‘About time,’ she said loudly as her sister, Marjorie, entered the room carrying a rattling breakfast tray.
‘I’m sorry, I… well, I dropped the pan with the eggs in and had to cook some more, by the time I had cleaned up, the tea was getting cold so I had to make another pot.’
‘I hope the eggs are properly cooked today.’ Martha scowled at her sister. ‘Yesterday, they were so undercooked they resembled mucus. How many times do I have to say, boil them for three minutes and twenty seconds, precisely.’
‘Yes, Martha, I’m sorry, but the handle of the pan was hot and—’
‘Just give me the tray and stop wittering,’ Martha scolded.
Marjorie pulled open the thickly-lined curtains to allow the early morning sun to light up the room.
‘It’s a nice day for an inheritance,’ she quipped.
‘Don’t count your chickens just yet, Marjorie,’ replied Martha. ‘You know what the tight old so and so was like. Remember the time I went cap in hand to her when Roger claimed a quarter of this house in the divorce court? She wouldn’t give me a penny to help me out of the mess.’
‘It was good job I had some savings, wasn’t it, Martha?’ Marjorie walked stiffly across to the bed and sat on the corner.
Martha coughed on the piece of toast she had just put into her mouth.
‘Don’t go digging up all that again. You’ll never let me forget that for once in your life, you helped me with something, will you? Put another record on, Marjorie, I’m fed up of hearing that one.’
‘I’m sorry, Martha,’ said Marjorie, quietly. ‘I won’t mention it again. I might not need to after we’ve been to the solicitor today though. I didn’t think we’d get a penny from Mother, but we’re both mentioned in the will. I fully expected her to leave everything to our Jessica.’
Martha put the crust of the toast back onto her plate and sliced the top off one of the eggs with a knife. Inspecting the consistency of the yolk, she nodded, and dug a teaspoon into it.
‘Well, if we are the main beneficiaries, don’t you go throwing your share about. I’ll find some nice, safe investments for you. And, watch out for fortune seeking men. You would be taken advantage of far too easily.’
‘I’m seventy-six now, Martha, I don’t think any men will be interested in me.’
‘You’d be surprised, Marjorie,’ said Martha bitterly. ‘If I can get caught out, there’s little hope for you.’
Martha finished her egg and decided the quality wasn’t quite good enough to warrant eating the second one. Instead, she poured tea into a delicate china cup, poured in a small amount of milk, stirred it gently, and took a large sip.
‘At least the tea is made properly,’ she said.
Marjorie got to her feet. ‘I’d better get on with running your bath.’
‘Leave it for twenty minutes, I don’t want to bathe on a full stomach.’
‘Yes, Martha,’ replied Marjorie.
‘You can get in after me.’ Martha ordered. ‘We’ll share the water. Our gas bill was enormous over the last quarter.’
Marjorie walked to the door. ‘I’ll come back for the tray when you’re in the bath, shall I?’
Martha nodded, picked up another piece of toast and bit into it.
‘Off you go then. Make sure the kitchen is properly cleaned, I don’t want to be stepping on bits of egg shell when I come down.’
When Marjorie had taken away the breakfast tray, Martha got out of bed, removed her nightgown and slipped into a striped bath robe. Removing her turban, she studied herself in the dressing table mirror, running her fingers through her sparse, white hair before holding a hand mirror behind her head. Cursing the latest, seriously expensive, but useless, scalp cream, she walked quickly to the bathroom where she dampened her hair in the sink before rubbing a generous handful of the supposed miracle, steroid cream, onto her head.
Martha had always been envious of her mother’s shoulder length, chestnut curls. When Alice was young, people used to compare her to the Hollywood actress, Rita Hayworth, and indeed, there had been a remarkable likeness. Martha wasn’t as fortunate, she hadn’t been exactly unattractive when she was young, but she could hardly be classed as a beauty. Her hair had always been straight and thin, almost lank. Even in old age, Alice, her mother, had managed to keep a full head of hair, she had even retained some of her natural colour until she was well into her sixties.
Martha assumed she got her looks, and her hair, from Frank, her father, who had died somewhere in the Atlantic the year after her birth. Maybe she got the hair problems from Frank’s mother, Edna, was it? How was the hair gene passed down? She doubted it was a matriarchal thing, after all, her daughter and granddaughter both had dark, healthy, heads of hair. She decided to blame it on Alice anyway. They had always hated each other. There was talk of her mother practicing witchcraft in the attic of the farmhouse. Perhaps she had placed a curse on her first born, or simply used toxic chemicals when she washed her hair in the bath when she was a baby. Alice was capable of anything.
After bathing, she filled the sink and rinsed out the sticky cream with fresh warm water, then she returned to the bathroom, calling to Marjorie on the way.
‘The bath’s all yours, be quick, the water isn’t too hot.’
In the bedroom, Martha pulled on a black and grey checked skirt and a white, silk blouse before opening a hat box that sat on the dressing table. She took out a steel-grey wig and pulled it over her patchy clumps of hair. She sat for a few minutes, tugging it first to the right, then the left, then the back. Finally satisfied, she applied a dab of rouge to her cheeks and went downstairs to the lounge where she turned on the radio and listened to the latest international news program. Radio 4 and the BBC TV news were her only source of information. She had cancelled the newspapers to save money some years before.
A few minutes later she heard Marjorie come down the stairs and five minutes after that, her younger sister walked into the lounge carrying a tray laden with Martha’s favourite china tea service. She was wearing a maroon skirt, a cream blouse and a navy cardigan.
‘I thought I’d use the best china as it’s a special day,’ she said.
Martha pursed her lips, looked Marjorie up and down, then shook her head.
‘You aren’t going to a solicitor’s office dressed like that, surely?’
‘What’s wrong with it?’ Marjorie looked down at her chest.
‘It’s not really fitting for the occasion is it? We’re attending the formal reading of a will; we’re not going to a coffee morning at the Women’s Institute.’
‘I... I thought.’
‘Don’t think, Marjorie. It seldom works out well for either of us.’
Marjorie looked confused. ‘What should I wear then?’
Martha sighed. ‘I’m not your dresser,’ she said, testily. ‘Wear the black knitted suit you wore to Mother’s funeral. That will look much more business-like.’
‘The hat had a veil on it,’ Marjorie protested.
Martha slammed her hand down onto the dining table making Marjorie jump.
‘Then don’t wear the bloody hat.’
Sniffling, Marjorie left the room.
‘And don’t take all day about it,’ called Martha. ‘Nicola is picking us up at eleven.’
Marjorie’s tear-stained face appeared around the dining room door.
‘Why are we leaving so early, Martha?’ She sniffed, pulled a handkerchief from the sleeve of her cardigan and wiped her nose. ‘The appointment isn’t until one-thirty.’
‘We’re going to have a look at our old home, Marjorie. I want to see what state the outbuildings are in. I’ve got big plans for that place.’
Chapter 5
‘You know you can stay with me as long as you need to, don’t you, darling?’ Sam took her arm from around Jess’s shoulder. ‘Sorry, love, it’s gone to sleep.’
Jess smiled a weak smile and snuffled before taking a new tissue and blowing her nose again.
‘You’ve got a place. A lovely place. Don’t let that bastard, Calvin, stop you living your life. Change the locks, get a bloody restraining order. Hire a hit man…’ Sam aimed a finger gun at her.
Jess looked around the room, then hung her head.
‘I’ve been so happy here. Everything was going so well, then… well, all this happened.’ She put both hands to her face and began to sniffle again. ‘I can’t stay here, Sam. He ruined it, everything was so perfect and he went and ruined it.’
‘To be honest, if I were you, I wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing he can still get to me, Jess. But then, I haven’t just lost my beloved Nana. Maybe I wouldn’t be so dogmatic if I had.’
Jess got to her feet. ‘I’ll get all my stuff together.’ She took another look around the flat where she had been so happy for so long. I’ll leave all the stuff in the kitchen for now, she thought, then went to the cupboard in the hall and returned with a roll of black plastic bags. She tore a couple off, dropped the roll on the coffee table, and walked quickly through to the bedroom.
‘Could you get all my stuff from the bathroom, Sam?’ she called as she opened up her wardrobe and grabbed an armful of clothes from the rail.
Half an hour later, she stood in the lounge staring at half a dozen, full to bursting, bin bags that they had piled up at the top of the staircase.
‘Six bags,’ moaned Jess. ‘Is that all my life is worth?’
Sam patted her on the back. ‘Come on, Jess. You’ll build a new life with someone worth sharing it with.’ She picked up one of the bags and struggling with the bulk, hoisted it to her chest. ‘Blimey! What have you put in here, your Neolithic fossil collection?’
‘You picked the one with the jeans and winter coat in.’ Jess forced a smile and grabbed two of the lighter bags. ‘Come on, let’s get them loaded up.’
Ten minutes later, the bags had been transferred to the car, the cupboards had been checked and the utility bills and solicitor’s letter had been stuffed into Jess’s shoulder bag. Sam waited at the bottom of the stairs as Jess took one last, lingering look around.
‘Give me a moment, Sam,’ she said quietly.
Sam nodded and returned to the car leaving the front door open.
Jess was lost in her own thoughts for a while, then made a decision. She looked back down the stairway to make sure Sam hadn’t returned, then she sat on the sofa, opened the drawer under the coffee table, took out a notepad, a small white envelope and a pen.
Dear Calvin,
I cannot express how sad and utterly dejected I feel as I write this. I thought we would go on for ever. I really believed you loved me. I am devastated. My life has been turned on its head. I lost the two people I cared about most in the world in the space of an hour. I can’t see any way back for us, Calvin, not after what happened. I could have forgiven the infidelity, I could have put up with the fact that you were short of money and couldn’t pay your share of the bills again, I was used to that, but I can never forgive, or forget the way you acted towards Sam and me that awful afternoon. People who really love someone, as much you professed to, don’t do things like that, Calvin, no matter how tough a time they are going through. You think you have had it hard? just imagine, if you can, what my life is like now, bereft of my darling Nana, pretty much estranged from my entire family, an empty heart and feeling very much alone. It’s a good job I had Sam to care for me or I don’t know what I might have done.
I can’t move back into the flat, Calvin. It holds one bad memory too many. I could never be happy here again. I’m staying at Sam’s for now, but I’ll get myself a new place soon. Don’t go thinking I’ve suddenly become rich, either. I’m not. Surprisingly, Nana mentioned her daughters in her will. I think they’ll get the farm and most of the money that she left. I’m hoping for a few personal items to remember her by, but that’s about it. No fortune, no rent-free flat, nothing. I’m going to have to rebuild my life from scratch.
The rent is paid on the flat until the New Year, that’s when the lease runs out. I’m cancelling all the direct debits for Council Tax, water, electricity, gas, etc so if you want to stay here until then you’ll have to pay them yourself.
I won’t come back here again, Calvin. You can keep all the kitchen equipment; I’ll get new when I’m settled in my new place. I hope you manage to find happiness. What we had was so special that I can’t find it in my heart to hate you. Part of me still loves you, but I have to steel myself to the fact that there is no future for us. Please don’t try to get in touch by phone or in person. I’m going to try to remember you as you were when we first met, not the controlling, selfish man you became. Did you change, or was that Calvin inside you all the time? I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt on that one.
Take care, Calvin. I wish you a happy life and I hope you find someone you can love and respect. I’m sorry that I couldn’t live up to your expectations of me.
Love Jess. xxx
Jess read the letter through, cursed herself for adding the kisses and thought about rewriting the whole thing in a more un-personal manner, but when she heard Sam call up the stairs, she whispered, ‘sod it’ to herself, folded the letter in half and slipped it into the envelope.
She scrawled Calvin, across the front and just stopped herself adding more kisses. She had been so used to putting them on the bottom of every text message she sent him that it was an almost automatic thing to do.
‘Coming.’ Jess went to drop the envelope on the coffee table but remembering how Calvin had left her letter on the toilet seat of all places, she decided to do likewise.
Back in the car, she looked at her watch.
‘Goodness, look at the time. I’m due at the solicitors in forty minutes and I need to get something ironed first. Everything will be creased after being in those bags.’
As Sam’s Volkswagen pulled out onto the main street, a black BMW slipped out of the parking lot belonging to the next block of flats and parked up in the space that Sam’s Golf had just vacated. Calvin slid out of the driver’s seat, looked over his shoulder to make sure that Jess wasn’t about to return, and pulling a single key from his pocket, let himself into the flat.
Chapter 6
By the time Nicola’s battered old Ford pulled up outside, Martha’s earlier good mood had gradually worsened and she had been pacing the strip of patterned matting in front of the window for a good fifteen minutes. Her vexation wasn’t lessened when she spotted Nicola take a swig from a bottle before opening the door of the car to wave in her direction.
‘Not only unforgivably late, but under the influence of alcohol as usual.’ Martha sucked in through her teeth and scowled.
‘Should I ring for a taxi then?’ Marjorie asked, already knowing the answer.
‘Do you think I’m made of money?’ Martha turned her anger on the only target within earshot. ‘We’ll have to risk it with Nicola. I want to look around what’s left of the farm and I’m not going to pay a taxi driver to sit twiddling his thumbs while I explore. Nicola can do that. It’s the one thing she’s good at, apart from drinking herself into oblivion. I don’t know where she gets the money to afford the habit. That part time job at the supermarket must only just cover the rent.’
Martha stormed out of the house leaving Marjorie to close the door and scurry along behind as she marched across the tarmacked drive. By the time she reached the car, Nicola had climbed out and opened the rear door for her.
‘Hello, Mum,’ she said, nervously.
Martha pointed at her wrist watch. ‘What time do you call this? We said eleven, not a quarter past.’
‘I’m sorry, Mum, I got stuck behind a tractor on the lane.’
Martha gave her a withering look and slid into the back seat as Marjorie scurried around the back of the car to the other side.
‘You’re late, dear,’ she
said.
Nicola ignored her, climbed back into the car and started it up as Marjorie slammed the back door shut.
‘Seat belt,’ Martha snapped.
Nicola sighed, pulled the belt over her shoulder and clicked the tongue into place, ‘Are we still going to Nana’s, or—’
‘We’re going to The Farm!’ spat Martha. ‘It is no longer my mother’s property. She gave it up the day she died.’
‘It will be ours later on today, won’t it, Martha?’ Marjorie looked smugly at the back of Nicola’s head.
‘Oh, have you read the will already? That is good news,’ Nicola replied. ‘I hope you won’t forget me when you come into your inheritance.’ She looked over her shoulder towards Martha.
‘You’ll need to do something about that alcohol habit of yours before I hand over a penny,’ said Martha, caustically.
Nicola concentrated on the road and refused to be drawn into another argument about her drinking. She drove steadily, a few miles an hour under the speed limit, but not slow enough to attract the attention of a passing police car. Instead of driving through the town, which would have been the quickest route, she turned onto a narrow, hedge-lined, lane that meandered through the countryside and led back onto the main road just past what used to be the town’s railway station.
‘I thought I’d take you via the scenic route. I love the colours at this time of year, don’t you, Mum?’
Martha wasn’t impressed. ‘I didn’t ask for a guided tour, Nicola. I know what you’re up to. Now, just drive us to the farm for pity’s sake.’
Nicola took a deep breath and pulled up a little too sharply at the T-Junction causing both passengers to lurch forward in their seats. Before Martha had a chance to criticise her driving skills, she swung the car to the right and went through the gears as the car sped along the long lane that led to what was left of the farm. She pulled onto the asphalt drive with a squeal of brakes and came to an abrupt halt five feet short of the wide field gate that gave access to the rear of the farmhouse.
The Legacy: Trouble Comes Disguised As Family (Unspoken Book 2) Page 3
