Salt Sisters

by Katherine Graham

  I sat listening to her with my head in my hands and bile rising in my throat. The room was closing in on me and I desperately needed some air. I excused myself and stepped into the hallway. Lucas was sitting on the floor outside the kitchen door, his knees tucked up to his chest. He’d clearly been listening in on the conversation.

  I led him outside and we sat side by side on the front doorstep. I pulled him in close, watching my tears dripping onto the top of his head.

  ‘They said a post-mortem. That means they’re going to cut Mummy up into pieces!’

  ‘It doesn’t. They just have to do some more tests, like they would if me or you went to a doctor. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you imagine.’ I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince – Lucas or myself. ‘And anyway, your dad didn’t want you to hear that. He’s trying to protect you and make this as easy as possible.’

  ‘I just want Mummy to be here!’ he wailed.

  ‘I know, my love, I do too.’

  I led him back into the living room, where Auntie Sue was sitting in the armchair with a cup of tea and Betsy was asleep curled into Hannah on the sofa. Hannah glanced up with red-rimmed eyes, her arm draped protectively around her little sister, and offered a weak smile before going back to her phone. There was no sign of Mum.

  ‘Where is she?’

  Auntie Sue pinched the bridge of her nose.

  ‘Your mother’s at home. I told you, she’s dealing with this the only way she can.’

  ‘Maybe she could put down the burning sage and provide some actual comfort to her grandchildren, don’t you think?’

  ‘Give her time. You know how hard this is for her.’

  It would take something stronger than tea to get me through this. I texted Adam:

  Do me a favour pls: buy a bottle of the best vodka you can find (supermarket on Main Street) and fill up my hip flask. It should be in the inside pocket of my hold-all.

  Adam replied: I would totally judge you under normal circumstances but giving you a pass for now. Coming up ASAP xo

  I ran a fingertip over the engraved initials on my silver hip flask: E. M.

  It was my father’s, a gift from my grandparents when he’d qualified as a doctor. He’d taken it everywhere with him, from beach walks to family weddings. He would insist there wasn’t any occasion a nip of good whisky couldn’t improve.

  Thinking of him made me smile, and I wondered what he would be doing now if he were still with us. He was always the strong one, and had been the centre of the universe for me, Amy and Mum. I still missed him every day and I would have given my annual bonus just to have another hour with him. It wasn’t fair that Amy’s kids would now have to live with the same pain that we did.

  It took half a hip flask of Grey Goose to get me through lunch. As I was clearing away the half-eaten plates of microwave macaroni cheese, the front door opened. I assumed it was Mum until a woman walked into the kitchen. It took me a second to recognise Rachel, Amy’s best friend. I had a vague recollection that she worked with Amy at the hospital. We had only met once before, at the pub on Christmas eve. Was that three years ago? Or four? She had been a redhead the last time I saw her, and now had light brown hair.

  ‘Auntie Rachel!’ Betsy jumped up, wrapping her arms around her.

  In fact, all three kids leapt on her, showing far more enthusiasm and affection than they had for me when I’d arrived yesterday. Betsy and Lucas started wailing again.

  ‘Auntie’ Rachel held her arms out to hug me.

  ‘Oh my god, Izzy, what are we going to do?’ She sobbed on to my shoulder and I gingerly patted her back.

  Rachel put me down and swooped down onto Mike, kissing the top of his head.

  A tall man in blue mechanic’s overalls followed her into the kitchen carrying two large plastic bags, shuffling and mumbling hellos. He flashed a shy smile at me, and his eyes filled with tears.

  The bags were full of home-cooked meals that Rachel had made and boxed up in Tupperware, which she instructed the tall man – her husband, Phil – to load into the freezer in the garage. My heart surged in appreciation.

  She took over the washing up, looking pitifully at the remnants of our lunch. She had been in touch with the school to get time off for the kids, if they wanted it, and had asked the vicar to come over the following day to explain how to organise a funeral. Rachel had thought of everything, it seemed, and was a reassuring presence – even I felt calmer.

  I tried to fight the thought, but reluctantly had to admit to myself that she was much better at this than me. By the time she and Phil left, Rachel had tidied the kitchen and set out meals for the next three days. Most crucially, the kids were no longer crying. It was progress, but I felt like I’d just lost a game I’d never agreed to play.

  Mum didn’t show up all day – according to Auntie Sue, after her burst of energy in the morning she’d taken to her bed, asking to not be disturbed.

  After helping Mike and Auntie Sue put the kids to bed, I walked back to the pub to find Adam. He’d sent me texts throughout the afternoon, telling me to stay strong and to cry when I needed to.

  I was expecting to find him up in his room, but when I popped into the bar to get the key, there he was – cosying up in the corner with two women. He waved me over.

  ‘This is Izzy, everyone. So apparently, you already know Carrie,’ he said, giving me a look that told me to pretend if I had to, ‘and this is Gina, who runs the pub.’

  Carrie jumped up and pulled me into a hug as I struggled to work out how we might have known each other. I hadn’t showered all day and didn’t feel like making new friends or pretending to remember old ones.

  ‘I am so, so devastated.’ She blew her nose into a tissue. ‘I just can’t believe it, and them poor bairns!’

  ‘Now, now,’ said Adam, patting her arm. ‘You girls promised me you would hold it together for Izzy. And this is not’ – he wagged a finger at her – ‘what I would call stoicism.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but it’s been a long day. My bed is calling.’

  I left them to it and made my way upstairs.

  There was a new message on my phone:

  It’s nice having you here. Night night. Hannah xo

  Smiling, I texted back: I’ll always be here for you. Love you all to the moon and back. Now get some zzz xo

  My eldest niece had barely said two words to me since I’d arrived, and getting a text felt like a breakthrough. I turned the phone to silent before going to sit at the window.

  Beyond the lights of the harbour, the sea was an immense stretch of black, with the moon clipping the tops of the waves as they broke against the sea wall. I rested my forehead against the cool glass and closed my eyes.

  When we were little, I would make up stories for Amy about sea monsters and mermaids, and all the fantastical creatures that lived under the waves. She was only eighteen months younger than me and a ready-made, always-on friend. Although Seahouses came alive with day-trippers on the weekends, there weren’t many other kids to play with most of the time. We were used to being our own entertainment. We had vast imaginations and a playground that stretched over miles of sand – we didn’t need anyone else.

  I opened the window and lay back on the bed. When Dad had died, Amy and I had dragged her bed into my room so we could be closer. We would sleep with the window open so we could hear the sea. We used to lie opposite each other, sobbing into our pillows, holding hands across the gap between the beds.

  The pillow was cold against my face and it was soothing. I slowed my breathing to match the rhythm of the waves and drifted off into a sleep punctuated by weird dreams. Amy was playing on the beach, wading into the sea, as a little girl – then she dived under the surface, and when she came up for air, she was a woman. She went under again, and on the next breath she was a mermaid, waving to me left behind on the shore. A cloud of briny white foam came crashing over her, and I saw a slip of a tail before she disappeared into the deep.

  Chapter Three


  I woke with a start: the wind was howling at the window and I was hot and sticky. It was still dark outside, but I knew I wouldn’t sleep. I picked up my phone and read Amy’s messages again.

  When was the last time we had spoken properly? I couldn’t recall the last words we had said out loud to each other, and it suddenly felt very important to remember them. Why hadn’t we made more time for each other? How could I have been too busy to speak to my own sister? When had we last said ‘I love you’?

  I sent her a message:

  I love you. I always loved you. Sorry we were always so busy. xo

  The text blurred as I blinked back tears. I opened Facebook on my laptop and scrolled through Amy’s profile. Photos of her with the kids, of Amy and Mike, Amy with Rachel, and of some other friends I didn’t recognise. Amy with Mum and Auntie Sue at Christmas. Amy in fancy dress at The Ship. Her entire life, here in posts and pictures, and I was nowhere to be seen.

  I decided I was going to be better today, I was going to do better for the kids, for Mike, and I was going to be calm and patient with Mum. I was going to be the Izzy that Amy needed right now. I just had to figure out where to start.

  Rachel was already at the house by the time I arrived. She had been grocery shopping after noticing yesterday that we were running low on a few things and had made sausage sandwiches for everyone’s breakfast. She had done one load of laundry and as I walked in, she was delicately suggesting to Lucas that he take a shower – something that hadn’t even crossed my mind. I added the kids’ personal hygiene to my growing list of things to worry about.

  I watched Rachel move around the kitchen like it was her own, unpacking the dishwasher and knowing exactly where everything belonged. She was at ease with Mike and the kids, and I said a silent prayer of thanks for her. Trust Amy to have found an amazing friend.

  On the upstairs landing, I fished a sweater of Amy’s out of the laundry basket and held it up to my nose. The smell was so clearly her, it was as if she had just walked in. I slumped to the floor, my face buried in the wool, my tears wetting the collar.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Betsy appeared from nowhere.

  ‘Sorry, love – I didn’t see you there.’ I tried to compose myself. ‘But this jumper smells just like Mummy and it made me sad.’

  She climbed onto my lap and sniffed at the sweater, curling up like a cat with her cheek resting against it.

  ‘Auntie Izzy, what’s going to happen to Mummy now?’

  I struggled for an answer that would make sense to her.

  ‘Well, most people believe that when someone dies, they go to a better place. Some people call it heaven, or paradise – it has lots of names, but it all means the same thing. And then they wait there, and look down on the people they love, until they follow them to heaven, too.’

  ‘Will she be a ghost?’

  ‘I don’t believe in ghosts. Not the kind you’re probably thinking of. But when someone you love dies, it sometimes feels like they are still here. You can smell them, or see or hear something that reminds you of them. Our memories keep them alive.’

  ‘Is that what happened when your daddy died?’

  I stroked the nape of her neck, the delicate paleness where her hair was still baby-soft.

  ‘Your mummy and I were very sad when our daddy died, and we used to think about him every day. We still do. I still do’ – I corrected myself – ‘and I miss him. But as long as I love him, his memory stays alive.’

  ‘Was Nanny very sad when your daddy died?’

  Betsy looked up at me, her eyes the same as Amy’s, blue-grey with gold flecks. The same as mine.

  ‘Of course she was,’ I said quickly. ‘We all were, just like we’re all sad now. That’s why we have to help each other. Especially you, Lucas and Hannah.’

  ‘Hannah doesn’t talk to me very much,’ Betsy sighed. ‘Mummy says she needs to put that phone down and have some real human conversations for a change.’

  I laughed at her parroting of Amy.

  ‘Well, we shall just have to find something worth talking about, won’t we?’

  Back at The Ship that evening, I found Adam in the bar again with Carrie and Gina. He was three gin and tonics in, and I decided to catch up.

  Adam discretely recapped for my benefit – Carrie had been in primary school with me and Amy, but had gone to secondary school in Berwick, while we had headed off to St Helen’s in Alnwick. Carrie insisted that Amy had been one of her best friends, and she simply didn’t know how she was going to cope without her. She wiped away a tear with a finger tipped with a long acrylic nail.

  Gina dived straight in with her life story, and I tuned her out pretty quickly, my ears only pricking up when she got to the part about how she knew my sister. She had befriended Amy and Mike after slipping on the pub’s icy steps one night. Amy had taken her home and bandaged her up.

  Eventually someone asked me what I did in Hong Kong, and I explained that I was a client relationship manager at one of the world’s biggest banks. I rearranged my Celine bag on the seat beside me so they would get a better view of it, but neither of them commented. They probably didn’t know what it was. Adam flashed me a side-eye.

  I couldn’t imagine how he found anything in common with these small-town girls. He must have been so bored these past couple of days, despite insisting that he was loving the fresh air and daily beach walks. There wasn’t much for him to do now apart from wait for the funeral. I supposed I should be thankful that he had made himself a couple of friends.

  The girls hung on Adam’s every word, and I doubted they’d ever met anyone so cosmopolitan – both of them were fawning over him. Gross. They were fishing for gossip, too: Carrie told me there were rumours circulating that Amy had been drink-driving. She tapped an acrylic claw against the table, waiting for me to answer.

  There was a hush in the pub as the chatter dimmed. I glanced around – everyone had stopped talking. A fisherman sat at the bar in a faded Aran jumper, a hand as big as a bear’s paw on his pint glass. He was staring at his beer, pretending he wasn’t listening.

  The anger inside me hardened, a little stone in my stomach. Adam must have seen it, and before I could say anything, he whisked me out of the bar and up the stairs to bed.

  I was grateful for the early night. Tomorrow, we were meeting with Amy and Mike’s solicitor, and I wanted to be as sharp as possible. The vodka in my hip flask was still cold and I finished it off, praying it would help me find sleep quickly. But the little stone in my stomach grew, and my simmering resentment kept me awake.

  That was the worst thing about a village. Everyone made it their business to be intimately acquainted with everyone else’s entire lives. There was no escape from it, no matter how far you ran or how long you stayed away. No matter how high you climbed in life, there would always be people who remembered your darkest moments.

  Welcome home, Izzy. Seahouses – where everyone knows everyone’s business, and nobody can keep a secret except the sea.

  Charles Moore Jr. eased his ample frame into the chair at the head of the kitchen table and took some papers out of his briefcase. The wooden seat groaned under his weight. He peered over the top of his glasses at the various members of the Morton and Sanders families assembled around him.

  ‘First of all, I must say how sorry I am for your loss. This is a particularly sad case, but I believe that Mrs Sanders has made some provisions in her will that may help to ease the burden on you all at this time.’

  His top lip glistened. Was I imagining it, or was he avoiding eye contact with me?

  ‘This is the last will and testament of Mrs Amy Helena Sanders, it revokes any earlier wills, and is dated November 14, 2018.’

  ‘What?’ Mike’s eyes were wide and spots of colour appeared on his cheeks. He shook his head. ‘No. Amy and I wrote our wills together. We did it eight years ago, right after Betsy was born.’

  ‘I regret that this is coming as a surprise to you, Mr Sande
rs, but I can confirm that Mrs Sanders wrote a new will in November last year. This voids any earlier versions.’ Charles adjusted his collar. ‘Is everyone clear on that?’

  We all nodded. My throat scratched when I swallowed.

  ‘Mrs Sanders had a very generous life insurance policy. She requested that the entirety of any payment, estimated to be around £1.2 million…’

  Auntie Sue gasped and we exchanged a wide-eyed glance – why the hell was Amy’s life insurance so high?

  Charles cleared his throat.

  ‘Mrs Sanders’s policy directs the insurance be held in a trust and shared equally among her three children – the sole beneficiaries – when they reach the age of twenty-one.’

  ‘No!’ Mike slammed his palm against the table. ‘That was not what we agreed. She can’t change it without telling me, can she?’

  Charles responded with silence. He pushed his glasses higher up his nose.

  ‘Mrs Sanders has also stipulated that her savings, approximately £65,000, be allocated to a hardship fund – hardships to be qualified and determined by Moore, Moore & Ridley as the executor of her estate – for her mother, aunt, spouse and children.’

  The spots of colour had vanished, and Mike was pale. He shook his head and then smirked, like this was all a practical joke and the punchline was about to be revealed.

  ‘With regards to the care of her children, Mrs Sanders made a… somewhat unorthodox request.’

  Charles stared down at the paper in front of him. I glanced at Auntie Sue, who gave a barely perceptible shrug in response.

  ‘Mrs Sanders requested that legal guardianship and care of her children be divided equally between her husband, Mr Michael Sanders, and her sister, Miss Isabelle Morton.’

  Charles glanced up and met my eyes. I was still processing his words – something about legal and dividing… He spoke slowly, carefully enunciating every word.