until it did, to stay busy, to continue as normal. She walked briskly along the pavement, trying not to look at the long-eared shadow nearby. Her hands were still shaking as she slipped her earphones in and began playing a piece of music by her favourite composer. Max Everly had lived and died many decades before she was born, but there was something about his music that Eve always found comforting, even on her most difficult days. She’d discovered Everly at nineteen, and on those occasions when despair and shame threatened to reach out their claws and drag her back down into the pit, Everly’s music was a fierce flame that pushed away the shadows and the sorrows.
She did her best now to focus on the music as she walked to Stanley’s auction house. It was sunny, just like it had been all those years ago. Eve always hoped for rain on her birthday, but the August date meant that rarely happened. For a moment, she could see the bounce and sway of balloons, and smell the sausage rolls and strawberry jelly. When she reached the auction house, she paused outside to take a deep breath and try to still the tremor in her hands. Perhaps she should have taken leave, like last year, but she also couldn’t stand the idea of another day sitting in her flat by herself with her rabbits and ghosts. . . .
When she put her earphones back in her bag, she noticed that the rabbit had gone—for now, at least. Once inside the auction house, she could throw herself into her role as a valuer—work that she enjoyed—and there would be some structure to her day. She was planning to spend the entire morning cataloguing a collection of paintings that had just come in and then writing up valuation reports for the client. They would be quiet, methodical tasks. Exactly what she needed.
She made a start as soon as she reached her office, glad of the air-conditioning. It was far too hot to be wearing a black turtleneck, but it was what she always wore. It was simpler that way. Less chance of a stray tentacle wandering onto her neck and causing any consternation or alarm to anyone who might see it. Less chance of any ink raising questions. Besides, it was irritating to be screamed at. Life was much easier when she wore black and kept people at a distance.
She worked diligently and without interruption until eleven o’clock. It was a relief to look up and see the time. A couple of hours down, and she’d hardly noticed them. Perhaps the day wouldn’t be quite so bad as she feared. Perhaps she could get through it mostly unscathed. . . .
But then her mobile rang, and her heart juddered painfully. This was the worst part of the day, and she briefly considered letting it go to answerphone. How she longed to do just that, to pretend she’d been busy in a meeting, or on the other line, but if her mother had the courage to make the call, then Eve must have the courage to answer it. She’d been crouched on the floor beside a painting, but now she stood up, swiped her thumb across the screen, and raised the phone to her ear. “Hello.”
She couldn’t make her voice sound normal, no matter how hard she tried. It came out as a dry croak, like she was hungover or half asleep.
“Eve. It’s Mum.”
“I know. Hi.” She swallowed hard, tried to force some normality into her voice. “How are you?”
She regretted her words instantly. For a moment, there was utter silence on the other end of the line. Eve wondered if her mother might simply hang up, but instead she cleared her throat and said, “I just called to say happy birthday.”
Eve slipped her free hand into her pocket, her fingers searching for the fumsup. She was reassured by the feel of its lumpy wooden head beneath her fingers and the way it helped ground her in the moment. She was right here, at work. She wasn’t back there. At the party. Her eye fell on the window, and she saw a balloon go floating past—impossibly purple. Perhaps the most purple thing she had ever laid eyes on. A child must have let go of it on the pavement outside, she told herself. That’s all it was.
“Eve?” Her mum’s voice came over the line. “Are you still there?”
“I’m here.” The words made a hot flush of guilt prickle over her skin.
She was here. Her sister, Bella, was not. She desperately searched her mind for something, anything, to say to her mum but couldn’t think of a single sentence that wouldn’t make it all worse. The fact was that they hardly knew each other anymore. Eve spoke to her mother perhaps twice a year. It was impossible, at times like this, not to think of how things might have been different between them, how everything might have been different if it weren’t for that single moment twenty-three years ago. One mistake that had changed everything and left their family in shreds.
“Well, I won’t take up any more of your time,” her mum said. “I’m sure you’re very busy. Take care.”
“Bye, Mum,” Eve rasped.
But the call had already ended. She dropped the phone and the fumsup onto her desk. She was too hot again, and since there was no one else there, she took the risk of rolling her sleeves to her elbows and went to the window. The glass was cold as she rested her clammy forehead against it. Then she saw the black cab draw up to the curb.
The passenger door opened, and an elderly man struggled out, leaning heavily on his cane. He was smartly dressed, in a charcoal-coloured herringbone suit and fedora hat. The clothes were old-fashioned, but he looked as if he had taken pains to dress in his best. She wondered who he was going to meet and what for. A happy occasion, she hoped.
He stood, wobbling slightly on the pavement, and the taxi drove away as he headed towards the auction house. There were only a few steps up to the front door, but Eve could see how difficult they were for him, and how he stopped to catch his breath after each one. She wished someone would offer to help, but people didn’t really help people they didn’t know, did they? Eve wouldn’t have offered if she’d been down there—because, after all, perhaps the man could manage perfectly well, and such an offer would be patronizing and offensive to him. Besides which, people like Eve didn’t help old people up steps. Bella probably would have helped, Eve supposed. If she’d been alive.
Everyone loves Bella, she could hear nonexistent friends saying.
She’s so bubbly, so vivacious, so lovely.All things that Eve was not. Soon enough, the old man had disappeared through the revolving doors, and Eve returned to her paintings.
A short while later, there was a knock and her secretary, James, looked into the office as Eve hastily yanked her sleeves back down to her wrists.
“Hi. Sorry to interrupt, I know you’re busy, but there’s a man here to see you.”
Eve was surprised. “I don’t have any appointments today.”
“That’s what I told him, but he’s . . . well, he’s really insistent. He’s brought something in to be valued and he says he’ll only speak to you.”
Eve frowned. “What’s his name?”
“Max Everly.”
Copyright © 2025 by Alexandra Bell. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
