She’s never imagined having this much money. It’s so unexpected she can hardly bring herself to believe it. Warning herself not to get too excited in case it really isn’t true, she reads the letter yet again. It invites her to call the lawyer’s office for further details.
She can’t believe it. All she did was look after Riley, which wasn’t hard – quite the contrary. She did a bit of shopping for John and helped him out when he was ill, but fifty thousand pounds? It’s a huge reward for so little. She wonders if his nephew, Oscar, is annoyed that she’s been given such a substantial amount.
Glancing at the clock, she sees that there’s a whole hour and a half to kill before she can call the lawyers, so she runs upstairs, throws on her clothes and leaves for a walk in a daze.
*
Dear Lisa,
Sorry to be formal, but dealing with lawyers and such like in the process of executing Uncle John’s will has become a bit of a habit!
John has written you a letter, which the lawyers will hand over when you meet them. I haven’t read it, nor has anyone else, and I don’t know its contents. However, I do know that he left you a not inconsiderable sum in his will.
I want you to know that as far as my family and I are concerned, it was absolutely up to him what he did with his money. I also want to reassure you that with the house and the rest of his investments, we’ve done extremely well out of being his only surviving relatives! It was a great surprise to us that a modest man like John had built up such a large pot of money, despite having no immediate family to leave it to. I’m very happy for you, and of course for Riley, who I know will benefit at least as much as you do from this gift.
John was a lovely man, humble and unassuming. He never expected anything of anybody. He was extremely grateful that you took Riley on and were able to look after him properly. He was also appreciative of your help with the small tasks that you so willingly undertook. He told me about his birthday tea – and he was most touched that you visited him in hospital when he was unwell.
Thank you so much for befriending him and for helping him in his last days. Thank Riley, too, from us, for being a friend and a comfort to him after Elsie died.
Please accept the money he has willed to you. I’m sure he wanted to offer you a reward for your kindness and to thank you properly. Please do with the money as you wish, and enjoy it!
With all our best wishes,
Oscar.
PS. I understand you’re good friends with Jessica, who’s buying the house. Good to know it’ll be in safe hands. O.
Dear Lisa,
I hope I haven’t shocked you with my gift and that you accept it in the spirit with which it is given. As you know, Oscar and his family are my only living relatives and I’ve left them with plenty to keep them comfortable.
You and Riley were good friends to me in the last year or so and I wanted to give you something to show my appreciation. I can’t take it with me, after all.
I know very little about you but it seems to me you’ve had a difficult time and are trying to recover quietly on your own. Perhaps this gift will help in a small way to make your life – and Riley’s, of course – a little more secure. Actually, I hope you’ll use part of it to have some fun, maybe take a holiday or buy yourself a car. Please treat yourself! It would be nice to know I’ve brought a little light into your life, as you did into mine.
With very best wishes,
John
*
“Fifty thousand quid??” Jessica’s voice is rising to a squeak. “Five-oh, thousand pounds?”
Lisa laughs. “Yes, five-oh. Four huge zeros. Not enough to make me an oligarch, but much more than I thought I’d ever have. And I wasn’t expecting anything.”
“Where are we going, then?”
“What?”
“Where are we going? You must have a holiday, after all you’ve been through. Go on, it’ll do you the world of good.”
“A holiday?” Despite John’s suggestion, she really hasn’t entertained the thought. She imagined putting the money away, investing it, getting a pension, securing some kind of income for her future. God, that’s boring.
“Yes, for God’s sake! You know, when you travel to a lovely place and have a fantastic time seeing a new country or a new place, eating nice food and relaxing? Lisa?”
“Yes – sorry. The concept is just so alien to me. I haven’t had a proper holiday in so long.”
“Come on, Lisa! It’ll be the best thing for you. You don’t have to spend it all, you know. I’ll come with you – I need a break, too, and I certainly will in a few months’ time when I’ve moved house. How about May or June, when it’s getting warm. We could go abroad, maybe to the coast somewhere…”
“Abroad? I don’t know. I’m not very adventurous, you know.”
Jessica is jumping with anticipation. “But you can be now!”
Her enthusiasm is infectious. She’s laughing and bouncing about with excitement.
“Maybe we could have a look – but let me get used to the idea first. We can research it together. What about the dogs?” “True. I hate the idea of kennels. We’ll just have to find somewhere that will take them, too.”
*
They sit overlooking the seafront on the pavement of a quiet café, cups of strong coffee in front of them, talking. It’s been a beautiful day, and they’ve walked for hours along the coastal path, finishing back in the village tired and tingling from the breeze and the sun’s rays. The dogs, after a long drink of water, have settled down at their feet, dozing in the warmth of the early evening.
In the event, their conversation simply takes a turn, as conversations sometimes do, and Lisa finds herself telling Jessica what really happened to her that summer of 2013.
“I’ve remembered it all now,” she says. Jessica looks up from her coffee.
“You have?”
“Yes. It’s bizarre. For a long time my mind blocked it out, because it was too awful to contemplate.”
“I’ve heard that happens sometimes.”
Lisa looks at the view in front of them. Waves breaking on the sand, the northern Spanish coast, blue sky beyond. A small white yacht making its way slowly across the horizon. The simple metal table between them with its napkin holder and old-fashioned cruet stand, the smell of garlic rising from the kitchen.
“Yes. But this was more than just trying to remember. I had terrible feelings of guilt and responsibility.”
“What for? He was the one who killed Ali.”
“Partly because I lived and Ali died. It’s called survivor guilt. Psychospeak.”
“So you feel bad because you lived? That sounds unfair.”
“Yes, because I lived, but it was more than that. I just felt, even though I couldn’t remember, that it was all my fault. And when Connor accused me of saving myself and not Ali, I became convinced that I’d done something terrible. It was haunting me.”
“The whole thing was horrific – it’s not surprising you felt like that.” Jessica shakes her head, as if to dispel the image.
“Yes, but what I’m trying to say is – it was actually true. It wasn’t just me feeling guilty because I survived when my friend didn’t. It was more than that.”
“What was it then?”
She hesitates, her heart pounding. “He gave me a choice, Jessica.”
Jessica’s eyes widen and she puts her cup down. “What do you mean?”
“He gave me a choice – me or Ali. And I had to choose.”
Jessica lets out a whistle of air through her teeth. Lisa can smell the bitter tang of coffee on her breath.
“Oh, Lisa. Oh my God. You chose.”
“Yes.” She looks into Jessica’s eyes and sees only shock and concern, no hint of withdrawal.
“No wonder you were so traumatised.”
“Yes, it explains a lot, doesn’t it?”
Jessica frowns, her forehead crinkling. “Well, maybe. But, what did he mean? What was he going to do?”
“Didn’t it come out in court, when he was convicted?”
“At the time of the court case, I was in hospital. I couldn’t remember much at all. It seems he didn’t remember, either. He was very drunk and sky high on drugs as well. There was no mention of it in his statement, no evidence, nothing to explain what he really intended to do. And when we met at the prison, he said he remembered nothing after grabbing me. Not cutting me with the knife, not pushing Ali. Nothing.”
Jessica blows another whistle, frowning with concentration. “But, hang on, you didn’t know what he meant and neither did he – so surely you can’t blame yourself?”
“He obviously wasn’t intending to offer us a bunch of roses. He meant us real harm, Jessica, and I directed him away from myself, towards Ali.”
“But he had you by the hair, didn’t he have a knife at your throat?”
“I just wanted to get free, to try to stop him – that was my only chance. But it was all in the heat of the moment. I said it without thinking.”
“So you still blame yourself? Despite the knife?”
“I blamed myself at first, when I remembered. He gave me a choice and I chose to protect myself rather than my best friend. “
“But you thought he was going to kill you, for God’s sake. All you wanted was to get him to let you go. I’d have said anything.”
“You can see why it was so cathartic for me when I remembered. It was mind-blowing. I thought I was going to explode. Fortunately, I was with Graham when the memory came back.”
“Wow. I mean, I understood before, but obviously it was even worse than I knew. I’m so sorry, Lisa.”
“I haven’t told anyone else. Except Graham, of course. And my mum had to know, because I confronted Fergus with it at the prison.”
“And he said he hadn’t remembered?”
“He said not. He was stunned when I told him.”
“Ashamed, I hope,” Jessica says.
“I think so. Hard to tell, but he seemed remorseful.”
“And you don’t want anybody else to know what he made you do?”
“I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t understand. Nobody else needs to know.”
“I won’t tell a soul. It’s not my story to tell. I promise.”
“I know – that’s why I told you. You’ve been so good to me. You must know you’ve helped me enormously. To recover, that is.” The tears are threatening, annoyingly, when she’s got through the worst of it without breaking down. “I just wanted you to understand. And to say thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m just glad you’re feeling better. And I’m glad you told me.”
“I hope it’s not too much of a burden, knowing.”
“Why would it be? It’s not my burden.”
The tears trickle down. “Thanks, Jessica.”
*
Everything seems different as she walks up the path to her front door. Things look cleaner, brighter, and there’s a fragrance in the air that she’s not noticed before. It’s mid-May. In her absence the trees have sprouted fresh leaves, their soft green shoots reaching upwards like infant children to their mothers. Some of the gardens along the street are already in bloom, making her own frontage, and John’s – now Jessica’s – seem bare and colourless.
Inside, she dumps her bag at the bottom of the stairs and throws open windows and doors. She wanders outside, where the grass has grown long and the creeper which climbs up the back of the cottage criss-crosses the kitchen window with new leaves and burgeoning flower buds.
The holiday has given her a new perspective. It’s not simply the result of being away somewhere new and unfamiliar that has made the difference. The ability to escape from that moment almost two years ago eluded her for so long that now that she’s free of it, she sees everything in a new light. Familiar things have changed shape, and colour, and density, before her.
In Spain she’d been able, for a few hours at a time, not to forget, exactly, but to compartmentalise – to put the terrible memories into a part of her mind which she could choose not to access for a while. It’s as if her mind is organised in soft, swirling layers, in order of importance from outside in. The present, the top layer, has taken over and flourished, fed by new experiences and senses, while that defining event in her past, with its dark nightmares and flashbacks, has shifted to a lower layer, diminished and weakened through neglect.
She takes a deep breath in. Feeling as though, for the first time in so long, she finally can.
*
The door opens and Connor’s face appears, high in the doorway. He smiles and the tension in her shoulders eases.
It’s June again, a few weeks since the meeting with Fergus. She’d talked to Ali’s family on the phone shortly afterwards, trying not to dwell on his lack of memory about how Ali died. She knew it would be disappointing for them, though in some ways she felt it was better not to know. She emphasised his remorse and his promise to give up drugs, which seemed to give them some comfort.
She’s thought long and hard about whether to tell them what Fergus made her do, but in the end has made no decision. She may tell them one day. Anyway, two years after the event is still too soon. She doesn’t feel bad about leaving it, or guilty, she simply wants to wait a while for everyone to recover, to gain their strength. Then she might think about it again. They’ve all had enough pain and grief in the last two years and she doesn’t want to give them more.
Today’s visit is about the future, she hopes, rather than the past. She feels close to them, after all the pain the two families have shared. And Ali would want her to stay that way.
“Hi, Lisa – come in, we’re all in the sitting room, go through.” Connor waves her through the hallway to the open door. Diana greets her with a hug, holding her close, and Geoffrey with a warm, dry kiss on both cheeks. The tray of tea and biscuits is already on the table in front of the sofa and as Lisa sits down, Diana pours into flowered china cups. She looks up at Lisa and smiles.
“You look so well!”
“I feel well. I’ve had a holiday – my first proper holiday for a while. Well, since we all went to Greece, you remember? I went to northern Spain with a friend and our dogs.”
“How lovely. It must have suited you.” There’s a slight pause as they look at her expectantly, she’s unsure how to respond.
“It did. I’m feeling better – generally.”
Diana squeezes her hand. “I’m so glad. You’ve had such a difficult time of it.”
“You too. It’s hard not to dwell on what happened.”
“We try to remember her as she was, rather than how she ended her life. She’ll always be young and beautiful, and alive, to us.”
“Yes.” She looks down at her tea, stirring it thoughtfully, watching the little bubbles bursting as they trace slow, fluid circles.
“It’s hard to believe it’s two years,” said Geoffrey. “It seems no time at all to us.”
It feels like ten years to me, she thinks.
“And Connor, how are you doing?” she says, to lighten the mood, hoping for positive news.
“Better – I’ve got a new job in a software company in town. They’re all quite young, and doing really well. I like them and the work’s interesting. I’m lucky.”
She’s been worried about seeing him again, but there’s none of the coldness about him from last time.
“Brilliant. I’m glad for you. Actually, I’ve got a new job too! Helping to run a florist at the local garden centre, part-time.”
“Lisa, that’s great,” Diana says.
“It is great, actually. Not too stressful, and I’m really enjoying it – especially doing the displays and the arrangements. It’s brought out my creative side.”
“We’re so pleased for you.”
When she leaves, they all hug her warmly, including Connor.
*
“Hello, Ali,” she says quietly.
A soft breeze lifts a curl on her forehead and touches the flowers in her hand. A robin flits from stone to stone, eyeing the intruder in his territory. The gravestone no longer looks shiny and new, but seems to have settled into its environment, comfortable in the company of others.
There’s no-one else around as Lisa sinks onto one knee at the grave and places the flowers in front of the stone. It’s as if Ali is there in person. Lisa can feel her comforting presence all around.
Memories of their teenage years together flit through her mind, like images in a slideshow. Both in badly fitting school uniform, walking home, dawdling after lessons. Laughing together until they cried at some comment that wasn’t even funny. Trying on each other’s clothes, experimenting with make-up, doing each other’s hair before going out on a Friday night. Then at the flat in the city, the excitement of making their own way in life.
She stops herself there. She blocks the bad memories, at least some of the time. But today, on the second anniversary, she wants to remember Ali properly, recall those good memories and forget the circumstances of her death.
She stands and looks around. Diana, Geoffrey and Connor are coming towards her. She waves and goes to greet them.
*
She sits in the back garden with Riley, a book on her knees. It’s late summer, a Saturday and she has the weekend off, for once, so she’s making the most of it.
The garden has benefited from her new experience with plants and flowers, and the borders burst with colour. Geraniums in pots line the back wall of the house and there are hydrangeas and agapanthus in bloom alongside exotic grasses and shrubs. Many of the plants have been rescued from the nursery, too small or unpromising to sell, and nurtured back to health on her kitchen windowsill or in the shed.
Her gardening skills are blossoming together with her back yard. She’s not sure where this might lead, but she’s found work she enjoys, which she can learn from. There’s minimal stress. She’s grown in confidence dealing with the public and her displays and floral designs have earned many compliments along with the respect of her employers. It’s even taken over from the editing work, which had shrunk to a trickle, too small to survive on. She’d taken a deep breath and told them she was changing direction and would no longer be available for that kind of work. She’s even contemplating taking a floristry course, moving it all a step further.
Dare to Remember: Shocking. Page-Turning. Psychological Thriller. Page 24