Free The Book of Evidence by John Banville Page A

the wallpaper w a s not as faded as elsewhere. Surely she hadn't — ? I put my c u p d o w n carefully on the mantclpiecc, taking slow, deep breaths. T h e bitch! 1 said aloud, I bet she has! My feet had left wet, w e b b e d prints behind mc on the floorboards.
    I went t h r o u g h r o o m after r o o m , scanning the walls.
    T h e n I tackled the upstairs. B u t I k n e w there w o u l d be nothing. I stood on the first-floor landing, cursing under my breath. T h e r e w e r e voices nearby. I flung open a b e d r o o m d o o r . M y m o t h e r and J o a n n e w e r e sitting u p side by side in the girl's big bed. T h e y l o o k e d at me in m i l d astonishment, and for a m o m e n t I faltered as s o m e t h i n g brushed past my consciousness, a w i n g b e a t of incredulous speculation. My m o t h e r w o r e a knitted yellow bed-jacket with bobbles and tiny satin b o w s , which m a d e her l o o k like a monstrously o v e r g r o w n Easter chick. "Where, I said, with a calm that surprised m e , w h e r e are the pictures, pray? T h e r e f o l l o w e d a bit of c o m i c patter, with my m o t h e r saying What? What? and I shouting The pictures!
    'The pictures , damn it! In the end we both had to shut up.
    T h e girl had been w a t c h i n g us, turning her eyes slowly f r o m one to the other of us, like a spectator at a tennis match. N o w she put a hand o v e r her m o u t h and laughed. I 58

    stared at her, and she blushed. T h e r e w a s a brief silence. I will see y o u downstairs, mother, I said, in a voice so stiff with ice it fairly creaked.
    As 1 w a s g o i n g a w a y f r o m the d o o r I t h o u g h t I heard them both sniggering.
    My m o t h e r arrived in the kitchen barefoot. T h e sight of her bunions and her big yellow toenails a n n o y e d m e . She had w r a p p e d herself in an impossible, shot-silk t e a - g o w n .
    She had the florid look of one of Lautrec*s ruined doxies. 1
    tried not to s h o w t o o m u c h of the disgust I felt. She pottered a b o u t with a s h o w of unconcern, i g n o r i n g m e .
    Wrell? I said, but she only raised her e y e b r o w s blandly and said, ~We!l w h a t ? S h e w a s almost smirking. T h a t did it. I shouted, I w a v e d my fists, I s t a m p e d a b o u t stiff-legged, beside myself. "Where w e r e they? the pictures, I cried, w h a t had she d o n e with t h e m ? I demanded to k n o w . T h e y w e r e mine, m y inheritance, m y future and m y son's future. A n d so on. My anger, my sense of outrage, impressed m e . I w a s m o v e d . I m i g h t almost h a v e shed tears, I felt so sorry for myself. She let me go on like this for a while, standing with a hand on her hip and her head t h r o w n back, c o n t e m p l a t i n g me with sardonic calm. T h e n , w h e n 1
    paused to take a breath, she started. D e m a n d , did I? — I, w h o had g o n e o f f and a b a n d o n e d m y w i d o w e d m o t h e r , w h o had skipped o f f t o A m e r i c a and married without even i n f o r m i n g her, w h o had never o n c e b r o u g h t m y child, her grandson, to see her — I, w h o for ten years h a d stravaiged the w o r l d like a tinker, never d o i n g a hand's turn of w o r k , living o f f m y dead father's f e w p o u n d s and bleeding the estate dry — w h a t right, she shrilled, w h a t right had I to d e m a n d anything here? She stopped, and waited, as if really expecting an answer. I fell back a pace. I had forgotten w h a t she is like w h e n she gets g o i n g . T h e n I gathered m y s e l f and launched at her again. She rose 59

    magnificently to meet me. It was just like the old days.
    H a m m e r and tongs, oh, hammer and tongs! So stirring was it that even the d o g joined in, barking and whining and dancing up and d o w n on its front paws, until my mother gave it a clout and roared at it to lie down. I called her a bitch and she called me a bastard. I said if I was a bastard what did that make her, and quick