Prologue to ‘Perpetual Happiness’: A Novel
by Evangeline Henry
Browse all of the stories produced at Guardian Summer School here
The room was white: a white cast iron bed with white sheets, a wooden white chest with painted elaborate handles, painted white wooden floors, white shutters at the wide open window that looked out onto trees and a babbling river, green grass fluttering and butterflies bouncing around white daisies, a peaceful utopia. It could be how some people imagine Heaven. She blended in with the background, her pale skin glowing spookily. She was not wearing the regulation uniform that I was sure she was supposed to: instead a long white dress draped over her form, too big for her body, thin shoulder straps slipping off her bony shoulders as she sat hunched on a white stool, her pale, bony hands racing madly across the white keys of a white baby grand piano, occasionally leaping onto the incongruous black ones. Years ago I wouldn’t have been able to spot the difference between a grand and a baby grand piano, but I’ve been involved in her absurd world long enough now to take notice of these things. It’s almost my duty: it comes with the role I was forced to play. And I played it willingly, throwing myself into it overenthusiastically because I had few prospects and little choice.
I stood outside the door, looking through the rectangle of glass that was set into the door and watched her for a while, my view obscured by those thin lines of grey wire set into the glass, dividing it into tiny squares. I enjoyed watching her play, relishing the music that peacefully resonated from the hammers inside the piano, down into the floor where it travelled under the door and up through my feet, filling my body.
I shivered; it was cold in the corridor. I pushed the door open; it was heavy.
She jumped at the sound of the door closing, sliding her hands onto her lap as if she had been caught doing something illicit, forbidden. She snapped around to face me so fast I was sure she might break. Then her face broke into a broad smile, but she didn’t look herself.
“Hi,” she said. She was pleased to see me.
“Hey.” I went to sit down on her bed, having every reason to feel uncomfortable around her, but I didn’t want her to notice my fears. “I liked what you were playing there.” I pointed at the piano. I loved her music.
“Thank you,” she replied happily, forever touched by compliments even though she was painfully aware of how talented she was. “Isn’t it great that I have a piano in my room? Mark organised it for me.” Her marbled eyes flashed, enchanted, a dark nebula, but even they looked pale and washed out like her skin. She looked as if she were about to disappear like a whisper. The dress could have been a coil of white smoke billowing around a skeleton that would vanish and crumble under a light gust of wind.
I gave a small smile, but I couldn’t help laughing inwardly. “I think Mark can afford that little luxury for you,” I said bitterly, but she didn’t notice it. I hated how unaware she was.
She turned back to her dear piano and began fingering it gently again, playing something quietly.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, listening to her soft music.
She stopped again, snatching her fingers off the keys as if they weren’t part of the rest of her hands. “I’m good.” She looked at me again, blinking. She clearly wasn’t going to elaborate. She did before.
“Are you feeling better?” I pressed her.
She nodded.
“So it’s all OK?” I missed her.
“It’s all OK,” she said. “Don’t worry, I’m being a good girl.” She pouted cheekily and winked at me, revealing the remnants of the girl she had been when I had first met her. “I won’t bring any more scandals.”
I smiled. “That’s good.” I swallowed and looked down at my hands. I wondered where to start and I looked up at her, about to open my mouth.
“What’s wrong?” she said, blinking sweetly, her eyes annoyingly wide with innocence. She could always tell when something wasn’t quite right with me; sometimes it frustrated me. She knew me better than anyone else did and I like to think that it was the same for me.
I tried to open my mouth to speak once more, but again nothing came out. My throat felt sore, but I couldn’t let her see me crumbling because that would surely ruin her.
She looked at me insinuatingly, her eyes questioning. “Do you have something to tell me?” She was hunched over, her collar bone jutting out through her skin. She was too skinny: lanky and unhealthy looking.
I nodded and sniffed.
“What is it?”
“I’m pregnant.” I dreaded her reaction, but she surprised me.
Her face broke into that beautiful smile once more. “That’s wonderful. I’m so pleased for you.” She got up and came over to me, sitting down on the bed beside me to give me a sideways hug. “I really am pleased.”
“Really?” I asked, looking at her with my eyebrows raised and she nodded fervently. She wasn’t lying: I could tell. I’d known her long enough to differentiate between her lies and her truths.
“Thank you.” I held her hand in her lap and squeezed it fondly and gratefully.
“Were you nervous about telling me?” she asked sensitively.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d think,” I admitted.
“I think it’s great.” She spoke sincerely.
“It’s a girl,” I told her next and she smiled.
“I’m glad.” She looked like she was going to say something more, but we heard the door opening and Mark came in. Just seeing him was enough for her look instantly brighter. She said his name with the biggest smile on her face. He came over to her and placed his hand on her right cheek as he kissed her.
“Hi, Georgia,” he said to me and I returned the greeting. She didn’t notice the coolness with which we greeted each other, his voice a knife cutting ice.
“She came to tell me the best news,” she rushed ecstatically, beaming up at Mark, holding his hand. “She and James are going to have a baby.”
He looked from me to her and then back to me. “Is that so?” he said, clasping her hand tighter as if he would never let her go, never let anyone touch her.
“Yes,” I said, looking up at him even though that was the last thing I wanted to do. “James are I are going to have a baby.”
“Congratulations.” He was falsely warm.
“Thank you.”
Mark turned to her once more, snatching his eyes off me. “They said I could take you for a walk in the gardens.” He went to take a white crocheted shawl out of the white chest, the drawer schreeching as he opened it. He wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled her up.
“But Gigi’s here,” she said to him. That’s what she always called me because she didn’t like my actual name.
I stood up. “Don’t worry about me. I need to get going anyway. I’ve got a pile of contracts to look over.”
“See?” said Mark. “She has to work. Come on, let’s go. We can get some bread to feed the ducks.” He whisked her towards the door and opened it. “It was nice to see you, Gigi. Congratulations again; you and James must me so happy. I’ll drop him a quick text.”
“He’s at the library. You know he never has his phone on silent – we don’t want him to be told off by that librarian again. Tell him later.”
Mark approved. “Of course. We’ll open some champagne at home.”
I thought the mention of champagne was rather insensitive of him, but she didn’t notice it. Instead she smiled at me once more. “Thank you for coming to see me,” she said.
“I’ll come back soon,” I promised and she gave me another smile as Mark led her outside.
I stayed in her room for a bit, looking around it and feeling blinded by the whiteness: it hurt my eyes. I tinkled the keys of the piano and a dreadful sound came out. I reminded myself that this was why she played the piano while I stayed out of the limelight.
Through the window, I could see her walk out of the building - that wooden, strangely pleasant looking building that was at one with nature and far too peaceful, Mark’s arms lovingly holding her. I watched as they walked down to the little river, laughing; as they stood on the wooden bridge and kissed. She leant against him as she threw bread over the sides.
I turned away and left the room. I went downstairs and checked myself out. I got into my car and drove home to inform my husband that we were going to have a baby.
