Emily gets up to fetch Julia, then impulsively bends down to hug and kiss May. Neither of them says anything, but the warmth and affection between them is all May needs to keep her going for this last chat of the evening.
Julia is at May’s side seconds later. She sits down and slips off her shoes.
‘It’s slippers for me all day tomorrow,’ she says. ‘These are crippling me. How have you managed to keep those sparkly numbers on all night, May?’
May laughs. ‘I’ve always loved pretty shoes. Look, Julia, I haven’t got much time left.’
‘What?’ There’s alarm in Julia’s voice and May curses her thoughtless words.
‘I mean, my taxi’s probably outside already. This is plenty late enough for me. I just wanted to say how much I’ve loved sharing the letters with you … and, well … just being your friend, I suppose.’
Julia frowns. ‘You sound very serious. Why are you telling me this now?’
‘Well, sometimes I think we miss our opportunities to say what we feel. At a party when the fizz has been flowing, we’ve got an excuse.’
‘That’s true. And for what it’s worth, I’ve loved it too, May. I wish we’d got our heads together earlier. There – I never thought I’d say that, but it’s true. The misunderstandings we had are all water under the bridge now. I should have minded my own business. It wasn’t your place to stop Charles getting his claws into poor Will. And if you’ve had a problem in the past with … appropriating things …’
‘Stealing, you mean?’ May’s voice is sharp.
‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of, May. Kleptomania is an illness.’
May takes a deep breath and decides none of this is worth pursuing now. Let Julia think what she wants to. It’s much too late for soul-searching. The warmth between them is real and the rest is over and done with. The two women look at each other, friends, neighbours, old adversaries … so many things. May gets to her feet and they kiss each other on the cheek.
‘I’ll walk you to your taxi,’ says Julia, and May accepts gratefully.
‘The side door, please,’ she says. ‘I’m slipping away quietly. No need for a fuss – it’s Tristram’s night, after all.’
Back at home and finally in bed, with some effort, May leans back on her pillows, supremely comfortable and completely content. It’s been a great party and now is the perfect time to make her final exit. She has what she needs to end her life within easy reach.
May takes the bulky package in her hand, feeling an ominous tingle running through her fingers and up her left arm. They’re bound to be strong stuff.
The distant crash of the cat flap heralds Fossil’s arrival in the bedroom. He jumps onto the bed and settles down on May’s feet, beginning to massage her toes. The gentle pressure gives her the courage to carry on with the job in hand. She digs deep in the envelope for the little leather ring box.
Placing it on the covers, May considers it. The ring that should be inside caused so much trouble for something so small. A lucky charm? Well, maybe, but not for Elsie, Kathryn and Will. If May could solve this final puzzle it would go some way towards easing her conscience, even if Julia’s memories never fully return.
May takes the box and holds it in both hands, thinking hard and feeling the now-faint vibrations from the past. She casts her mind back to the time when Will and the girls were frequent visitors to Pengelly, picnicking on the sands, walking along the cliff path, swimming in the sea … and sailing.
Charles gave them all the chance to go for short voyages in his boat, May recalls, but Will was the one who came back for more, time and time again. He encouraged Charles in his plans for buying a bigger boat and even, to May’s disgust at the time, offered to lend Charles his savings to further the scheme. May always kept a close guard on her own finances. She knew Charles much too well to agree to opening a joint bank account, which was something he’d wanted for years.
Did he think I was born yesterday? wonders May, as she remembers his impassioned pleas.
‘But why ever not, darling?’ he complained over and over again. ‘We’re married. We should share everything. Don’t you trust me?’
The short answer would have been ‘No’. Charles was expansive to a fault if he had money, always standing his round in the pub and contributing to church funds and the lifeboat support appeal, but it trickled through his fingers so quickly that May needed to bolster up his bank account to save him from crippling overdraft fees. What fun he’d have had if he’d had access to May’s nest egg, too. She wasn’t wealthy before she sold the big house, but her parents had left her with enough money to travel, within reason, and a small portfolio of stocks and shares that never failed to provide a modest but steady income.
May holds the box more tightly, focusing her thoughts on the ring. Somehow, she is sure Will was more involved in its disappearance than his sisters were. And Will was Charles’s friend. An idea begins to form in her mind, a flickering candle at first, but burning into a strong flame. What if Charles heard about the opals and saw a way to cash in on Will’s devotion? Even worse, could he have put pressure on the boy in other ways to bring him the ring to sell for his own ends?
She shivers as she remembers that Charles wasn’t above blackmail to get what he believed was his due. He probably threatened to tell Will’s family about their liaison. There was a very nasty incident with a young man from Truro early in their marriage when May still had some illusions about her husband, and it almost ended in a gaol sentence for Charles. May needed to step in with an alibi and a shining character reference for him that time. She found it hard to forgive and forget that episode. It was at that point she first had the shameful thought that if Charles were to die, it would be no loss to the world.
Thinking back to the mystery of the ring, May is sure that if Charles got hold of it from Will, he couldn’t have sold it. If he did, the box would have gone with it, and there was no upturn in his fortunes, and no new boat. So what did he do with it if he did indeed manage to appropriate it? If it was secreted in the house, May would surely have found it when she cleared the place, even if it was tucked away safe from prying eyes. She did a very thorough job of sorting. It took weeks. Even more puzzling, how did the empty box get into Don’s hands? If the ring was in it, Julia would have been wearing it long ago.
Defeated by the problem, May allows herself to think about Barbara for one last time as she prepares for her final task. The baby girl was so tiny and pretty, with her fuzz of blond hair and rosebud lips. Although May has tried hard over the years to fool herself that she was over all that motherhood nonsense, she finally acknowledges that the precious memories of her daughter have never left her heart.
Where is she now? Would she be interested after all these years to know that May did care about her after all, and only gave her away to provide her with a better life, with two parents who could give Barbara the love she needed? May has a sudden vision of her baby’s father, as he was back then. He never knew she was pregnant and now he never will.
Their affair was fleeting but full of passion and laughter. There has never been any need to tell Tristram about Barbara. But now, as she nears the end of her long life, she thinks back to the hours of fun they’ve had. Tristram, thirty years her junior, seemed to be out of May’s range for dalliances, but he made it clear that age was no barrier. She looked so young and Tristram has always seemed ageless. The memories of their times together are fresh in May’s mind. The passion was brief but their friendship has grown stronger through the years. Still, all in all, she’s glad she didn’t tell him about Barbara.
Taking a deep breath, May gathers the scattered letters and the box together with a huge effort and pushes them into the envelope. Lying back on the pillows, she lets her mind wander through her happiest moments. Picnics on the beach, the warm breeze lifting her hair and scattering sand in the sandwiches. Paddling in the shallow waves, splashing and shrieking with her friends. Sitting on the harbour wall watching the gulls squ
abbling over crab claws, arms wrapped round her knees, deep in thought. Tristram …
The bedroom window is open and May can hear the waves on the shingle now. The tide is turning. She smiles faintly as she reaches for the package of letters, clutching it tightly to her chest as she did just before the heart attack. It’s ironic that the very things that have been keeping her alive are going to be the death of her. The story of the vicious feud and the other darker secret hidden in the envelope will easily be enough to finish her off.
Pain lands like a sledgehammer, pushing the breath from her body and making sweat bead on her forehead. It hurts even more than she expected. Waves of nausea roll over May’s rigid body, making her stomach lurch and her heart pound. She thinks vaguely about dropping the packet, maybe finding the one that’s doing the worst of the damage and getting rid of it so nobody will ever know what she did, but her fingers can’t let go now, clamped around the letters like a vice. There’s a pulse throbbing in her thumbs. Her final heartbeats. The room darkens. Now everything is fading to black. The last sound May hears is the rhythmic purring of the cat, fast asleep on her feet. It’s over.
Chapter Forty-Two
The seagulls are awake long before Emily is ready to get up the next morning, wheeling and crying. It was a late night and she’s still tired but she finally gives up on sleep and rolls out of bed at six, remembering that May will probably be gasping for her first cup of tea of the day by now. Slipping into the now familiar uniform of shorts and T-shirt, she peers at the world outside the window. It’s overcast again, muggy and oppressive, although there’s no mist today. The weather matches Emily’s mood. Even the sea is a depressing slate grey. She grabs a warm sweater and heads for the stairs.
Across the road, the curtains are still shut and Fossil is waiting by the back door pretending he’s forgotten how to use the cat flap, as he sometimes does. He winds himself around Emily’s ankles as she goes into the kitchen. The silence doesn’t alarm her to begin with, because May never has the radio on in her room and she might still be fast asleep, but as she enters the bedroom, she knows immediately that all is not well.
‘Oh, May,’ she whispers, bending over the bed to look more closely, ‘I should have come sooner.’
She takes the lifeless hand in hers, desperately hoping that the old lady is just deeply asleep, but the papery skin is cold. May’s eyes are closed and her mouth is slightly open. She looks peaceful but very vulnerable lying there. It’s the first time Emily’s experienced death at first hand, and she begins to tremble, unsure of what to do next. Her heart skips a beat as she hears the back door open again and Tristram’s voice shouting, ‘Hello, May, I’m coming in.’
Emily turns to face May’s old friend as he stands in the doorway, breathing deeply as he takes in the scene.
‘I’m too late, aren’t I?’ he says. ‘All of a sudden I was afraid I would be. Even though I ran the last bit, for some daft reason.’
‘I think she’s been gone for some time. She must have been worse than we realised. The heart attack really knocked her about, I guess.’
Tristram doesn’t reply. His eyes are wet with tears. He approaches the bed and leans over May, gently touching her cheek.
‘Precious May,’ is all he says.
They stand quietly for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts, and then Emily stirs herself. ‘We’d better phone somebody, hadn’t we? There’s no point in ringing an ambulance. What do we do, Tristram?’
‘The doctor? Can you go down and get May’s telephone book from next to her chair? She’s got all the important numbers written in it.’
As Emily leaves the bedroom, she sees Tristram lean over to kiss May’s forehead. Then he begins to smooth the covers around her. He picks up a big brown envelope that’s fallen to the floor and pops it into the bedside cabinet. What a kind man, she thinks. He wants May to be as tidy in death as she was in life.
Downstairs, Emily tries to stop her hands from shaking as she finds the number and rings the out-of-hours doctor. Then she goes and puts the kettle on because she can’t think what else to do. She gets out mugs, milk and teabags, adds a sugar bowl in case Tristram isn’t as calm as he looks and goes into shock, and when there’s nothing left to organise, Emily sits down at the table and begins to cry.
Much later, when the doctor has played his part and the undertaker has collected May to take her to the chapel of rest, Julia and Emily go across to Andy’s house armed with May’s trusty phone book.
He gives them both a hug and Emily wishes she could stay like this, leaning her head on his shoulder, feeling his strength and warmth and just letting somebody else take charge. She moves away, feeling the chill take over again. It’s the first time she’s felt warm all day, in that hug.
‘You’ve got a lot of layers on for an almost-summer day,’ says Andy. ‘You’re not coming down with something else, are you, Emily?’
It’s lovely to be fussed over, even if it’s only as a friend, but Emily hates to see the worried look on his face. ‘No, it’s just that I’ve felt so cold ever since I saw May this morning. I’ll be fine when I’ve had a hot drink.’
‘You’ve drunk gallons of tea today already,’ says Julia. Her eyes are red and she’s looking her age. Emily feels a pang of worry and Andy seems to sense that Julia needs more than caffeine at this moment.
‘How about a glass of wine then? It’s after six and I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Is Tamsin out?’ Emily looks round as if she expects the little girl to pop out from under the table.
‘Yes, erm … she’s got a play date with Summer. They’ll bring her back about seven, I hope. Any later than that and she gets so overtired there’s no dealing with her.’
‘Oh, yes, Summer’s Candice’s daughter, isn’t she?’ says Julia, looking across at Emily.
‘I see. Well, we’d better not hang around drinking wine if you’re expecting company,’ Emily says.
‘You’re kidding, aren’t you? All the more reason to stay and protect me.’ Andy gets out a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and three glasses.
‘Not much for me, thank you, dear,’ says Julia.
‘Oh, go on – just this once won’t hurt.’ Andy uncorks the wine and pours generously, handing Emily and Julia their drinks.
‘Do you want to sit round the table or go into the living room while we make some of these calls?’ he asks.
‘Let’s stay here.’ Emily doesn’t want to be reminded of the Dire-Straits-and-vomiting evening. She sits at the table and Julia flops down too.
The radio’s playing softly in the background, some sort of easy-listening soft rock, and Emily finally begins to relax. ‘It’s been a bit of a day,’ she says, as Julia raises her eyebrows at the already half-empty wine glass.
‘I bet. I can hardly believe she’s gone. It’s as if we’ve lost our anchor.’ Andy tops up Emily’s glass.
The three of them sit in silence for a few minutes, listening to the music and letting the rich red wine do its magic. After a while, Emily begins to leaf through the phone book.
‘Where do we start? The undertaker asked if there were family members to contact but I had no idea, and neither did Gran, did you?’ she says, turning to Julia.
‘I’ve been thinking since then – I could be wrong, darling, but I’m sure May said she was the last of her line. Is there anybody in the book who sounds hopeful?’
As they plough through the job of ringing the random people in May’s book, the back door opens and Tamsin bounces in, followed by Candice and a small girl with white-blond hair, just like her mother’s.
‘Hi, sweetie,’ Candice says to Andy, ignoring the rest of them and giving him a kiss on each cheek.
‘Oh, hello there. Has Tam been good?’
‘I always am, aren’t I? Good as gold, Candice says. Why is gold good, Daddy?’ says Tamsin, crawling under the table before he can answer. Summer follows and the giggling begins.
Candice rolls her eyes at Andy and smile
s. ‘They’ve done a lot of laughing but they’ve been fine, as always,’ she says.
Emily makes a valiant attempt to hide her instinctive loathing of this perfectly made-up woman but her mouth feels as pinched as if she’s been sucking a lemon. How can Candice look so smart and tidy after having tea with these two hyperactive six-year-olds? They’re out from under the table now and trying to escape into the garden.
‘Hey, not so fast,’ says Andy, catching Tamsin as she flies past. ‘It’s time for your bath.’
‘Oh, noooooo.’
‘Can’t we just have five minutes’ play outside?’ says Summer, making big eyes at him.
Just like her bloody mother, thinks Emily. Now we’re going to be stuck with them for ages and I bet Candice will manage to get some wine out of him before she goes.
But Andy’s made of sterner stuff. He’s soon dispatched Tamsin upstairs to find clean pyjamas and is easing the two blondes out of the door, saying good night as they go. Candice flings her arms around his neck for a hug and Summer does similar at waist level.
‘I’ll see you at the school gates, sweetie,’ Candice says. ‘We must do this again soon. Tamsin’s a little treasure; she’s welcome any time.’
As the door closes behind them, Andy heaves a sigh of relief.
‘I’ll try to make bath-time double quick and be down as soon as I can,’ he calls over his shoulder as he heads for the stairs after Tamsin. ‘Help yourself to more wine.’
Emily picks up the telephone book again. Exhaustion creeps over her as she ends yet another call to someone who is sad to hear of May’s passing but not devastated.
‘How does all this make you feel, Gran?’ she says.
‘In what way? I guess it’s harder with it being the first death since we lost your grandpa. Did you mean how do I feel about May’s death, or dealing with the aftermath?’
‘Both, really. You were friends, weren’t you?’
59 Memory Lane Page 26