by Anna Jacobs
‘Oh. I see.’
She didn’t sound totally convinced, so Elise added casually, ‘Before you leave, I’d like to buy one of your embroideries.’
‘What?’ Ginger gaped at her, then flushed. ‘You don’t have to feel that sorry for me. I do have some savings to tide me over till I find another job. There are always jobs to be found waitressing.’
‘I’m not doing this out of pity. I meant what I said. I absolutely love your work.’
‘Oh. Which one do you want?’
‘That’s the trouble. I like all that I’ve seen and I can’t decide which I like best. Tomorrow, or whenever you’re feeling better, you could show me all the ones you’ve brought with you and I’ll choose one. Is that all right?’
‘Fine by me. I’ve never sold one before. I don’t usually even show them to people. I wouldn’t know what to charge.’
Elise shrugged. ‘We’ll work something out. We can look online.’
Ginger looked at her. ‘I think this must be my lucky day, meeting you. Thank you.’
‘My pleasure. Now, how about something light to eat? I’m not a very good cook, I’m afraid, but I have a packet of pancake mix that works pretty well, and we can open a tin of fruit to go with the results.’
‘I’m happy to eat anything.’
‘That’s settled, then.’
Ginger stayed up long enough to eat one small pancake, then said she wasn’t really hungry. She failed to stop herself yawning.
‘Go to bed, dear. If you wake in the night and want something else to eat, there’s bread and cheese in the fridge, or biscuits in that tin.’
‘Thank you … for everything.’
‘You’re very welcome.’
‘You really mean that, don’t you?’
‘I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.’
Ginger gave her a quick hug and darted away before Elise could say anything.
She listened to her visitor go upstairs, smiling slightly. Such a nice woman. She switched on the television to catch up with the national news, watched a couple of programmes, yawned and decided to go to bed.
Tomorrow she intended to find out more about Ginger’s problems.
Victor had helped her when she was in trouble. And now Elise intended to help someone else – ‘pay it forward’, as her great-niece said.
Chapter Seven
Abbie slept through the alarm clock the day following her father’s death and Louis had to wake her up. ‘Mum! Mum!’
She blinked and stared at him fuzzily for a moment, then came suddenly wide awake as she caught sight of the time. ‘Oh, my goodness! I forgot to set the alarm.’ She was about to start rushing round trying to catch up when she realised she had too much to do sorting out her father’s affairs to go into work. It was just a question of getting her son to school on time.
She settled Louis quickly with a bowl of instant porridge and a banana, then rang the office. ‘I’m sorry to let you down today, but my father died suddenly yesterday. I didn’t hear till after I left work. There’s a lot to do today so I’ll not be in. I don’t know about tomorrow yet.’
Her new boss instantly put on his smarmy, sympathetic voice, which she already knew to be as false as the way he smiled at customers. ‘I’m so sorry. Is there, um, no one to help you?’
‘No.’
‘Um, anything we can do?’
As if! ‘Thank you, but I can manage. I have to make the funeral arrangements and do the paperwork today. I’ll let you know this afternoon whether I’ll be at work tomorrow.’
‘Yes, yes. Of course. Um, take all the time off you need, but it would help if you could let us know in advance if you have to take tomorrow off as well.’
His tone sounded distinctly unenthusiastic about that and she wanted to bang the phone down on his ‘um’, which she already knew was when he was likely to be telling a lie. She forced herself to set the phone carefully back on its stand, however. Venting her anger was a luxury she hadn’t been able to afford for a long time.
She went to have a quick shower while Louis packed his school bag. By ignoring her own need for breakfast and going by car, even though the weather was fine and her petrol was running low, she managed to get him to school just as the morning bell was ringing. She also snatched a quick word with his teacher, who offered genuine condolences on her loss and promised to keep an eye on Louis today.
‘Thank you.’ She drove home again, stopping to refill her car. At last she was able to have her coffee and toast. While she ate, she studied the printed list of possible jobs needed after a death that the patient affairs officer had given her. From it she made her own list.
She guessed that since he knew his health was in a fragile state, her father would have prepared for it in his usual thorough way. He was—no, she corrected herself mentally, had been good at paperwork.
She had her father’s keys from the possessions they’d given her at the hospital, so tackled the next job on her own list: his flat.
Perhaps she’d be able to have his car. Hers was a very elderly and temperamental vehicle.
It felt wrong to go into the flat without him, but she’d have to check through his papers for his will and the name of his lawyer. She was quite sure he’d have left lists to cover all eventualities.
To her amazement, when Abbie opened the front door of the luxury flat, a voice called, ‘Who’s that?’
A woman of about her own age poked her head out of the kitchen and stared at her in shock. ‘Who are you?’
‘I might ask the same thing.’
They both spoke at once. ‘I’m George’s daughter.’
They broke off at the same time with identical gasps.
Abbie couldn’t believe what she had heard. ‘I beg your pardon? How can that be possible?’
The other woman bit her lip. ‘Oh dear. He hasn’t told you about me yet, has he?’
A little girl ran up behind the stranger and clung to her legs. ‘Mummy! Mummy! Want a d’ink o’ milk.’
‘This is my daughter, Susie. She’s three.’
‘Oh. Right.’
‘D’ink o’ milk,’ the little girl repeated.
‘You’d better come in and I’ll explain, though Dad should be doing this.’ She froze as she stared down at the keys in her visitor’s hand. ‘What are you doing with those?’
Abbie ignored that and concentrated on the main point. ‘Why did you say you were his daughter?’
‘Because I am.’
‘But he never remarried after my mother left him.’
‘No. Look, come inside and I’ll make us a cup of coffee and tell you about it. Pity it’s so early in the day. Brandy might be more bracing. I’m Keziah, by the way. And you must be Abbie.’
‘Yes.’
‘Did Dad get called away? He said that happened sometimes and it did a couple of weeks ago, so I didn’t worry when he didn’t come home last night.’ She gestured to a chair. ‘How do you take your coffee?’
She went to put the kettle on and settled the child at the kitchen table with some crayons, a piece of paper to draw on and a plastic mug of milk.
When they were sitting in the living room, Abbie got her news in first. ‘Could you put your mug down for a moment, please.’ She waited till this was done, then said, ‘There’s some bad news. Dad died yesterday, suddenly.’
‘What?’ Tears welled in Keziah’s eyes. ‘Oh, no!’ She fumbled for a handkerchief. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
Abbie watched her. There was no doubt the tears were genuine. She felt angry at that. Keziah must have got on much better with their father than she had. Maybe he’d always preferred her. There couldn’t be much difference in their ages.
How had she not known about her sister?
She waited till Keziah had calmed down a little, then asked, ‘What are you doing here today?’
‘Dad’s let me and Susie stay for a while till I get over the break-up of my marriage. My husband ran off with another woman and cleaned out our bank acc
ount, the rat.’
‘Oh. Sorry about that. Only … how do I know you really are my father’s daughter?’
‘You’re a suspicious type, aren’t you?’
‘You’d be suspicious if you were suddenly confronted with someone claiming to be your sister.’
‘Half-sister.’
‘Whatever.’
They glared at one another for a moment or two, then Keziah said, ‘I can show you the paperwork. My mother died a couple of years ago and I decided to trace my father. If she’d known she was going to be involved in an accident, she’d have burnt it all, I’m sure, because she always refused to tell me who my father was. She was very manipulative about some things.’
‘I’m surprised he let her do that.’
‘He didn’t know anything about me, though she must have been pregnant when they split up, given my date of birth.’
‘Why would she keep your existence secret? You’d think she’d want maintenance, at the very least.’
‘How should I know why? She always went her own sweet way. But she didn’t have time to destroy anything, thank goodness. And he just accepted me, once he’d checked the paperwork. That meant a lot to me.’
She took a long, wobbly breath. ‘I wanted Susie to know her grandfather because we don’t have any other close relatives now.’
Abbie could feel sympathy beginning to grow. She was a single mother too and it could be damned hard going at times. And lonely. ‘But now Dad’s dead, you’re alone again.’
‘Yes. My mother was very stubborn about not getting in touch with her own family, and I think she must have upset them big time. She was good at upsetting people.’
‘So was Dad.’
‘He’s not good with people, is he? But he means well, I think, and she didn’t always,’ Keziah said.
Another silence fell, but this one didn’t feel as fraught. Or was that her imagination? ‘I don’t know what to say or do,’ Abbie confessed.
‘I don’t, either.’
Abbie saw more tears trembling in Keziah’s eyes. ‘You must have got on well with Dad to be so upset. My mother and I had stopped trying to deal with him, he was so uncommunicative. I texted her and she said to do what I wanted about the funeral. She’s not coming back for it.’
‘He wasn’t easy, but when he found out I’d just lost my job as well as my savings, he offered straight away to let me and Susie come and stay here for a while. I used to see him watching her intently, as if he was looking for something in the way she behaved. But he spent most evenings in his home office after she went to bed and he was never very communicative.’
‘Tell me about it. A clam would be talkative compared to him.’
‘He didn’t tell me much about you, except that you existed, how old you were and that you had a son called Louis. When I asked to see a photo, he said he didn’t keep photos. They only made you sad for the people you’d lost.’
‘Strange thing to say when it was his own fault he lost people.’
‘I was used to that sort of attitude. My mother also had difficulties communicating. None of her other relationships lasted, either.’
After another short silence, Keziah said suddenly, ‘I suppose I’d better move out of here. Dad will likely have left this place to you, because you’re his only legitimate child, and you’ll want to sell it. I’d be grateful if you’d give me a few days to find somewhere else, though. I had to pay off the debts my husband left me with so I haven’t managed to save any money yet.’
Her voice grew lower, as if she was talking to herself. ‘I may even have to declare myself homeless and rely on the council for help with housing.’
Abbie looked round the spacious flat. Didn’t she wish it would be left to her! It’d be wonderful not to have to pay rent.
Then she caught her sister wiping away more tears and felt guilty for thinking like that before her father was even buried. ‘I don’t know how things stand, so you don’t need to rush to leave. He didn’t tell me anything about … you know, his financial situation. I came to see if I could find out the name of his lawyer. I can’t imagine him not leaving a will.’
The little girl had come up to her mother and held out her arms to be lifted up. Keziah did this automatically, wiped off the milky moustache with a tissue and planted a kiss on her child’s cheek. ‘How old is your son?’
‘Louis is seven. And there’s no father around. He fled when I found out I was expecting, said he didn’t believe in marriage, so he’s never even seen his son.’
‘Mine stayed around for three years then took off into the wide blue yonder. He left a note saying he couldn’t hack being a father and was tired of being woken in the night. When I got home from work after picking Susie up from childcare, not only was he gone but so were our savings, all except a couple of hundred pounds, which he said he’d left to pay off his debts. Only the debts were much bigger than that, and he must have known it. I haven’t heard from him since and nor have his family. They don’t want to know me. They’ve other grandchildren who aren’t illegitimate, they told me.’
‘That’s cruel. And who cares about that sort of thing these days?’
Keziah shrugged, then changed the subject. ‘Do you want me to help you look for the will?’
It felt like a big step to take in trusting her sister, but something made Abbie say, ‘Yes, please.’
‘Thanks for that.’
‘Actually, Keziah, Dad may have left you something – or everything, for all I know.’
‘I can’t see why he would. I’ve only known him for a few weeks. Oh dear, this is an awkward situation for us both, isn’t it? But I’ve been wanting to meet you ever since he told me about you. I would have looked for your address, but he keeps—I mean, kept his papers in his office and there’s a lock on the door. Do you have a key to it?’
‘I have a whole bunch of keys.’ She held them out and shook them.
‘You won’t regret trusting me, I promise. About the flat or anything else.’
Abbie didn’t know what to say to that, was still in a state of shock at even having a sister, hadn’t got her thoughts together about it.
‘You haven’t asked for any proof of who I am, but if the papers I’ve got aren’t enough, I suppose we could take a DNA test. Only I can’t afford to pay for it.’
‘I don’t need to ask for DNA proof of the relationship. Look.’ She pulled Keziah across to the mirror and gestured towards their reflections.
It was as if she was seeing a smaller version of herself. Keziah had the same colour of hair and even tied it back carelessly like she did, probably for the same reason, to save money. She didn’t wear glasses, though.
‘It feels strange, doesn’t it? I’ve never met anyone I resembled before.’ Keziah blinked her eyes but one tear escaped and she brushed it away with her fingers. ‘Sorry. I’m at the emotional time of month.’
‘No worries. Come on, then. Let’s look in his office.’
‘I’ll just get Susie settled with her teddy. If we’re lucky, she may have a nap.’
Abbie tried the keys till she found the one that opened the door of her father’s office. She was surprised by how much like a commercial office it was. No home comforts here, just an office chair, two metal filing cabinets, a tall metal store cupboard and shelves of box files on the wall above the desks, all neatly labelled.
And there was a state-of-the-art computer, very new-looking. She hungered after it instantly, hoped that hadn’t shown.
She studied the other keys. ‘I wonder what these open?’
Keziah shrugged and made no attempt to come further inside than the doorway. ‘I’ve never been in here before, but you’d think he’d have something more comfortable to sit on than an upright office chair, wouldn’t you?’
Abbie sat down on the office chair. ‘It’s good ergonomically. He wouldn’t have been uncomfortable, just rather upright.’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t like to open the drawers.’
‘I know what
you mean.’
In the next room, the little girl began to sing ‘Baa, Baa, Black Sheep’ in a surprisingly tuneful voice for one so young, and somehow it broke the spell.
‘Just do it!’ Keziah said firmly.
So, Abbie opened the top drawer of the four at the left-hand side of the desk. An envelope lay there, and written on it in big black capitals was:
IN CASE OF MY SUDDEN DEATH
‘Look at this!’
Keziah came to stand behind her. ‘Wow!’
Abbie hesitated to pick it up. ‘I’m being stupid.’ She grabbed it and used the paper knife from the desk stand to slit it, saying apologetically, ‘He was always very neat in his ways, so I don’t like to tear it open, even now.’
She pulled out the piece of paper, read it through and gasped, then passed it to Keziah, who looked equally astonished by what it said.
Chapter Eight
Warren looked at his emails and let out a yell of triumph. ‘Yeah! Gotcha!’
He read it again, taking in the details this time. Angus Denning’s wife, who did the dogsbody work for the project, said he could move into Number 4 Saffron Lane any time. So, this was it: freedom, escape.
‘What are you shouting about now?’ Michelle asked from the doorway of the conservatory.
‘I got the residency.’
‘What does it pay?’
‘Nothing. It only covers the rent, service charges and a small living allowance.’
‘How can you go, then? You’ll lose your job and then what will happen to the mortgage and the other payments here?’
‘Doesn’t your tiny brain ever get beyond that damned mortgage or the cost of sausages?’
She scowled at him. ‘Someone in this family has to be practical.’
‘Well, I’m going to accept their offer and that’s that.’
‘Without even discussing it with me?’
‘Yep.’
‘If you do go, you’re not coming back.’
It took a moment for that to sink in. She’d surprised him big time. He’d have expected her to cling to him. ‘I wouldn’t want to come back to you.’