The Surface Breaks(34)

Daisy is chatty, I notice, with seemingly no sense of propriety. She unpins my hair, ruffling it so that the red curls fan around my face, sighing the word beautiful under her breath.

“Ready?” she asks.


“Oliver, please.”

“I said no, Mother, and that is final.”

“Your father wouldn’t have wanted you to—”

“Don’t you dare talk about my father. Not after what you did to him.”

I hesitate at the door to the breakfast room when I hear the raised voices. Daisy is standing beside me, palms upturned, neither of us sure what to do.

“Oliver.” Eleanor’s voice is so clear that it pierces the thick wood. “Whatever you might think of me, this is important. This is your responsibility. The board has been patient, but they need to see that you’re invested in the future of the company. At this stage, they would settle for a sign that you’re merely interested.”

“And what of me, Mother?” Oliver asks. “Have I not suffered enough? Will you not allow me some peace?”

“Oh, Oli.” Her voice quietens. “I am sorry for what has happened; it was a tragedy, and you have seen too many tragedies in such a short life. But…”

I cannot hear what Eleanor is saying any more. “Come on,” Daisy whispers. “He seems to have calmed down. His flare-ups never last that long, thank god.” She pushes the double doors open into a round room made of glass, the floor divided into geometric shapes of green and white. Oliver and his mother are sitting at a small table, the white metal carved into whirling shapes, with dishes of blue print so fine that my sisters would gasp to see them.

“Come in, come in,” Oliver says, waving at me to join them, even though Eleanor is squinting at me in that strange manner of hers. Daisy touches the small of my back, nudging me forward. These shoes she insisted I wear make my feet feel as if they are covered in seeping blisters, the leather like acid soaking into each open pore. But I hold my head up high, swaying as if I am floating through water.

“She woke late,” Daisy says as I sit next to Oliver. “I tried to rouse her earlier, Mrs Carlisle, but dead to the world she was.”

“That’s fine, Daisy.” Eleanor takes a sip of a pale green-coloured drink. “I’m sure you did your best.”

“Oh, I did, I know you and Master Oliver like to have your breakfast at the same time every day, and I was sure you would want her to join you, but when I tried to—”

“We get it, Daisy,” Oliver says. “You tried to wake her. She was asleep. Anything else you would like to add?”

“No, sir.”

“Thank you, Daisy,” Eleanor says. “We appreciate your hard work. I know that you are performing your duties with the greatest of care. All of your duties.” Eleanor raises an eyebrow, Daisy nodding silently in return. “You may go now, dear.”

She flees out of the room. These humans have such strange ways of walking, there is no lightness to their movements, no elegance. Ghastly, my father would have said. It baffles me to think your mother was so enamoured with these specimens.

“You are so beautiful,” Oliver says, and then reddens as if he had been thinking aloud.

“You really are,” Eleanor agrees thoughtfully. “I don’t think I have ever seen a girl quite so perfect, not in real life anyway. It’s almost…”

“Almost what, Mother?” Oliver asks, jaw tightening. “If you have something to say, then say it.”

“I was just commenting on how lovely our new friend is. It’s nearly inexplicable how perfect her face is. Like a painting.” She gives a small laugh at that, as if she has said something amusing, although neither Oliver nor I get the joke.

“Oh, for god’s sake, Mother, would you ever—”

Oliver stops as a man-servant approaches the table, placing a bowl before me, steam rising off it. I peer at it – creamy white, a milky-sweet smell.

“I hope you like porridge,” Oliver says. “Or our chef can prepare kippers for you, if you wish. Or smoked salmon?” I put a hand over my mouth at the thought of putting a fish inside, chewing on it until it died in my throat. So it’s true; the humans do eat their remains. “Oh, dear,” he says in alarm. “Are you a vegetarian?” I do not understand. “Do you eat fish or meat?” he continues, and I shake my head. No. No.

“Interesting,” Eleanor says, and I don’t like the way she says it. “Well, porridge contains neither. Our doctors have advised that it is the healthiest option for breakfast to ensure a long life. How long do your people live for, my girl?”

“Her people? What kind of stupid question is that, Mother?”

“Do you take cream and sugar?” Eleanor continues, pretending she didn’t hear Oliver. She nods at the servant, who pours a thick white liquid over the porridge, sprinkling grains of brown crystal on top. I imitate Eleanor, lifting the spoon, and this porridge burns but it’s delicious, sweet and good. I take another spoonful and then another, until I notice that Oliver is watching me. I place the spoon down. Perhaps women are not permitted to be hungry in this kingdom either. I am quite satisfied, my sisters and I would say after two dainty bites at the dinner table. No more, thank you. It was important that we neither ate too much nor too little, and so we often went to bed still hungry, the denial of our appetites a sign of our goodness. It was important that we be good.