Chapter 20
“Where did you go?” Evey shouted into the dead air of the hallway. Nice, Evey. He survives medical experimentation, a fire, a hail of bullets, and exsanguination only to be brought down by your impatience. Well done, you stupid bloody cow.
There were times Evey liked her unimaginative, fearful self better than the liberated, creative self V had unleashed. Where once she would have waited for his return with complacent blind faith, now she knew who she lived with and what he coped with. Her imagination was fertile ground for images of V torn apart by emotions he could not understand or deal with.
Eveye had never ventured very far from the heart of the Gallery. V had told her there would be no more locked doors, but whenever she thought about exploring she felt like she was invading V’s privacy. At the moment, she didn’t care and started trying doors. Each one she tried opened into yet another room and then another room. The place was a maze and the further she went the more she knew how far away from her he had to be.
When she opened a door onto a long hallway lined with even more doors, Evey finally admitted defeat. She could not remember how many of them she had run through. All she knew was the lights were on motion sensors and came on in every place she entered and went off as soon as she left. It was spooky. If she stood still too long they went off, casting her into blackness. She would frantically move and then be blinded in a puddle of light in the midst of pitch black. Easy prey, she thought peering out into the darkness. It was ridiculous. You’ve seen way too many horror movies.
Attempting to be rational she took a breath and exhaled slowly. It wasn’t so bad. The gallery was a confined space. V would not leave his home open to the tunnels. His home would be a fortress, the only place he could be safe, which meant there was nothing to fear in the dark. Looking down she discovered the clean path her dressing gown had cut through the dust. Snickering at herself she followed the trail back to the main part of the Shadow Gallery.
VEV
The next morning Evey woke to an empty bed. Knowing it was pointless she let her hand drift over the other side of the mattress. It was cold. He had not returned.
“Come home, V, please,” she said to the emptiness. Stepping out into cool air she went through the rituals of the morning trying to pretend it was a day like any other. V had left many times in the past for days at a time. She tried to tell herself this time wasn’t so different.
It almost worked until she took a shower and noticed huge bruises on her hips. Perfect. This will certainly help.
His big fear of late seemed to be hurting her by accident. He did not need to see that he had. It would devastate him. It would not matter when she told him things like this happen in the throws of passion. He would see it as a sign of things to come and probably never touch her again. Okay, Evey, you will just have to hide them from him until they’re gone.
He will see right through you. He always does, she reminded herself. V noticed everything. Not true. He didn’t notice how bad the lighting is in here. I look like died. The tile was stark white, hospital looking and the way the light played off of it turned everything a brownish purple and brought out every flaw. Evey could see the freckles on her legs, the scar on her thigh and the stubble on her shins which must have been so rough against V’s delicate skin. If this is the only place he sees himself, no wonder he thinks it’s so bad.
I need to be his mirror. He has to see himself the way I do so you have to go, she silently told the overhead light fixture.
VEV
V sat in pitch blackness enlivened only by the monotonous drip, drip, drip of water keeping time for the scratchy music of rats as they scurried through the tunnels. He had heard it before, many times before. As it always did the sound pulled him backward to the moment he had come to understand the melody, but that came after.
The first St. Mary’s lesion he had seen outside Larkhill was on the arm of the night shift nurse at hospital. It was a huge, glaring emblem of failure. He lay in bed, wrapped head to toe in bandages, wracked with pain, on enough morphine to kill a horse, and suddenly he knew all of it had been for nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Crushed and convinced he had killed her, all he had wanted was a hole to crawl into and die, but it was not to be. They caught him and carried him kicking and screaming back to his room. One injection later and the world had gone fuzzy. Things went on around him, but V wasn’t really there. He could see them, hear them, feel them, but he could not reach them. His body was a prison barred in by drugs and tied down by restraints. Time had no relevance as V slipped in and out of semi-consciousness.
Days later V woke, semi-lucid and engulfed in the foreboding shriek of silence. The restraints he had imagined were not there and he stood and walked out into the hallway as if he were floating through a dream.
Things were no better when he walked through the haunting familiarity of streets he could not remember. People who had died on the pavement had been left where they fell. V felt as if the eyes of the dead followed him and he tried to escape their accusing stares, but they were everywhere.
In a last ditch effort to hide from them and the late autumn chill V broke into a house only to confirm the guilty could never outrun their sins. In the living room he encountered the family who had occupied the house. All of them were dead. Staring at the cherub face of a five year old girl made monstrous by St. Mary’s lesions, grief and guilt battled V into his first truly blind rage.
It was short lived, his stamina such that he could not sustain it. Guilt closed over him like a shroud and rage gave way to despair. In his darkest moment, when killing himself by seppuku seemed the only honorable option and he was on his knees with a blade poised against his belly, something stayed his hand. All the remorse in the world made no difference and he was not a samurai able to restore his honor through ritualized death.
There would be no peace, no freedom, no satisfaction until those more guilty than he suffered the same fate as their victims. If he was condemned to live in hell, V would take all those who put him there with him.
VEV
Twenty-four hours later Evey was sitting in the Shadow Gallery with nothing but anger to keep her company. It was not a good flatmate, coming and going in waves, dragging her down and spitting her back out, each time weaker and less able to fight off the despair which was trying to drown her.
Most of her fury was directed inward. It was her fault. If she had waited, given him time and allowed him to trust when he was ready for it, perhaps then it would have been okay. Love waited, it was patient and understanding. It didn’t rush or push or insist on its own time table. It wasn’t selfish or demanding. It wasn’t crude or fickle. It bore no resemblance to how she treated V.
There was nowhere to seek comfort or hide from her guilt, but Evey kept wandering, feeling like she was treading water in a stormy sea. Her travels kept leading her back to V’s padded room. Finally she made herself go in, determined to face her guilt. Standing in front of the punching bag she stared at its dull black surface and felt the urge to hit it.
Embarrassed, she tentatively punched it. There was a satisfying slap when her knuckles hit it but the bag didn’t move. She hit it again, harder this time and the bag moved away from her a little. Better. She hit it a third time, this time grunting with the effort to make it hurt. The bag swung away and she chased it, hitting it again and again never letting it return to center. She kicked it and it jumped back from the power of her blow. That felt good and before she knew it she was punching, kicking, and screaming out her rage at the bag.
VEV
V had always thought the Shadow Gallery found him and not the other way around. The moment he pushed open the ancient wooden door he had known he was where he was supposed to be. It had been little more than a hole in the ground, but it was standing where the piano usually stood that V had first heard the music of the rats. He had been scratching about with them for weeks and had learned to ignore them, but in what would become his home, he found the melody of their music and the beauty which could masquerade in the hideous.
It was there, in the womb of London where he remade himself. There had been many setbacks, rages and black depressions which undid his work and stalled his progress. The Gallery was the silent victim of V’s internal battles. It felt the sting of his anger when there was nothing else to lash out at and it absorbed every tear he had ever shed. It had been his anchor, his mother, his lover and his friend.
It had also been his guide. It had reminded him of music, first with its rats and later which its acoustics. It had begged for a piano and he had given it one. Its walls had demanded beauty and he had given it that as well. Its many hallways and chambers asked for nourishment and he had given it the succor of the mind, filling it with books and journals, making it feel like the great library of Alexandria.
The Shadow Gallery was no mere repository of the past, it also had the power to change the future. V’s home had a brain, a war room in which he planned the destruction of his enemies. He gave it eyes and ears, hacking his way into the Norsefire mainframes and using their surveillance against them. He gave it a mouth through which he filled its belly full of Norsefire goods, stockpiling them for later use. It went on for kilometers, so vast even he lost track of its scope at times, but inside, no matter how far he was from its heart, V always knew he was safe and one day everything which had gone so horribly wrong would be set right.
VEV
Evey beat on the punching bag until she could no longer lift her arms. Slumping to the floor she knew she wasn’t done. There was more inside that had to come out but at least she finally understood why V had the room.
She felt better, more in control. She wasn’t despairing and she wasn’t homicidally angry. The rage was not gone, but it had abated enough for her to think again.
V had been right about things being emotionally charged and less than rational. She had not been prepared and she had responded badly.
Evey always told herself V was like no one she had ever known, which was true, but she continued to treat him like everyone else. She could not keep doing that. He didn’t have the frame of reference necessary to understand what she was thinking or doing.
Evey sat on the floor for a long time, trying to figure out how she should have handled the situation and how she would avoid situations like it in future, but the effort only depressed her. Her attempt to love him had hurt him and it was that fundamental lack of understanding which would make it happen again if she didn’t learn how to communicate on his level.
Wandering as she thought about it, she opened a door down the hallway from V’s bedroom. It was another gallery, the paintings it contained more modern and abstract than those in the main Gallery. There was another door at the back of the room and when she pushed it open she discovered his studio. The lights were bright and there were several easels covered over with cotton sheets to protect their canvases from dust. In the small refrigerator she found several oil paint pallets and a few bottles of water. On the work table Evey found a neat stack of sketch books.
Flipping the top one open she discovered all the drawings were of her. V drew her laughing, watching telly, eating breakfast and curled up with a book. He captured her angry, exasperated, smirking, joking, and playing. As she continued down the stack the theme continued until the last few. Those contained the sketches she was used to. The smiling face of a child, the gentle touch exchanged by an old woman and her husband, this was his motivation. This was how V fueled his fight.
V communicated so elegantly on paper. The loving detail spoke volumes where words might fail. She tongue tied him he had said. Norsefire stole his context and she took his words. Putting the sketchbook down Evey turned to leave only to have her exit arrested by a very familiar image.
She’d had a poster of Klimt’s ‘The Kiss’ once. The real one was much larger and more brightly colored than she thought. She had always loved the painting seeing tenderness in the way the man held his lover. His kiss against her cheek seemed the most delicate foreplay. Her eyes were closed, her expression slack as if given over completely to the ecstasy of his touch. Everything she wanted was captured in it.
Looking around Evey realized it was the only art in the room V had not created himself. It had to be something he cherished, some ideal he longed for. The painting was the most intimate glimpse Evey had ever had of V’s heart. Feeling a jolt of guilt she fled the room.
VEV
The Shadow Gallery had saved England.
With ferocious speed Norsefire devoured free expression outlawing books, art, music and anything else which might bring joy to people. V collected as much of it as he could, but the flood gates were open and the tide was too much for one man. Priceless bits of history ran like blood out of his homeland and most of the pieces that stayed became shrines to wealth and power in the homes of the wicked and corrupt.
They killed their own people and then covered their tracks by outlawing history. Confining the living in a cage of fear, the people had shattered. Those who fought them began to disappear in numbers so vast it was not long before the missing outnumbered the dead.
V had done the math. Evey’s parents were black bagged almost a year to the day from his escape from hospital. If he had started sooner, been more bold, taken greater risks, perhaps they might have lived.
Evey.
He pictured her sitting curled up in her blanket on the couch. He tried to make her do something, like watch telly or read a book, but he knew she was staring at the wall worried sick and feeling guilty.
How many ways can you hurt her, he wondered. God, what she must be thinking.
He climbed to his feet and centered himself. Deciding on a direction, V began the journey home.
VEV
Evey woke on the couch to a strange intermittent buzzing coming from under the telly. Her body ached but she got up to investigate the sound discovering her mobile wedged between the wall and the back leg of the television table. It hurt when she reached to grab it, her knuckles protesting her efforts to bend them, but she was so happy to have contact with the outside world, it didn’t matter.
Flipping it open she was greeted with, “Where the hell have you been?”
It took five minutes for Finch’s anger to vent before he was able to be civilized again. As he talked, giving her updated information about the twenty-eighth and other topside events she had ignored since returning to the Gallery, Evey grabbed a rag and went back to the padded room.
She had not made nearly the mess V had, but there was a little blood from her ruined knuckles on the punching bag and the floor near by. V and I are two peas in the same crazy pod. I cannot believe I feel better after this.
“Evey, are you listening to me?” Finch’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Of course I am.” Evey replied wondering what he had been talking about.
“What are you doing?” He asked as she climbed to her feet satisfied she had left the room in good condition for the next time one of them needed it.
Wandering back out into the main part of the Gallery she told him, “Cleaning.”
There was a pause then he asked, “Are you holding up okay?”
“Yeah.” She lied, wondering what time it was and when V would be home. She knew he was on his way, could feel it in her gut and the closer she imagined him to be the more acrobatic the butterflies in her belly became.
“Why don’t you come by tonight? I hate thinking of you alone down there for Christmas.”
Stupid bloody Christmas, she thought. It wasn’t an easy holiday for anyone she cared about, but as much as she wanted to include Finch, this was not the year for it. “Thanks, but I want to stay down here.”
“Evey…”
“Since when has pushing me gotten you anywhere, Eric?” She cut him off not wanting to fight.
He grumbled for a while but finally gave up after she promised to call him in the morning.
Feeling a little better to have her phone back and thankful it had signal, she put it back on the charger and tried to still the riot of nerves in her stomach. Hoping telly would help she flipped to BTN for the news, but propaganda could not hold her attention.
Instead she remembered how she used to avidly listen for reports of Santa’s whereabouts throughout Christmas Eve while baking cookies with her mum. The memory was warm and Evey made her way into the kitchen intent on honoring her mother by continuing her tradition.
As she flipped through a cookbook looking for familiar recipes she felt tears begin to form again. Brushing her sleeve over her eyes she tried to think on the good times and how she had the chance to do for V what her parents had done for her.
She tried to imagine what it would be like when V walked through the door. In her perfect world he would come through confident, happy and ready to ravish her. In reality it would be terribly awkward and he would be paying acute attention to every nuance. With that in mind, Evey decided to put off baking in lieu of a shower and clean clothes.
After several outfit changes ranging from a formal dress to nothing at all, she opted for a set of pajamas. Their luxury said she wanted to look nice for him while the fact they were pajamas said she was comfortable. They were a deep crimson silk which was his favorite color and also his favorite material. The pants were a little long when she wore them low on her hips, but the bruises weren’t visible and she wanted a bit of midriff showing. The camisole was very small and probably a little too suggestive so she shrugged on a hoodie leaving it unzipped.
People in love made love and she wanted him aware of the possibilities, but not so aware he felt pressured. From here on they would move at his speed, not hers. Feeling appropriately costumed to convey her intentions she applied a touch of make up and went to set the rest of the stage.
Back in the main room she set the music to play Christmas carols at random and made sure all the holiday lights were on and all the others were off. She put a couple of cinnamon-apple scented candles on the table and lit them. V had put her bags in her room and she retrieved them and mingled her packages with the ones already under the tree.
She was on her second batch of cookies when the energy in the Gallery changed and she knew he was home, but it was another gut wrenching, self recriminating hour before she realized he wasn’t going to come to her. If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed, Mohammed will go to the mountain…or something like that.
VEV
V knew if Evey were beside him in the dark she would be blind to the vision before him. He wondered idly if he had always been able to see so well in the dark or if he had Delia to thank for it. It didn’t matter. Not really.
Sudden light glowing from under the door startled him. Evey. Of course, she knows you’re here. She always does. You should have gone to her, you bloody coward.
Knowing what he should do did not move him. Though he’d had the best intentions when he returned, when it came down to it V could not bring himself to face her. He was still drowning in the past, unable to free himself and he did not want to drag her down again. He needed more time.
If he moved the lights would come on and she would know where he was. He could hear her voice calling to him. There was no panic in it, but he could feel her concern wafting down the hallway and under the door towards him. She was coming, a relentless hunter armed with hope and a quiver of feelings which remained both alien and familiar at the same time. Turn back, Evey. I thought I was strong enough, but I’m not. I cannot do this with you now.
She did not heed his silent warning. V could hear her slippered feet on the flagstone and see the lights outside growing brighter as she drew nearer. He could not move, trapped by his own lighting system. He had to hope she would pass the room by. She didn’t. The door opened, the lights came on and she was standing in the doorway looking both relieved and nervous.
“There you are. Can I join you?”
Go away, leave me be, he tried to say but the words did not come.
“V, I have to tell you something.” She stepped into the room and closed the door. Looking nervous, she sat beside him on the floor, close but not touching. “I’m sorry.”
“Aren’t we all.” He muttered.
She shook her head and balled her hands together in her lap. “No. I mean for all of this. I didn’t want to hurt you. I wanted to love you and…”
He felt himself drifting away and tried to hold onto the present but the past crashed against his fortress of black silk and white porcelain and overran his walls. “I remember the first St. Mary’s lesion I saw in the real world. It was on the arm of a nurse at hospital. She’d looked dreadful the day before, but when she leaned over me and I saw her arm…I knew.”
“I don’t want to talk about St. Mary’s anymore. I want…”
“Someone had given me Victor Frankel’s ‘Man’s Search for Meaning’. It’s a wonderful book about the power of attitude and finding meaning in the small things. He was in Auschwitz. His life had been much like mine and I needed a template to rebuild from. Reading his book, Evey, I thought perhaps I could make something of the rest of my life. I thought perhaps I could fill the void inside me. Then I saw her arm. To fail like that…” He shook his head, determined not to allow it to crush him again. “What had been a hole became a bottomless pit and no matter what I do, I cannot fill it.”
She tried again, “It wasn’t your f…”
V cut her off, “There were only two possibilities. I failed to stop their research when I demolished Larkhill or I was a walking plague. Which would you prefer to live with were you faced with such a choice?”
“V…I don’t, I can’t…” She sighed, pulling her legs into her chest and holding onto them tightly.
“They were dying, patients first then the staff. White hazmat suits were no match for the virus. I could not stay there anymore, but outside was worse. Surreal. I could not distinguish reality from delusion. All I knew was the streets I was walking, that I had never seen before, were familiar. I knew there was a pub on the corner and I knew where the news stand was, but I did not, do not, know why I knew those things.”
He paused for a moment, mentally walking those streets and trying not to see the people on them. “Leaving the dead where they fell was brilliant. Living plague art, God what Bosch might have created from it. Hell on earth. The Thames recast as the river Styx. A nightmare from which you could not wake.”
“I remember.” Evey whispered.
He could not look at her, could not express the sorrow he felt or the depth of his regret.
She sniffled and reached for his gloved hand. “You didn’t do this.”
“My guilt is not so great when compared against others, but I am indirectly responsible for the deaths of nearly one hundred thousand people and,” he paused for a split second, “solely responsible for sixty-eight others.”
“Oh.” She nodded, the soft caressing motion of her fingers on the back of his hand stopping.
“Not hundreds as you imagined.” He attempted to make it sound a little better. Why did you tell her that? Is this really a road you wish to travel?
There was a long pause and then she squeezed his hand. “But all of that’s over now. Your vendetta is complete, no more killing.”
Just lie. Tell her what she needs to hear. You cannot predict the future anyway. It might prove true in the end. He sighed. “I would like to tell you that you are right but in the spirit of truth, I cannot. The future is unpredictable and I will not limit my options prematurely.”
She swallowed and withdrew her hand. She did not look at him as she asked, “So you might kill more people?”
He pulled his knees against his chest, mimicking her pose without realizing it. “I hope not, but...try to understand, there has never been pleasure in death for me. I did what I had to do to make things right. I admit, I enjoyed the hunt and it pleased me when they were dead, there was catharsis in knowing they would never hurt another soul, but actually killing them meant nothing to me.”
“Nothing?”
“It was a task to be completed as efficiently and quietly as possible. I felt no more about it than I would about putting the kettle on or folding laundry.”
“Oh.” It was a small word but the revulsion carried with it was a dagger in V’s heart.
“And thus the rose colored glasses crack and you see me for what I truly am.” It’s over, happy now?
Silence descended between them as he struggled not to cry and she picked at one of the scabs on her mangled knuckles. She did not have to tell him how it happened. He knew already. I am driving her mad.
“You’re just trying to scare me away, aren’t you?”
He shrugged, “They were terrifying times. I made death my companion so others might live, but I was too late. Too late for the family I lived with. Far too late.”
“Who did you live with?” She asked, looking at him for the first time since she walked into his studio.
“I never knew who they were. I ate their food, wore their clothes and slept in their bed, but I never knew them.” Seeing the question in her eyes he added, “They were dead. It was before the sweeper crews began coming through the city, before Norsefire won the elections. White X’s on all the doors. I watched them rot down to the bone before the sweepers finally came.”
“Why would you do that to yourself?”
“Where should our century’s Typhoid Mary have gone? I wanted to be there. I wanted to live in the heart of my failure, to feel the sting of it.”
“Good God, V.”
He knew he should stop there, but his mouth ran on. “The worst part, the most terrible part, was I couldn’t feel it. All I had left was rage. It was, is, the only thing that lives in the void.”
“Even now?”
“No, now the void is merely a void.” He paused. “Revenge has merited nothing. I destroyed what they created and still I feel hollow.”
“I see.” From her voice he knew she was about to cry.
“Don’t misunderstand, Evey.” She looked at him, brown eyes hopeful. “I love you in my way, but I wonder if I love you in the same way you love me. You were born in love and grew up in it. You know what love is. I’m never sure if what I think I feel corresponds to the label I give it. I know I’m not expressing how I feel correctly. Nothing about this is easy for me which makes is hard for you. I’m sorry.”
“I know.” Evey straightened out her legs and looked like she was thinking about leaving. “In my head I had a light, easy day planned. I was going to bake, you were going to poke fun at my cooking skills. I was going to tell you all about Christmas with the Hammonds and it was going to be fun.”
Let her go, he told himself. “Mix a little foolishness with your serious plans; it’s lovely to be silly at the right moment. We have wallowed in my darkness long enough. Have some fun, go bake.” [22]
She stood and looked down at him. “Will you come with me?”
“Not right now, no.”
“Are you okay?”
“I will be. I’ll join you soon.”
VEV
Evey had made enough cookies to feed an army by the time V emerged from the shadows. Not knowing what to say to him she offered, “I have brownies, snickerdoodles, oh, and some sugar cookies in the oven.”
“They smell delicious.” He said while not reaching for one as he perched on the barstool opposite her.
“Here.” Evey shoved the tray of cookies toward him feeling angry and hurt. He was wearing Guy Fawkes and a Jacobean silk suit. Walls and barriers. He used the truth the same way. He was pushing her away with it, presenting it in the ugliest way possible, trying to make her see himself the way he did.
He ignored the cookies instead reaching for one of her hands while asking, “What happened to your knuckles?”
From tone of voice she could tell the question was just a diversion and he already knew what had happened to them. She pulled her hand out of reach and snapped, “You’re smart. I’m sure you can work it out.”
“I see.” He leaned back in his chair as if she had slapped him. After a very long silence he said, “You have a right to be angry…”
She slammed her spoon back into the cookie batter and splashed a little on the counter top. “You’re right, I do. You use the truth like a weapon, do you know that?”
The mask fell and the wig closed over it like a curtain. “Yet if he upbraided her in his hurry, it was to repent bitterly his temper the next instant, and to feel its effects more than she, temper being a weapon that we hold by the blade.” [23]
“Great. That’s great, V. I don’t care what Shakespeare had to say. I want to know what was going through your mind.” Rein it in, Evey. You set the mood, don’t let him drag it down again. Raise it up.
“That was Barrie, my dear.”
“Who? Never mind. Might you have some thought of your own you would like to share with me?”
“I…don’t have the words.” He looked like he was considering the cookies.
“So that’s it then?”
“I’m sorry, Evey.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the counter. His gloved hand reached out toward her. “I underst…”
“I love you and I am not leaving you.” She snapped as she pulled her hand out of reach. You’re being mean, she scolded herself. He doesn’t get it and this is not the plan.
“Yes, I know.” He said as his hand withdrew back to his lap. His head tilted downward and she knew her refusal hurt him.
“Do you really?”
“Yes.” He said into his lap.
Not yet you don’t. If you did you wouldn’t be wearing Guy Fawkes. Still, it was another step in the right direction. Reward it.
Before she could think of something to say he looked up. “I know what this must look like to you.”
“I doubt it.” She said gently.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Evey. I chose my words poorly.”
He feels badly, let him off the hook. She reached out for his hand which he gave to her. Running her thumb over his leather clad knuckles she back peddled. “You are the most eloquent person I know. There must not have been a better way to say it.”
“It is not my intention to…”
“Sticks and stones, right?” It was time to let the past go and get on with the fun available in the immediate future but a voice in the back of her mind kept saying, you have to tell him. “Seriously though, I have to tell you something. It scared me when you left and I couldn’t follow you. The last time something like this happened, you almost bled to death, remember? I’ve been locked in here terrified for you for the last three days. If something happened to you it would have been my fault.”
His other hand closed over hers sandwiching it inside black leather. “None of this is your fault, love. I should not have left, but sometimes even this place feels like a prison.”
“And I’m your guard.”
“No, Evey, no.” The mask came up and faced her. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. Everything I built is falling apart…”
“Is this were you tell me to sod off?” Evey asked, seizing the opportunity to let him see how she felt whenever he claimed to “understand”.
There was a smile in his voice when he said, “Ah, yes. I see. No, I will never leave you, Evey.”
“But I’m ruining everything.” She mock whined.
“What I should have said is things are changing. My world has been rigidly structured and it appears though I have a talent for creating change, I am not as adaptable as I expect others to be.”
VEV
“Oh,” was all she said. He expected her to say something sarcastic, but she pulled away and reached for a tray of cookies. Holding it out to him she said, “I promise they’re good. I didn’t mistake salt for sugar if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Clearly she was done wallowing in his misery and V was grateful for the distraction. He was ravenously hungry suddenly, but the room was very bright and he couldn’t ask her to leave anymore.
She pushed the tray closer teasing, “I know you want one.”
Nothing new here, she’s seen it all. Still it was scary to take off the mask even if he was wearing the black one under Guy Fawkes. Small steps are still march in the right direction, he reminded himself, someday this will be easy.
When he looked up she was studying him. Her eyes were no longer angry or teasing, instead he saw eagerness. Feeling like a fool for finding eating in front of her a challenge he reached for a snickerdoodle and took a bite.
“So, how’d I do?” she asked.
“Quite well. This is my favorite. Did I ever tell you?” He took another bite, much larger this time and reached for another.
“Nope, but my dad used to love them. My mum only made them for him at Christmas. He had a hard time maintaining his waistline, you know. She and I always baked on Christmas Eve. It was our tradition.” She reached for a brownie.
“It is a wonderful one. Is this her recipe?” He was on his third cookie already and Miss Manners would be appalled. Evey was beaming at him though so decorum be damned he reached for a fourth snickedoodle.
“No, but still pretty good though I think.” She took a bite of brownie.
“Indeed. I had a roast and…”
“Roast beast.” She smiled. “I pulled it out earlier to thaw.”
“Roast beast?” V asked after swallowing his forth and, he was determined, last cookie until he had eaten something resembling a proper supper.
“From the ‘Grinch Who Stole Christmas’, the feast in the finale. My brother Johnny thought roast beef was roast beast. He was four.” She took another brownie from the stack and broke it in half. She put one half back and popped the other in her mouth.
“So many memories.” V said sadly, wishing once again he could restore her family to her.
She reached out for his hand, letting her fingers play around the break between glove and sleeve. “Yeah, but they’re good ones. Remembering them this way makes me happy. I’ve been looking forward to sharing my family traditions with you and maybe adding a few of our own.”
“I would like that very much.” V returned her smile, which only made hers grow wider. It confused him for a moment until he realized it was because she could actually see the happiness on his lips.
She came around the counter and wrapped her arms around him from the side. With her head resting on his shoulder and her lips against the silk covering his throat she said, “Well then. We finish the baking. Then we eat cookies until the sugar high makes us giddy. Then we make supper before sugar coma takes over. We nap while the roast is in the oven. When we wake up we finish cooking while drinking brandied eggnog or champagne. I hate eggnog so my vote is for the bubbly but that choice I leave to you. Finally we eat supper and then watch ‘The Grinch Who Stole Christmas’ or “It’s a Wonderful Life’ during which cookie consumption is optional and alcohol consumption is mandatory. We open one present each and once we can hardly keep our eyes open we go to bed. In the morning we wake up very early. I am talking four in the morning style early, we guzzle down coffee with brandy, a bit of the hair of the dog you know, and then we open the rest of the presents. After that we have a huge breakfast and we spend the rest of the day lolling about like useless lumps in front of the telly complaining about how fat we are. How does that sound?”
V could not contain a chuckle. “Like a holiday juggernaut.”
She pulled back and looked at him. “Yes, but do you want to do it?”
“It sounds lovely.”
“Good. Go get more comfortable. I’ll wait.” She squeezed him hard and then let go, pushing his arm in an apparent attempt to hurry him.
VEV
[22] Horace
[23] J. M. Barrie – The Little Minister