The Rabbit Girls(64)

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Me too, have to rely on public transport.’ She makes a face.

Miriam smiles and picks up the phone to book a taxi.

The taxi driver drops them off by the Wall. There are people walking arm in arm, but Miriam doesn’t see a way to the church. Paying the driver, they follow a couple and find a whole panel of wall removed.

Miriam’s steps are cautious and slow.

‘Are you okay?’ Eva has flushed cheeks from the cold and her fingers are red-rimmed and glow. She rubs at them as if rubbing in an ointment.

‘Had a run-in with Axel yesterday, and I’m a bit sore, that’s all, I’ll be fine. Let’s keep moving, it’s cold.’

Miriam and then Eva duck under the loose metal bars that keep the rest of the Wall standing and find themselves on the death strip.

‘This is eerie,’ Miriam says to Eva by her side.

‘You know, I dreamed about walking through the death strip every night after this wall was built. I hate walls, doors, anything that will keep me in,’ Eva says.

Miriam looks at Eva as they step through the sand, once immaculate, now full of footsteps.

She works out the tangle of thoughts in her head to try and create some words.

‘In another life, I’d live by the sea: all that space,’ Eva says. ‘Over the Wall, there is no space, every day you are looking over your shoulder; waiting . . .’ She leaves the sentence in a knot as Miriam checks her watch in the bright light overhead.

‘I used to come here with Dad,’ she says, pointing to the tower. ‘We are early, let’s go up.’

Inside, the spiral stone staircase leads up to the bell tower. Their shoes on the cobbled steps vibrate through the air, water drips from somewhere and the windows that had looked out on the river are all boarded up.

‘It is very dark. Watch your step.’

The nape of Miriam’s neck tingles, hearing her own voice refracted around her.

‘Stairs are a bitch to old hips.’

Miriam smiles briefly. ‘It’s worth it . . . come on,’ she says, and even to her own ears she sounds flat.

They reach the railings which overlook the river, there are empty beer bottles on the floor and cigarette ends everywhere. The frost in the air stills the water and both sky and water merge into darkness.

She stands in the silence and looks at Eva, who is crying.

‘Are you okay?’

‘What you said earlier, it’s hurting me so deeply.’ She clenches a fist to her stomach.

‘What is?’ Unsure what to say, she turns back to the view.

‘You’ve left Axel, yes?’

Miriam nods.

‘So why not divorce him? So he cannot say or do again what he is doing. He is breaking you, even though you have left.’

And although her thoughts jolt at Eva’s words, her focus is on the drop.

Will it feel like flying if I fall?

‘I can’t,’ she says dreamily.

Will the wind whip or kiss my skin?

Eva says something, but the words sound tinny and lost. A pinprick of words from a distance.

The absence of anything other than that moment.

Flying, falling.

The end.

Miriam leans forward, pushes her weight through her hands.

‘Miriam!’ Eva’s voice brings her back to her feet, her hands loosen and she looks at Eva, who trembles and grips the handrail until her knuckles show white.

Miriam suddenly sees the incredible drop below her feet. Looking down makes her take a step back, away from Eva.

Away from the edge.

Miriam shakes her head and turns to the inner sanctuary where the bell used to be but is no more. Her eyes sting and she feels disorientated. She looks past Eva to the white slip of moon.

‘Are you a man or mouse?’ Eva asks.

‘I’m neither,’ Miriam says cautiously.

‘Exactly, you are a woman,’ Eva says. ‘And God only knows there is nothing stronger than a woman. You are acting like a coward, like a man, and you run and hide away like a little’ – her fore and middle fingers walk through the air, the moon allowing her hands to shadow their image – ‘mouse,’ she says.

‘You have freedom,’ Eva continues, pronouncing the free so that it elongates like smoke into the air. ‘Axel will never give up and you’ll lose your fight and go back.’ Eva turns around to go down the stairs.

‘No. I did stand up to him, at the hospital, he hurt me and I even spoke to the police.’

‘The police . . .’ Eva tuts loudly in the confined space, it sounds like a penny rebounding off the walls.

‘What else can I do?’

‘You can divorce him, or he will keep playing with you till you stop running.’

‘I’m doing my best here,’ Miriam says. ‘It’s not easy and to be frank I’d rather just die after Dad than deal with any of this.’

‘You want someone to fix your problems, but not to deal with them yourself. You left him – that is a woman – but you will go back.’

‘No. No I won’t.’

‘You will until you take control.’

‘How? How are you the expert?’ Miriam asks.

A pause grows and the drips in the tower become amplified.

Eva continues on the same thread. ‘You think like him, you are used, abused, but he has left something in here . . .’ She points at Miriam’s head ‘. . . and you forget what thinking from here is.’ She jabs Miriam in the sternum. ‘I cannot . . . I cannot watch you do this to yourself. No more. I’m sorry, Miriam, I will return the letters I haven’t translated. I can’t watch this happen again.’