by Alex Brown
‘Sorry,’ she mouthed, halfheartedly.
‘Ah, don’t be. It’s just nice to see you smile, Grace. You can’t blame me for pulling your leg … I had to do something to lift your mood as you looked so down when I was staring at you through the window.’ He grinned, cheekily.
‘Oi, but I thought you said you weren’t stalking me,’ she retaliated, jabbing him with her pen which he swiped out of her hand and tossed across the room.
‘Here. Have the last piece of toast,’ he said, changing the subject as he lifted the plate and put it in Grace’s lap.
‘Oh no thanks, I’m full up.’ She went to push the plate away.
‘Nonsense. You’ve barely eaten anything and sometimes you need to feed the soul, my sweet. And I’d say that time is now. Grace, my darling, you are withering away and those circles under your eyes tell me you aren’t sleeping at all. Come on, what’s really going on? Your gorgeous green eyes used to sparkle … is Cora being horrendous?’ He lowered his voice and lifted his eyes upwards to the ceiling. ‘You must be firmer with her. The no-nonsense approach is the only way, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, Jamie. I’m fine. I’m tired, that’s all. A few late nights …’ She looked away, knowing it was so much more than that and Jamie was her oldest and closest friend, but she also knew that if she went into it all now – Cora and the full extent of her care needs, what had happened with Phil – then there was no saying how she’d feel … she’d cry again for sure, and that wasn’t really fair on him. No, now was not the time for a pity party for one. In any case, she just didn’t have the energy for any more emotion.
‘But you’re not fine, Grace. Look, why don’t you put your feet up for an hour here on the sofa and I’ll go and keep your mother company for a bit. I can get her scratchcards and then encourage her to take a while going through them. You never know, she might hit the jackpot and you’ll have your ticket out of here … they do a very nice care package at the Treetops Residential Home over in Bromley on the outskirts of London. Costs a bomb, but why not if you can afford it?’ He nonchalantly lifted one shoulder to punctuate his point.
‘Honestly, you don’t need to do that.’
‘Yes I do! Grace, how long have we been friends?’ Jamie looked her square in the eyes with a determined look on his face.
‘Um, for ever,’ she said, ‘since we were children and you stole my dress-up shoes that time. I got them from a charity shop and had managed to hide them from Bernie and Sinead for ages … and then I caught you dancing around in the garden in them. Covered in grass stains they were when I got them back.’ She shook her head and laughed.
‘Exactly! And what gorgeous shoes they were. I would have died for those heels – silver crystal platforms.’ He shook his head and made dreamy eyes, clearly in shoe heaven.
‘Well, you nearly did die that time when your dad caught you and whacked your backside for dressing up like a “big girl’s blouse”,’ Grace said bluntly, and instantly regretted it on seeing a flicker of a flinch on Jamie’s face. ‘Sorry, that was insensitive of me,’ she swiftly added, touching her friend’s arm.
‘Ah, don’t be. I’m over it. Dad was a dinosaur. He was never cut out for having a son like me. A big pansy!’ Jamie rolled his eyes. ‘Anyway, back to the point … you and I have been friends for donkey’s years and there has been many an occasion when you’ve helped me out. Like when you let me stash my eyeliner in your school bag, not to mention when I used to go on dates with boys and you pretended that I was with you when Dad came round here shouting the odds the next day. So, let me help you out now, please. Plus, you have to trust me … I’m a nurse! So I’m ordering you to get some rest.’ And he lifted her feet up and swung her legs round so she was now lying on the sofa.
‘But …’ She went to sit back up.
‘Nope! I shan’t take no for an answer. Stay there and I will see to Cora. And then later on we can work out a plan for you to play detective and go and visit the address you have for Connie, to see what you can discover about her whereabouts.’
‘I can’t do that!’ Grace said, immediately panicked. She couldn’t remember Mrs Donato’s address off the top of her head, but she was quite certain a trip there would involve going on a bus that took a different route to the one she was used to, or worse still, a train journey involving many, many steps just to get to the station before even boarding the train.
‘Yes you can.’ Silence followed. ‘Come on, Grace … where’s your fire?’ He crouched down in front of her and placed one hand on her shoulder, then in a gentler voice he added, ‘OK, I know it’s not easy, my love. But look how far you’ve already come. You can do this. You really can. I know you can, I promise you.’
‘Hmm, maybe,’ Grace ventured, placing her hand on top of his.
‘Maybe what?’ Jamie tilted his head to one side and smiled tenderly. She moved her hand to the side of his face. He was such a kind and thoughtful man.
‘Well, it depends …’
‘Depends on what?’
‘If you come with me?’ Grace stared him in the eye, hoping he’d agree as she very much liked the idea of investigating Connie’s whereabouts. Not to mention seeing where she had actually lived here in London. But the thought of travelling there on her own filled her with fear.
‘Sure. I can do that.’ He nodded like it was no big deal.
‘Really?’ Her eyes widened.
‘Yes, really.’ He smiled. ‘And the next time you venture out somewhere new by yourself, I’ll come with you halfway, and then the time after that I’ll come a quarter of the way and then, before you know it, you will be going all the way by yourself and you’ll be absolutely golden!’ And he clapped his hands together, seemingly having it all worked out. ‘Ooh, it’s so exciting, like a proper TV detective drama. Larry might even let you go there during work hours … it is a work matter, after all. So you won’t have to worry about her ladyship upstairs,’ he paused to point a finger at the ceiling, ‘and I will figure something out with my shifts. We’ll be like Cagney and Lacey!’
And, seemingly content with this plan, Grace nodded off before Jamie had even reached the stairs leading up to Cora’s bedroom.
Constance di Donato’s address in London was the garden flat of a handsome, double-fronted Georgian townhouse overlooking the grassy heath in the centre of Blackheath village. Vibrant purple begonias tumbled from the tall pots on either side of the majestically arched front door, and a brass plaque listed the apartment numbers above their respective bells.
Grace pressed her index finger on to the Garden Flat bell for the second time and then waited. Still no answer. But if by some chance Mrs Donato was still alive, then she would be very elderly – in her nineties, if she had a baby born in 1940 – so it might take her a while to come to the door. Should she press the bell again? Grace wasn’t sure it would be polite to, so she pulled her phone from her pocket and, after shielding the screen from the dazzling afternoon sunshine, she looked in her notes app to double-check that she had the right address. Garden Flat, 1 Montpelier Row, Blackheath, London SE3.
Yes, it was definitely correct. But then, on glancing at the time at the top of the screen she felt anxious on realising she needed to be back home very soon to give Cora her tea. Larry had agreed she could leave work early to come here and look for Connie, and Jamie had kept his promise to come along too, even though Blackheath wasn’t very far from where she worked in Greenwich. He had been true to his word and had come to Cohen’s to meet her, having arrived half an hour early, so had sat and chatted to Betty in the office while he waited for Grace to finish up checking in a new customer and teaching them how to operate the electric trolley, which really did seem to have a mind of its own, veering off in all directions apart from the one it was actually supposed to go in.
Jamie was currently bobbing up and down with his hands pressed up to the sides of his head as he tried to get a look through one of the big sash windows on the ground floor.
‘Come
on, it’s obviously a dead end,’ Grace said, slotting the phone back into her pocket, resigned to not finding Mrs Donato after all, which was a shame as she had hoped to meet the glamorous lady. But she knew that it was highly unlikely given that Larry’s payment reminder letters had been ignored for all this time. From what Grace already knew about Connie, from the impeccably organised storage unit and her compassionate diary entries and notes, she had formed an impression of a meticulous lady of considerable substance, and not the kind of person who would just stop paying their bills and then ignore reminders. No, Grace knew deep down that her initial hunch must have been right and that Connie had died. It was just fanciful thinking to get her hopes up of a different outcome.
‘Not so fast. We can’t give up now,’ Jamie said, over his shoulder. ‘Try ringing one of the other bells.’
‘I can’t do that. And I’m not sure you should have your face pressed up to that window … what if someone is in there? And we don’t even know if that is the garden flat you’re peering in to. They might think you’re staking out the place with a view to burgling it!’
‘Don’t be daft!’ he hissed in an exaggerated stage-whisper voice. ‘They’re hardly going to think that with me in this get-up now, are they?’ And he ran a hand over his bright pink T-shirt with a bold white flamingo print splashed all over it.
‘Hmm, I guess not.’ Grace had to agree, as with his mirrored petrol-blue sunglasses and flamboyant fluoro-lime trainers, he wasn’t exactly blending in with the genteel top-drawer set who lived in an exclusive place like this. ‘But there’s still nobody in, Jamie.’ And she went to walk off.
‘Hang on, I think I just saw someone moving around inside …’ And he tapped on the window. A little while later, the big front door was slowly opening, and a very elderly woman was standing before them, wearing a smart, pink tweed Chanel jacket and pearls, with coiffured snowy hair and pensive eyes.
Grace inhaled sharply and then held her breath as she scanned the woman’s papery, age-lined face, wondering if this frail old lady really could be Connie? Maybe her hunch was wrong after all and Connie was still alive. The woman standing in front of her looked to be at least in her nineties, so it was possible she could have a daughter who was in her seventies.
Jamie darted away from the window and towards the front door.
‘Hello, I hope I didn’t startle you. It’s just that my friend here is looking for someone … A friend. Yes, a long-lost friend,’ he quickly reassured as the woman clasped her hands together in worry, her eyes flitting left and right along the street and then gazing out over the grassy heath behind them, as if trying to fathom the situation with these two strangers.
Grace smiled and stepped forward so she was standing alongside Jamie.
‘I’m so sorry to bother you,’ she said and held out her hand, resisting a sudden urge to dip into some kind of curtsey, such was her feeling of reverence for the elegant woman standing before her … or was it in hope of meeting Connie after all.
‘Who are you?’ the elderly woman asked tentatively.
‘Um, my name is Grace Quinn,’ she said, briefly holding the lady’s tiny soft hand in hers. ‘And this is my best friend, Jamie.’
‘Hello.’ Jamie did a little wave by way of introduction before folding his arms and stepping back to allow Grace to carry on.
‘We’ve come here to find a long-lost friend—’
‘You’ll have to speak up, my dear,’ and the old lady moved in a little closer, placing her hand on Grace’s arm. ‘My hearing isn’t what it used to be, you see. It comes to us all in the end, I’m afraid. Pleased to meet you … you can call me Lady Bee … everyone does. Now, what is it you were saying?’ And with her free hand she patted her immaculate hair while Grace wondered if this meant that she really was a bona-fide Lady … she certainly had an air of nobility about her.
‘Nice to meet you too.’ Grace smiled gently and rested her hand on top of Lady Bee’s before speaking each word more precisely. ‘I said, I have come here to today to look for a friend …’
‘A friend you say? What is your friend’s name?’
‘Con …’ Grace paused and then continued with, ‘Mrs Donato.’
‘Constance?
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Oh dear.’ Lady Bee suddenly looked agitated as she patted Grace’s arm before withdrawing her hand. ‘That can’t be right …’ Her voice trailed off as she shook her head.
‘Why is that?’ Grace enunciated carefully to make it easier for Lady Bee to lip-read.
‘Mrs Donato didn’t have any friends, my dear, so that’s why. She kept herself to herself when she lived here. I never saw anyone visit her, and my apartment is right across the hallway. I did say hello on occasion if I saw her in the hall when she first moved in and we made polite conversation … you know, she told me once that she had lived in this very house as a child before having to leave when she was only seventeen. It wasn’t converted into flats in those days, though … she said it was a grand Georgian house with servants’ quarters in the attic rooms and a magnificent kitchen with an enormous Aga in the basement, so I imagine her family must have been very wealthy indeed.’ Lady Bee widened her eyes and tilted her head.
‘Did she say why she had to leave?’ Grace asked, wondering if it was because Connie was pregnant – the diary entry had mentioned her parents visiting her in a rural village called Tindledale to break the news of Jimmy’s death.
‘No, she didn’t, and I did ask as I thought it an opportunity to find out a bit more about her, but she clammed up. She was very distant. Quiet and reserved. “A recluse” is what they call people like her. And then she moved on.’
‘Moved on?’ Jamie intervened. ‘Do you by any chance have a new address for her?’ The woman looked at him and then back at Grace, who was trying not to feel disappointed that she definitely wasn’t Connie.
‘Oh dear, there’s no easy way to tell you this … so I’ll just get on with it and then it’s out of the way.’ Lady Bee straightened her back and fixed her eyes on Grace. ‘I’m afraid your friend passed away some time ago. She had a fall in the street and an ambulance took her to hospital where she later died. I’m so very sorry for your loss,’ she stated, stoically. Grace gulped and felt grateful for the sunglasses she was wearing as she could feel her eyes stinging with the threat of tears, which was ridiculous really as she hadn’t even known Connie in real life. But she had felt a connection. She identified with Connie, knowing she had a controlling mother and that they shared the same birthday as well; she felt as if she knew Connie intimately, too, through reading her personal diaries and notes. So now Grace felt a loss on realising that she really would never get to talk to the woman whose life she was piecing together.
A short silence followed.
It was Jamie who spoke next.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he soothed, looking at the elderly woman before placing his arm around Grace’s shoulders. ‘Do you know when she, um … moved on?’
‘I’m afraid I do. You see, I was away when it happened.’ She glanced apprehensively at Grace. ‘When it’s winter time here I stay with my son at his villa in Spain every year … the sunshine, you see; it helps with my joints. But when I came home in the springtime, poor Constance had already gone. This would have been nearly two years ago now.’
‘I’m so sorry, it must have been a shock for you,’ Jamie said.
‘It was. Yes, it really was. A dreadful business.’
‘Do you remember meeting any of her family? Did anyone visit here perhaps?’ he asked carefully.
‘On no, dear. Like I said, there was no one, and I don’t even think there was a proper funeral. It was certainly all over by the time I came home. You see, I would have gone to her funeral if I had known about it. It’s not nice to think of anyone going without any loved ones to give them a bit of a send-off now, is it?’ Grace shook her head emphatically. ‘And then her apartment was cleared out and the contents collected by one of those
house clearance companies – I saw their van come here; not that there was very much to take away. Such a shame … there wasn’t any furniture to speak of – just a rusty old metal bed frame with a worn-out mattress and a few bags of clothes. One of the men said all her kitchen cupboards were empty and there was only a carton of sour milk in the fridge.’ Lady Bee shook her head and Grace’s heart sank further as she processed all this information.
‘I wish I had known she wasn’t coping, but she never invited me into her home. If she had, I would have helped her. I could have fetched her groceries – my son sorts out the supermarket delivery for me and he wouldn’t have minded at all if I’d added in a few extras for Constance.’ She clasped her hands together in anguish. ‘Ooh, here comes Mr Conway, maybe he can shed some light on what happened to poor Constance.’
They all turned to see a dapper gentleman exiting a silver Mercedes that had just pulled up behind them; he was wearing a smart suit with a vibrant pink handkerchief popping out of a top pocket. ‘He lives in Connie’s flat now,’ Lady Bee informed them. ‘But don’t mention what I said about her,’ she quickly mouthed. ‘It might upset him to know she was living so frugally, in what is his home, now.’
Grace and Jamie quickly nodded in unison as they were introduced to Mr Conway and Lady Bee explained, bringing him up to speed.
‘I’m afraid I have little more to tell you,’ he nodded, ‘other than the occasional items of post arriving for your dear deceased friend … Of course, if there’s a return address then I always write the obligatory “Not known at this address”, etc. on the envelope before popping it back into a letter box.’
‘Ah, I see,’ Grace interjected, remembering the flamboyant handwriting on the payment reminder letters that Larry had received back in the office. ‘Do you mind me asking if there is still very much post for Mrs Donato? Any handwritten envelopes that could be a birthday card, or Christmas card, from a family member or friend perhaps? Anything you can tell us would be very much appreciated. You see, I work at Cohen’s Convenient Storage Company – it’s past the heath and down the hill in Greenwich – and we have some items belonging to her that really need to be passed on to a next of kin.’