Читать книгу Mirror, Mirror - Paula Byrne - Страница 13

Long after the Child is fast asleep in bed, Madou cleanses her face with witch hazel and puts on a dusky silk nightdress. She has sent Mo home. She wants to be alone. She sits at her dressing table, staring at me, without really seeing. I tell her, over and over again, that she is even more radiant, even more luminous than ever before. She searches her face for fine lines, but there are none on Nefertiti.

It’s that wretched child that has caused her to feel so bad. So selfish. So she’s growing up. No longer a child. Puff-sleeved dresses will return with a vengeance. But Madou has nothing to fear. In this new picture, she will be at her loveliest. Goldberg will make sure of that. It will be his parting present. He will leave her, again, but he will give her his light.

There are times when I have to administer a finger-wagging to those I love. Madou knows the growl of the Black Dog. Her friends see the relentless energy, the commitment, the long hours, the discipline. I see the days spent in bed, with the drawn blinds and the refusal to eat. I shall have to be firm. This business with the Child is a blow; a set-back. I need to impart some ‘Mother-knows-best’ wisdom.

‘Well,’ she says, wearily. ‘And what do you have to say?’

‘You know perfectly well what I’m going to say.’

‘That everybody worships me. I’m tired of being worshipped. It’s nauseating.’

‘There’s hell to pay if they don’t.’

She smiles.

‘So you think I’m an egomaniac? I work hard to keep everyone fed and clothed. My life is not my own – I belong to my work.’

‘You know what I always say, dearest: work is more fun than fun.’

‘What will my fate be, mirror? I suppose it is written in the stars?’

‘I don’t believe in astrology; the only stars that I can blame for my failures are those that walk about the stage.’

She laughs. I can always make her laugh. She looks across to the window, and the inky-black night. It’s nights like these that make her feel far from home. A necklace of bright stars arcs around the sky.

She lights a cigarette and blows blue smoke into my face. She smokes slowly and methodically, no matter how much nervous strain she feels. I leave her to her thoughts. She stubs out her cigarette, sets the alarm to 4.30, turns out the lamp, and slips into bed.