This time, a single article appeared—a torn newspaper cutting—and Carla’s heart sounded like a bass drum in her ears as she began to read.
Fortunately, this article was in English.
WEDDING DAY ENDS IN TRAGEDY
A wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of a woman’s life, but for Agatha Vries it ended in tears on November 25, 1923, when her fiancé, Lars Aakster, suffered a fatal heart attack at the altar before the couple had the chance to exchange their vows. Whispers abound that a curse had been bestowed on the couple by Isabelle Roelof, sometimes known as The Blonde Witch of Tuinstraat Street, who had formerly been Lars’s sweetheart...
Carla let out a gasp and she clamped a hand to her mouth. Staring at the screen in disbelief, her vision blurred and her surroundings seemed to vanish until all she could see were the dark letters on the white page.
Her fingers felt uncoordinated as she scrolled down to find a grainy photograph below the article. A woman with wavy dark hair and full lips, like a silent-movie star, sat beside a man with a deep side part, a thin moustache and a pinstripe suit. They stood in front of a stained-glass window and gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes.
Agatha looks so young and glamorous, Carla thought, ashamed that she’d imagined her ancestor to look downtrodden. She noticed how the woman’s oval face was a similar shape to her own.
All this time, Carla had denied her family legend, insisting to Jess, Lucinda, Mimi and Evelyn that it was a ridiculous fairy story, speculation to be scoffed at or ignored. Yet here it was before her in black and white.
A curse had been bestowed—and it had worked.
Eighteen
Fire
Carla rushed to the library bathroom, where she hung her head over the sink and splashed cold water on her face. Her body surged with adrenaline and she raised her head to look in the mirror. Shock was etched in her eyes and she grappled with her thoughts. A century of relationships in her family had been affected, including her own marriage to Aaron, and now her relationship with Tom. Why else would she be here, looking for other men while her fiancé was with his ex in America? Did everything originate from a curse uttered by Isabelle Roelof, one hundred years ago?
It seemed too ridiculous to contemplate. But poor Lars Aakster had died at the altar, before he’d taken his vows of marriage, while his fiancée Agatha had looked on. Carla’s mouth flooded with something that tasted metallic.
When someone else entered the room, she snatched a paper towel and blotted her cheeks. Her ankles felt clumsy as she returned to the computer, where Anastacia sat waiting for her.
“Are you okay? I wondered where you’d gone to. You left your bag behind.”
“Sorry, I had to dash.” Carla’s words sounded strangled, as if someone else had spoken them. She glanced fearfully at the screen to see the photograph and article were still on display.
Anastacia followed her eyes and scanned the piece. “Oh,” she said, her lips forming a perfect circle. “I see you’ve found something.”
Carla nodded, still in a daze.
“Can I get you a glass of water or some sweet tea?”
Carla shook her head, not sure what to do next or how to function normally in this situation.
“I can print off this information for you...” Anastacia offered.
Carla fumbled for her phone in her bag. She needed to get out of here, to breathe some fresh air and digest what she’d discovered. “I’ll take a photograph,” she said. “I feel queasy and should go.”
Anastacia offered to continue the search and asked Carla to leave her phone number, so she could get in touch if she found anything else. Carla only half-listened to her words as she pulled on her coat. She thanked Anastacia for her help, scribbled down her own number and hurried out of the library. With no idea where she was heading, she stumbled on the first step and started to walk, her stride feeling aimless. She focused on her feet, watching the toes of her pumps as they hit against concrete, then grass, then gravel.
A curse exists, a curse exists.
She kept repeating it in her head, trying to make sense of something she’d denied for decades.
A road sign told her she was heading in the opposite direction to the city, and Carla turned and retraced her steps, telling herself she needed to concentrate.
She’d usually call Tom at times like this, but he’d probably think this was too bizarre, or not understand why she was so shaken. She was sure he’d say this had happened a century ago and she should just ignore it. He didn’t know the full story of Myrtle’s prediction, and Carla would have to explain everything to him in detail in order for him to understand the full magnitude of her discovery. She’d have to admit she was seriously questioning their suitability and upcoming marriage.
Carla also couldn’t speak to members of her family about her discovery. Evelyn was in the first throes of love with Bertrand, Mimi was happily married (for now), and Carla didn’t want to worry Jess while she was looking for a new relationship. Anything she told them might be amplified, questioned and passed around.
Carla found a bench overlooking a canal and sat down with a thump. She watched the water ripple and reflect the trees for so long that it was difficult to detect which was the real landscape—the image on top or its upside-down counterpart. There was only one person she could turn to given all of the circumstances. Babs.
Her throat burned as she made the call.
“Oh, hello, petal. Everything okay?” Babs asked, her voice high-pitched and almost too cheerful. “I’ve been thinking about you.”
Carla paused, detecting something wasn’t quite right. She decided to delay sharing her own news. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you okay?”
Babs gave an audible swallow. “Yes, course, all’s hunky-dory...”
But Carla heard the warble in her words. “Are you upset about something?”
“No... Yes.” Babs fell quiet for a while, sniffling. “Fran’s gone,” she said eventually.
“Gone where? What’s happened?”
Babs’s breathing came in short bursts. “There was a small fire in the bar, some electronics onstage.”
Carla’s fingers crept across the bench to ground her. “Oh, gosh. Are you okay?”
“I was in bed when it happened,” Babs said. “Fran mustn’t have unplugged everything. He’s always messing with the speakers, lights and stuff. I woke up and could smell smoke, so I pulled on my dressing gown and got out of there. Fortunately, the fire people came quickly. The bar and the stairs took the main hit. It could have been a lot worse.”
“I’m so sorry to hear this.” Carla gave a sympathetic sigh. “Was Fran there, too?”
