I yelled up the stairs: ‘OK kids, I’m calling a meeting.’
I set a plate of biscuits in the middle of the table and they came down and gathered around, looking from me to one another, bemused.
‘Only one agenda item: re-establishment of the routine. I think it would help us all if we agreed a timetable for our days. We need to know where we’re supposed to be and what we’re supposed to be doing.’
Blank stares.
‘For example, what time do you like to eat dinner?’
‘Do you mean tea?’ said Betsy.
Lucas giggled. ‘She’s just being fancy.’
Hannah rolled her eyes.
Lucas helped himself to another biscuit. ‘Well, Mum normally – Mum used to do tea at half six, and a bit later on weekends. If one of us is out, then we get tea before or after everyone else. And sometimes if Dad isn’t home in time, they would eat together later,’ he said, bumbling his tenses. My heart broke for him.
‘Great – super helpful, Lucas. So, if we eat at half six, what are you guys doing for the rest of the evening?’
‘Depends what day it is. Everyone has different activities on different evenings. It’s all on the calendar.’
I peered around the kitchen – I hadn’t seen a calendar anywhere.
‘Not down here.’ Betsy rolled her eyes. ‘On the computer!’
We crowded around the computer in the study and Lucas logged on. Within a few clicks he had opened a very elaborate, colour-coded monstrosity of a spreadsheet.
‘There. We each have a colour, and this tells us where we’re supposed to be and when. See there’ – he tapped the screen – ‘I’m green. And this shows that I have computer club on Wednesday evenings.’
All the colours, the randomly-placed blocks of time, the overlapping appointments – it was enough to make me dizzy.
‘So, how do you keep up with all of these activities?’ My mouth was dry.
‘Well, it was Mum mostly keeping the calendar up to date,’ said Hannah. ‘She gets emails from our schools and all our clubs, and she puts the dates in.’
As Hannah said this, an idea came to me. Auntie Sue was right – it was impossible to keep something secret in Seahouses. But what if Amy had confided in someone outside the village? Someone at work, or one of her university friends? The answer would be in her emails or on her social media. I just needed to access it.
‘Do any of you know how to log in to your mum’s email account?’
It turned out that the email address linked to the calendar was shared by the entire family. Definitely not somewhere Amy would have kept private correspondence. The password was the first line of their address – not a great secret. While the kids were occupied with their homework, I did some digging around on the computer. I tried the same password for Amy’s personal email account, but it was incorrect, not surprisingly. Nor did it work for Facebook.
How could I get her password? Mike might know it, but obviously I couldn’t ask him without making him suspicious. I could ask the kids for help, but they would be unlikely to have it. Rachel – perhaps she could give me a clue. If anyone could guess at Amy’s password, her best friend seemed like a good place to start. I sent her a message:
Do you know Amy’s email or Facebook password by any chance?
By 6.45 p.m. I had served up a dinner of fish fingers with jacket potatoes and baked beans. Only fifteen minutes behind schedule and a good balance of protein, carbs and fibre, but the kids were less than impressed. Hannah pushed it around her plate and Betsy didn’t even touch her beans.
Lucas’s lip jutted in a sulk.
‘This tastes different to Mum’s jacket potatoes.’
I sighed. Here we go again.
‘Hers has more flavour,’ he said.
My jaw clenched, locking in the angry thoughts I didn’t want to say out loud. We ate the rest of the meal in silence, the burden of loss hanging over us like thick sea fog.
After dinner, the kids dispersed to various corners of the house to do their own thing. I half-thought about checking that they were playing nicely, but I had just opened a bottle of wine and the first glass was going down very well.
Rachel hadn’t replied to my message, so there was no more snooping to be done that night. I idly scrolled through Instagram, flicking through pictures of my Hong Kong friends partying and eating out. There was one I lingered over: Chiara and Mathilde with Adam and Thierry, posing at the beach. I should have been there, too. That was everything I’d ever wanted, everything I’d worked for. Why should I have to give it up? I sighed. I missed my real life.
The doorbell rang, startling me out of my daydream.
An elderly lady was standing on the doorstep, the hood of her coat pulled up over her head, wisps of white hair blown in a halo around her face. Her face was criss-crossed with lines in every direction and her eyes were sparkling blue.
‘Isabelle Morton – how lovely to see you.’
The musical chime of her voice sounded strangely familiar.
‘I’m sorry, but… I’m not good with faces.’
There was something about the way she said my name, but I couldn’t think where I knew her from. Undeterred, the visitor squeezed past me into the hall and started unbuttoning her coat.
‘Really, Isabelle? I’m disappointed, I’d have expected more from my star pupil,’ she said, removing her hood.
I squealed. ‘Mrs Wheeler! Oh my god!’
She gave me a light slap on the wrist. ‘Less of that ‘god’ stuff please, young lady. And try not to look so surprised to see me – you did invite me over.’
‘So I did,’ I smiled, thinking back to the conversation I’d had with Sandra. I followed her obediently into Amy’s kitchen.
Diana Wheeler must have been well into her eighties, not that I dared to ask. And despite Sandra suggesting that her mother was past her best, Mrs Wheeler seemed as sharp as ever. She had been the Head of English at St Helen’s, where she was a firm favourite of many pupils. It was Mrs Wheeler who had nurtured my love of reading and taught me that books were a passport to the world, inspiring my ambition to travel. She ran the drama club and the school newspaper, so I’d spent plenty of my lunchtimes and evenings in her company.
She lived at Amble, just a couple of miles down the coast, and had known our parents well. Right after Dad died, Mrs Wheeler had come to call on me, Mum and Amy, bringing home-cooked meals and making sure we were able to keep up with schoolwork while also having the space to grieve. When Mum had disappeared, Mrs Wheeler had been one of the first to notice something wasn’t quite right. It was probably thanks to her that we’d got the help we needed and weren’t taken into care. But she never made a fuss about it, and always left us feeling like we were in charge.
I chose my words carefully. ‘Forgive my surprise, but your daughter said that you don’t get out so much these days.’
‘That bloody woman!’ Mrs Wheeler exclaimed with a surprising strength. ‘She’s full of rubbish. I ask her to help me out from time to time and she thinks I can’t do anything for myself. Utter nonsense!’
I bit my lip to suppress a giggle. Mrs Wheeler was in fine form.
‘Let me assure you, Isabelle: I lead a very full and active life. It’s true that I no longer have the physical capacity for life’s more arduous tasks, but I am one hundred percent compos mentis!’
She took a seat and gestured for me to sit beside her.
‘So tell me,’ she said, squeezing my hand with cold, thin fingers. ‘Are you working at Vogue magazine?’
I cringed – the teenage me had vowed to be covering Paris and New York Fashion Weeks for the style bible. Where had that dream gone wrong?
‘Not quite, but I do work in communications. Sort of. Client relationship management. Marketing for a wealth services provider…’ My shoulders sank as I heard for myself how uninspiring that sounded.
Mrs Wheeler chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, dear, I’m only teasing. I’ve kept up quite well with you
r career over the years. Amy told me how well you were doing at the bank.’
Hearing her say Amy’s name was a punch to my stomach. ‘You… you spoke to my sister? Recently?’ My breath came in small gulps.
Mrs Wheeler beamed. ‘But of course! We were both on the school governing body and the Lifeboat Institution committee, and then she and I would meet up in our spare time to gossip about the rest of them!’ She gave a wicked cackle. ‘We saw each other for coffee every Tuesday.’
I realised once again that I knew so little about my sister’s life.
‘And Amy spoke about me?’ I almost choked on her name.
Mrs Wheeler looked at me with her kind, glistening eyes. ‘All the time, Isabelle. She was enormously proud of you.’
I couldn’t hold back my tears any longer.
Mrs Wheeler dabbed at her own eyes with a cotton handkerchief. ‘You two were always so close. As thick as thieves! The Salt Sisters, that was what you called yourselves, wasn’t it? Closer than any other sisters I know. It was to be expected, after everything you went through. It’s all very sad, dear. Very sad.’ She put her arm around my shoulder and pulled me towards her tiny bird-like frame. ‘But Amy would want you to hear it from me: she adored you. And even though you weren’t living in each other’s pockets, you were always in her thoughts.’
I wept onto Mrs Wheeler’s shoulder. ‘Was – was – she happy?’ I blurted out between convulsing sobs.
She pulled me around by my shoulders so that I was facing her. ‘Oh yes,’ she said, smiling through her tears. ‘Amy had everything she’d ever wanted.’
Chapter Nine
I woke up still raw after the visit from Mrs Wheeler. Her words had been comforting but had dug up fresh guilt. How had I let such a gulf grow between me and Amy? Sisters who could once read each other’s minds, and yet in the end we couldn’t even make time for a weekly phone call?
I sent Amy a text:
Sorry we drifted apart, and sorry I didn’t realise it until too late. But you’re always in my thoughts too. xo
It was also tough to square Mrs Wheeler’s perspective of Amy’s happiness with what Rachel had said about her wanting more. Although I wanted to believe Mrs Wheeler, I knew who was closer to Amy and who knew her best.
The morning routine was getting slightly easier with each day and things were finally starting to go more smoothly – the older kids had left on time for the third day in a row and Auntie Sue had offered to walk with Betsy. Maybe this child care lark is easier than everyone makes out, I thought to myself as I put my feet up and sank back into the armchair with a cup of tea.
A moment later, the peace was shattered by the front door bursting open and the thunder of boots up the stairs. It caught me completely off-guard and I spilled my tea onto the armchair, only getting a glimpse of a figure hurtling around the bannister. Seconds later, Lucas reappeared, running back down the stairs two at a time.
‘I forgot my trainers!’
I glanced at my watch: three minutes until the bus came.
‘You’re not going to make it now.’ I grabbed the keys to the Mini. ‘Come on. I’ll drive you.’
I made a mental note for the future to not relax until after 9 a.m.
As I was in Alnwick already, I decided to call in on Jake Ridley, telling myself that it was strictly to see if he had any news on Amy’s case.
I called at Costa on the way and took two coffees to go. Jake was on the phone when I arrived, and as I sat waiting for him to finish, I regretted my messy top-knot and no-make-up look.
He welcomed me into his office with a smile and gratefully took his latte.
‘I have got something for you, actually.’ He opened a folder. ‘First of all – Mike’s business. It’s a private limited company, and he had some outside investment at the start – shareholders that he’d have to pay back if it went belly-up. And you’re right – it does seem that he has run into some difficulties.’
If Amy had been aware of Mike’s problems, that might explain why she had kept her finances separate from his. It made sense, but an alarm had started ringing in my temples. I focused firmly on Jake.
‘Secondly, the life insurance. Both Amy and Mike took out very large policies two years ago. According to the insurance company, the reason they gave for wanting the additional insurance was to cover their joint debts and to secure the financial well-being of their children – all perfectly normal, except that we know their debts were nowhere near that size.’ Jake shrugged.
My heart was pounding.
Jake closed the folder and folded his hands in his lap. ‘There was one more thing. I had a chat with the coroner’s office. This is all off the record, you understand. And under the circumstances, it might make sense to keep this to yourself for now.’
I nodded and took a long, deep, breath.
‘There was a problem with the car, as you know. There’s no reason for this, given its age and service history. Apparently one of the front wheels was missing several nuts, and the police suspect that they could have been loosened deliberately .’
My hand flew to my mouth and I suppressed an urge to scream.
‘Are you OK?’
I shook my head, saying nothing.
Jake poured me a glass of water. ‘This is very upsetting, I know, but there are now some reasons to suspect that Amy’s death was perhaps not an accident after all.’
I sat paralysed in my chair.
‘The police are looking into it, and we should pass everything you have to them,’ Jake said slowly. ‘They need to know that Mike is in financial difficulty, and his response to the life insurance policy.’
‘Do you think he did it?’ I threw the question at him.
Jake sighed. ‘With the majority of murders the perpetrator is usually known to the victim. A spouse would be an obvious place to look. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’
Oh my god, the kids, I thought. What would this do to them?
‘So what happens now?’ My hands were shaking. I held them together in my lap so that Jake wouldn’t see.
‘I’ll pass this on,’ Jake said, closing the folder. ‘They’ll probably talk to Mike, maybe take him in for questioning. They might wait to gather more evidence first. I’m sure they’ll need to speak to you, at some point.’
I nodded glumly, weighed down by the feeling that before things got any better, they would get far worse.
I took the coast road home. I needed the space and the view of the open sea to help me think. Even though the evidence pointed to Mike, I couldn’t work out how he could have done it – he had been in the pub the night of the accident and had spent the whole evening there. I tried to imagine how he might have sabotaged Amy’s car, drugged her then convinced her to drive, but I couldn’t make the pieces fit together. He would be home at the end of the week. I had to find some answers before he got back.
My instinct was that whatever I was looking for would be buried somewhere in Amy’s online life. If she had been anxious, depressed or suspicious of Mike, there must be some proof of it somewhere. I knew my sister wouldn’t keep something like that bottled up. She hadn’t said anything to me, but she must have confided in someone.
The police still had her phone, and I needed a chance to go through it before Mike got his hands on it. Come to think of it, they had been keeping it for quite a while now.
I pulled over and called Jake. ‘Me again. Could you do me a favour and ask the police when will they be releasing Amy’s phone? I could pick it up today if they’ll let me take it?’
Jake paused. ‘The police don’t have Amy’s phone. All of her valuables were signed over to the family.’
‘So where is it now?’ I asked, genuinely puzzled.
‘It was handed over with the rest of her things to her next of kin.’ He hesitated for a second. ‘You could ask Mike what he has done with it?
Back at the house I began a new search, this time for the phone. I was certain that it wasn’t in the office, so
I started to look in other places. It felt like a betrayal of Amy to be searching through the bedroom that she shared with Mike, but I had to make sure he wasn’t hiding it somewhere. I couldn’t decide if I suspected him or not – I just knew I needed to find that phone. I even tried calling Amy’s number in case it was switched on and I might hear it ringing. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.
Suspicion, guilt, grief – what was I supposed to be feeling right now? My head was pulling me in a hundred different directions. I slumped back against the bedroom wall and took a sip of vodka from my flask, wiping the tears from my face with the back of my hand.
Downstairs, I heard the front door open and Rachel’s familiar voice called out. Snapped back into the moment, I went down to find her in Amy’s kitchen.
‘Hello, stranger,’ she said, pulling me into a hug. ‘How are you doing?’
The note of concern in her voice made me realise how bad I looked. I still hadn’t got around to putting my make-up on. What was the point?
‘Well… I’m still here…’ I shrugged.
Rachel heated up soup and unwrapped home-made sandwiches onto plates while I debated how much to tell her. Jake had cautioned me to keep it to myself, but I was sure that Rachel would have the answers to some of my questions. She passed me a spoon and a napkin.
‘So truly, how is it all going?’
I thought about where to start. ‘Well, it seems that Amy’s accident… maybe it wasn’t so straightforward after all,’ I said, choosing my words carefully. ‘There are a couple of… outstanding questions.’
‘Anything I can help with?’
Salt Sisters Page 9