The Memory Collector

by Fiona Harper

  ‘Does that mean I’m the winner and you’re the amateur?’ Heather says with a mischievous glint in her eye.

  Faith plants both feet on the floor, and Heather knows any second now she’s going to need to run.

  ‘No way!’ her sister shouts, flinging off her sunglasses and leaping to her feet in one smooth motion.

  Heather is fast, but not fast enough. Twenty seconds later, both are in the pool, much to the delight of the armbanded children watching them from the shallow end. Who actually got the better of whom will probably be a point of discussion until next year’s Christmas dinner.

  * * *

  There’s a lull in the storm of Christmas lunch preparations, and it’s during this quiet period, when Shirley is treating herself to a well-earned buck’s fizz, that Heather’s father finds her and leads her onto the balcony for a chat.

  He shakes his head. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you and Faith told me yesterday. Obviously, after you’d left Hawksbury Road for good to go to university, I found out Christine had gone back to her old ways, but I don’t think I realized that it got so bad so quickly after I left. Especially for you.’ He sighs heavily. ‘Heather, I’m so sorry I didn’t ask more questions.’

  He has that haunted look in his eyes again, a look that he hasn’t worn for years. Not since he met Shirley, really, Heather realizes.

  ‘Dad. You couldn’t have known. I lied to you – so many times. I got very, very good at covering my tracks.’

  ‘But I knew how loyal you were to your mother. I should have come round to check for myself, but I just… I just…’ He trails off, and he doesn’t need to finish his sentence. Heather knows exactly what he was going to say. He couldn’t face it. And she can’t condemn him for that. For many years, she found that house impossible to face too. It’s what it did. It might have looked pretty with its elegant proportions and high ceilings, but that house ate people up and spat them out.

  ‘I should have paid more attention, Heather. I let you down when you needed me most,’ he says and there’s a hollow tone in his voice. ‘I’m so sorry, Sweetpea. Can you ever forgive me?’

  ‘Oh, Dad.’ Heather can’t bear to see his eyes glisten like that. She knows he’s talking about the grandchild that could have been. ‘Of course I do. We were all victims of the hoarding. Even Mum.’

  She wraps her arms around him and pulls him close. There’s nothing else they need to say.

  ‘We’d better go and see if Shirley needs a hand,’ Heather says finally.

  He just chuckles. ‘Good luck with that.’

  When they go back into the house, Heather is shocked to see Alice and Barney laying the table. She looks at Faith, who is ‘supervising’ them from across the open-plan living space with a glass of prosecco. ‘She cracked,’ Faith says, raising her glass to her sister. ‘The kids were so overexcited that she practically begged me to keep them occupied.’

  ‘Done!’ Alice squeals as she throws down the last fork. ‘Can we open another present now? Can we, Mummy? Please, please, please?’

  ‘Okay,’ Faith says, and points to two small packages that seem to be ready and waiting for them near the Christmas tree. The two children run over and rip the paper to shreds.

  Heather looks at the table. It’s an utter disaster. There are knives and forks in the wrong places, the plates aren’t evenly spaced, and Alice’s version of arranging the napkins ‘nicely’ is to dump them in the middle of the table and run. Heather starts adjusting, tweaking. Lining things up the way Shirley likes them. Faith is right. She’s spent her whole life waiting for her sister to give her a break over stuff like this, so maybe it’s time to pay it forward.

  When her stepmother arrives from the kitchen with a couple of bowls of homemade cranberry sauce, she almost drops them in surprise. The table looks perfect. She looks first at the table, then at the two kids, and then back at the table, frowning.

  Heather goes over to Shirley, takes the sauce dishes from her and places them in exactly the right spot on the table. Before her stepmother walks away, Heather leans in and gives her a peck on the cheek.

  ‘Thank you for doing all of this for us,’ she says. ‘We really appreciate it. And I know how hard it can be having people in your home.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  NOW

  Faith invites Heather to stay on with them in Westerham when they return to England on 28 December, saying it’d be miserable spending New Year’s Eve in a tiny cottage all on her own. The idea of a quiet evening ushering in the new year quite appealed to Heather – she’s got a lot to say goodbye to from the old year before it disappears – but she’s done some thinking while she’s been away and there are a few things she wants to do before she heads back down to Devon and her new life, so she decides to take her sister up on her offer.

  She gets up early the next morning and goes to the facility where the rest of her belongings are stored, pulls up the shutter on her unit, and stares at all the stuff there. She’s been nervous about doing this – really, she’s been putting it off since September – but she doesn’t feel anything as she stands at the entrance and scans the locker full of boxes. No waves of panic, no urge to run. Maybe it’s because it’s out of context now it’s neither in the house on Hawksbury Road nor in that dreaded spare room, but she hopes it’s more than that.

  She spends the whole day going through each and every container. It’s weird, these things just don’t seem connected to her any more. She can lift them up, categorize and sort them just as she does the documents and items that are part of her daily work. She can see them for what they are now, not for what they represent.

  She takes two runs to the council dump and three runs to various charity shops, then comes back again to sort the last few containers. At the bottom of the last one she finds an envelope. She’s about to screw it up and throw it away, but something makes her look inside.

  Lying there, looking slightly tarnished and in need of a good clean, is her mother’s engagement ring. She lifts it out and looks at it. She remembers the story her mother used to tell her and Faith, when they begged and begged and begged to hear it again, of how their dad had proposed. She remembers how her mother had smiled when she used to tell them the story, how she’d look all misty-eyed and then hug her girls hard. Heather slips the ring onto her own finger. The memory attached to this object is a happy one, an important one, no matter how her parents’ marriage turned out.

  That accomplished, she crushes the last cardboard box, takes the one crate of things she’s keeping from all that stuff, locks the storage unit again, then hands the keys to the man at the desk and walks away.

  * * *

  Heather wakes up on New Year’s Eve feeling strangely energetic. A walk is needed, she decides, brisk and long, and full of bracing country air. She grabs her scarf from the hooks near the front door then goes in search of her phone. She could swear she left it plugged in and charging on the kitchen counter last night but now it’s nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Alice? Barney?’ Heather yells and moments later two angelic-looking children come skidding into the kitchen. ‘Have either of you seen my phone?’ Barney shakes his head. ‘How about you, Alice?’

  ‘I think I saw Mummy with it,’ she says, blinking innocently at her aunt.

  Heather frowns. Alice has form for nabbing people’s phones and playing any game she can find on them. ‘Are you sure you don’t mean, “I had it and Mummy took it away from me”?’ The look of affront on her niece’s face almost makes Heather laugh, but she manages to hold it in.

  She finds Faith in the bathroom, giving the toilet a good scrub. ‘Alice said you had my phone?’

  Faith goes still, toilet brush poised. She stands up and turns around. ‘Um,’ she says.

  ‘I wondered if you’d had to rescue it from her?’

  Faith’s face breaks into a wide and unexpected smile. ‘Oh…yes! I did.’ She pulls it from her back pocket and hands it over. ‘You know what she’s like,’ s
he says and then quickly turns her attention back to the toilet, plunging the brush under the waterline and scrubbing furiously.

  Heather stares at her phone. She frowns, then looks back at her sister. ‘Anyway, I’m thinking of going for a walk? Possibly to Chartwell. I know the house is closed, but the gardens will be open. Want to come?’

  Faith stands up abruptly, the toilet brush dripping on her nice clean floor. ‘Oh!’ she says, then repeats herself. ‘Oh.’

  ‘“Oh”, what?’

  ‘Um, it’s just that…’ She waves her hand, indicating the toilet. ‘I’ve got this to finish and then we’re having roast beef with all the trimmings for lunch. Can you hang on until this afternoon? We could go for a stroll across the fields instead. I’m always worried Barney’s going to dig something up in those lovely gardens and we’ll be banned from the National Trust for life.’

  Heather chuckles. ‘Okay, but I think I’ll just go and get a breath of fresh air now anyway, and then I’ll come back and help you with lunch.’ It’s grey and misty outside, but it’s promising to be a glorious, bright winter’s day with a crisp blue sky and a milky-white sun and she’s just itching to get out there. ‘See you in a bit!’ she says, and then she’s out the bathroom door and down the stairs, ignoring Faith’s pleas to just hang on a minute.

  * * *

  Heather spends a blissful half an hour walking round the fringes of the village and returns to her sister’s house ready to down the largest and hottest cup of tea known to mankind. She’s taken some amazing pictures on her phone of the frosty hedges, and she’s scrolling through them as she turns into Faith’s driveway, eager to show off her photographic prowess, but when she sees who’s standing there on the gravel, her heart stops.

  There’s a tall man dressed in leathers, standing beside a motorbike. A Harley. Don’t be stupid, she tells herself. You’re just seeing what you want to see. But then the rider unstraps his helmet and takes it off, and it’s him. It’s Jason.

  Heather’s mobile phone hits the gravel beside her feet.

  She’s still fumbling to pick it up when he arrives next to her. She straightens, phone all gritty and dusty in her hand, flushing, stuttering.

  ‘Hi,’ he says.

  ‘Hi.’ She stares into his face. It is really him, isn’t it? She’s not hallucinating? ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I came to see you.’

  She knows he’s standing in front of her so, logically, his words make sense. But, at the same time, they really, really don’t. ‘W-why?’

  He sighs heavily. ‘I went on a date last night. I was trying to move on.’

  Heather takes a moment. He went on a date last night, but he’s here to see her this morning? That also makes no sense. It’s as if, ever since she turned the corner into Faith’s driveway, reality has gone a little loopy. ‘You did?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jason stares blankly for a moment, obviously replaying the previous evening’s date in his head. It just makes Heather’s stomach churn all the harder. ‘She was nice,’ he adds wearily. ‘It was fine. We had a good time, but… ’

  ‘But…?’ she echoes.

  ‘But this morning I found myself getting on my bike and heading for Westerham.’

  Heather shakes her head. A moment ago, her mind was feeling fresh and energised and clear, but now it’s full of cobwebs and fuzz. ‘But how did you know I’d be… ?’ she trails off as she notices her sister’s face pressed up against the lounge window. It all starts dropping into place – the phone, the stalling tactics when she said she wanted to go out. ‘Faith,’ she mutters.

  He nods. ‘She thought maybe we had some unfinished business.’

  ‘And do we?’ she asks. ‘Have unfinished business?’

  He sighs and nods again.

  Heather can imagine the woman he took out to dinner last night. She can imagine them sitting in a restaurant, Jason flashing his smile, the woman smiling back, looking at him from under her lashes. She’s got a good job and lots of friends. She’s witty and confident and sleek. ‘I still don’t get it,’ she tells him. ‘Why would you pick a freak like me over someone nice, someone normal?’

  He gives her a wonky smile. ‘You’re not a freak, Heather. You’re just someone who went through a really tough time.’ He steps closer. Heather can’t tear her eyes away from his. ‘And we’re all a bit messed up in our own way. Nobody’s perfect. But it took guts to come and say what you said to me. I thought about it for days afterwards, couldn’t get it out of my head.’ He reaches forward and touches her face, his eyes full of emotion. ‘I’m so sorry that happened to you…’

  Heather doesn’t know quite what to say to that, so she doesn’t say anything. There’s a dangerous stinging at the top of her nose. ‘But I lied to you. You hate it when people lie to you.’

  ‘I told myself that, but…’ he shrugs ‘…here I am, because it occurred to me that honesty isn’t just about what you say or don’t say. Sometimes it’s about being vulnerable, about being completely honest about who you are – and you did that quite spectacularly the morning you came to talk to me.’

  As much as his words are making Heather fly inside, she rubs her forehead, trying to smooth her jumbled thoughts out. ‘What does that mean? What are you saying?’ She’s starting to feel a bit dizzy.

  He takes her hand away from her head and holds it, looks into her eyes. ‘I’m saying that I’d like you to give me another chance. I think we could be a good fit, Heather, despite everything that went on.’ And then he leans in and kisses her. Heather lets go of her last shreds of disbelief, winds her arms around his neck and kisses him back. He understands, you see. He understands that she ripped herself open for him, bared all. There are no secrets or lies left to unearth.

  There’s a small whoop of joy from the vicinity of the living room window. Heather smiles against Jason’s lips. Oh, her meddling sister…

  Jason smiles too, then pulls away. He walks over to his motorcycle and opens the lock box on the back. Inside is his spare helmet and leathers. ‘Want to go for a ride?’

  ‘But Faith’s cooking a big meal for later.’ Heather glances over to the house.

  Faith has opened a window and is leaning through it, grinning like a loon. ‘Sod the Sunday dinner!’ she calls out cheerfully, not even caring that the kids might be listening, then gives her sister a thumbs-up.

  Heather laughs, runs over to the open window and shoves her coat into Faith’s open arms, then she quickly slips the leathers on and fastens the helmet on her head.

  ‘Have you had breakfast yet?’ he asks, and Heather realizes that in her desire to get out and walking in the fresh air this morning, she completely forgot to eat. She shakes her head and he smiles. ‘Fancy a sausage butty?’

  Heather’s not sure whether to laugh or cry. ‘That sounds perfect.’

  After she’s climbed on behind him, he looks over his shoulder and revs the engine. ‘Got everything you need?’

  Heather hadn’t even got her phone, which is with Faith, inside her coat pocket. She leans against him and presses her cheek against the warm leather of his jacket. ‘Yes.’ She’s got everything she needs. Right here, right now.

  The engine rumbles into life. She holds on tight and closes her eyes.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  NOW

  Heather is due to drive back down to Devon the day after the New Year’s Day, but she has a couple of pit stops to make before she gets truly on her way. First, she and Faith drive to Beckenham crematorium. They park their respective cars and start to stroll through the well-tended gardens, each clutching a bouquet. It’s been raining but has stopped now, leaving the tarmac paths shiny and the first flowers of the year beginning to broadcast their scent.

  ‘So… you and Jason,’ Faith says.

  Heather smiles. ‘Me and Jason,’ she echoes, feeling a warm, quivery feeling in her stomach. He’d brought her back to Faith’s after their breakfast the other morning, and her sister had insisted he stay for roast be
ef. She’d even pushed lunchtime back until mid-afternoon so they wouldn’t be too full to enjoy it. And then she’d waved them off on his bike when Heather had hinted she’d like some more time alone with him.

  They’d gone back to Jason’s flat and spent New Year’s Eve quietly, drinking red wine, curled up on the sofa, talking. And not talking. It had felt good to clear the air completely before the chimes signalling the New Year had rung.

  ‘What now?’ Faith asks. ‘Isn’t it going to be a bit difficult having a long-distance relationship?’

  ‘It’s only five hours away,’ Heather says, ‘not even that on a good day.’ She grins. ‘And he has transport…’

  Faith smiles back. ‘That he does.’

  ‘Besides, I’m only there for another nine months, and I feel I’m readier than I’ve ever been for a relationship, but it still might be a good idea to take things slowly.’

  ‘I’m happy for you,’ Faith says, smiling.

  ‘I’m happy for me too,’ Heather replies and tucks her arm in her sister’s. ‘Come on. I think I’m ready to do what we came here to do.’ It’s not much further to the memorial garden where their mother’s ashes are buried, marked by a small plaque. The sisters reach the spot and stand there in silence for maybe five minutes.

  Faith lays her flowers first, a bunch of clean, white lilies, and Heather steps back under a small yew tree as her sister does so. She can hear Faith mumbling a few words and, as much as they came to do this together, this moment is private.

  As she waits, Heather touches the diamond solitaire on her right hand, searching for a connection to its former owner and finding it. When Faith stands up, Heather takes her turn, reaching down to lay a collection of yolk-coloured sunflowers – their mother’s favourite – in front of the plaque. She brushes the polished granite with the tips of her fingers, feels the relief of the words ‘Beloved Mother’.

  ‘I’m sorry it wasn’t different,’ she whispers. ‘For all of us. Rest in peace, Mum.’