Searching for a Silver Lining

by Miranda Dickinson

  For Jo

  So much more than just

  a wonderful mum-in-law.

  Thank you for being my friend.

  Because you loved me

  I can face today

  Chase my blues away and smile

  It’s because of you

  That happiness is mine

  Because you loved me

  All my crazy dreams

  Find their feathered wings and fly

  I am free, love

  Because you loved me

  ‘Because You Loved Me’

  The Silver Five (1954)

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Acknowledgements

  Reenie’s Cocktail - The Blood and Sands

  Author Q&A

  Searching For a Silver Lining Playlist

  Bibliography

  Chapter One

  ‘Ain’t That a Shame’ – Fats Domino

  The church was dark and cool, the chill seeping in through every brick and pew. Despite the warm day beyond its walls, inside it seemed as bleak as November. Why did funerals always feel cold, even when the sun was shining?

  Matilda Bell stole a glance around as she pulled a too-thin black cardigan more tightly over her goose-pimpled arms. It was still early, but several members of her family had already gathered, their hushed conversations and solemn expressions a show of unity that somehow made her feel even more excluded. They hadn’t noticed her yet; when they did she didn’t know what their reactions would be. She had been his favourite, after all. Before the argument, that was. Before her stupid mistake . . .

  She drew back further behind the tall, carved pillar that partially obscured her from the view of the front pews. It was an old church, one filled with memories and inextricably linked to her family. It had been his favourite place of worship, more importantly. Which meant that the building’s very fabric seemed carved with his name. It had always been such a warm, familiar place but today, with her grandfather’s presence reduced to a whisper among the gathering mourners and a printed name on a service sheet, it felt colder than a grave. Bracing herself against a wash of sadness, Mattie let out a sigh, almost expecting to see her breath rising like mist.

  I’ll stay until the final hymn, she told herself. Then I’ll sneak out before any of them see me.

  She almost hadn’t come at all. It was only because her sister had called her last week with the funeral details that she even knew about it. While nobody else in her family had said as much, she knew what most of them were thinking. That she had broken his heart and the pain of it had hastened his death. It was rubbish, of course: the post-mortem had revealed an aggressive tumour that had taken residence on his lower spine and spread with sickening speed to his liver. But deep down, Matilda knew the huge rift between her and Grandpa Joe couldn’t have helped. She blamed herself; not only for the argument that had torn apart a relationship she’d always assumed to be unbreakable, but also for failing to realise her grandfather had been right all along. If only she’d laid aside her stubborn pride for one second, she might have seen it. But Matilda Bell had thought she knew best – just like she always did – and now she had lost everything she loved.

  More people were filing in now – the great, the good and the mildly questionable of Kings Sunbury. Grandpa Joe had loved them all and they, in turn, adored him. Each new mourner seemed to assume a position in front of Mattie, making her feel shunted further down the queue away from him. They hadn’t let him down, the accusing voice in her head insisted. They hadn’t defied him . . .

  But the time for ‘if-onlys’ was far in the past.

  ‘Mattie? I thought it was you! What are you doing all the way back here? The rest of the family’s up at the front.’

  She stared blankly up at her cousin Jack, who was edging along the narrow gap between the pews towards her. ‘Hi. I’m fine here.’

  Ever the sunny optimist, her cousin was not likely to accept this. ‘Nonsense! Your place is with us. No matter what’s happened.’ Seeing her expression, he sat down beside her.

  ‘They blame me,’ she stated, hot tears stinging her eyes.

  ‘They don’t.’

  ‘I blame me.’

  ‘Matilda, it’s over. It’s done. They aren’t going to abandon you, whatever you think.’

  ‘I broke his heart . . .’

  ‘Cancer took him, not heartbreak. You’re as bad as your mother for blaming the world’s ills on your own failings. Let me let you into a secret: you’re not that powerful, Matilda Bell.’ His hand was warm on hers as he smiled. ‘Come to the front with me. Today’s not a day for this family to be divided. We’ve all lost him.’

  She wanted to believe Jack, to think that something as simple as shared family grief could heal the rift in the Bell family. But feelings ran deep and she knew what they were thinking: that in rejecting Grandpa Joe, she had dismissed all of them. Her friends had envied their close-knit family over the years, but now she was feeling the stab of the flipside – that when they were so close, arguments cut more deeply and were harder to heal.

  ‘All the same, I’m happier here.’

  ‘Then I’ll sit with you.’

  ‘No, Jack, you don’t have to do that.’

  ‘I know I don’t. But you shouldn’t be on your own today and I’ll be damned if I let you be. So shut up and give me a hug, okay?’

  Mattie loved Jack for his stubbornness. It reminded her of Grandpa Joe’s – except that Jack had never doled out ultimatums over her love life. What hurt most was that she couldn’t explain to her family the real reason her heart was breaking today . . .

  ‘Don’t cry, Mattie. You’ll set me off.’ Jack squeezed her hand and offered her a tissue from a small plastic pack.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she sniffed, the chill of the church seeping further into her bones.

  But she wasn’t only crying for Grandpa Joe.

  A signal from a churchwarden at the back of the church brought the grave-faced vicar to the lectern.

  ‘Good morning. Would you all please stand?’

  Mattie’s knees buckled and Jack caught her arm as the opening bars of ‘Because You Loved Me’ echoed hollowly around the ancient stone walls. Grandpa Joe’s favourite song, performed by The Silver Five – a once-famous singing group from the 1950s – as familiar to Mattie as the sound of her own voice. The music swept years of memories into the building as the funeral party processed slowly up the aisle. Mattie saw the loss etched in ugly lines across her father’s forehead as he bore the coffin on one shoulder, f
lanked by her brother-in-law Fred and two paternal uncles, Reuben and Seth. Didn’t they do this on special trolleys nowadays? Mattie was shocked by the physical bearing of Grandpa Joe’s body into the sacred space by the men that had loved him most. Had things been different, would she have accompanied them?

  She looked past the encroaching oak box to the front of the church, trying to get a glimpse of her mother, but she was obscured from view. Instead, she fixed on her older sister Joanna, who was holding the hands of her daughter and son as she watched her doting husband Fred carrying the coffin. Mattie could see the tension in Joanna’s shoulders and knew her sister would be fighting back tears, just as she was. Not that Joanna would ever allow anyone to see that. She was the one everyone else turned to for support, her steady nerve and coolness famous in the Bell family. Mattie was fiercely proud of Joanna but today felt an emotional mess by comparison. As if sensing Mattie’s gaze, Joanna half-turned her head, sending the briefest smile down the pews to her. Mattie nodded back. It was enough to know Joanna cared. They would talk later, but for now their mother needed Joanna’s calming presence.

  Reverend Philip Caudwell stepped forward to receive the funeral party, his expression ashen. Phil had been more than their local vicar, practically another member of the family for as long as Mattie could remember. The entire Bell clan had passed through the many traditions of St Lawrence’s, from christenings to confirmations, Sunday-school anniversaries and countless Christmas and Easter celebrations. Joanna and Fred had been married here. Mattie had hoped one day the church would witness her own wedding. For her grandfather, it was a second home. He had been a stalwart of every fundraising effort there since his own childhood and counted Rev. Phil as a surrogate son.

  The many solemn faces within St Lawrence’s walls today had one thing in common: everybody had loved Grandpa Joe. Every person gathered in the cold church still mourned his passing. But Mattie was a prisoner amongst them. They could all publicly express their grief today: she couldn’t.

  Barely whispered hymns and grim-faced Bible readings seemed to float above her head and it was only when she felt the chapel’s chill receding a little across her back that she realised her cousin had draped his suit jacket across her shoulders.

  ‘You were shivering,’ he whispered. ‘Is that any better?’

  Mattie nodded, emotion knotting in her throat.

  Rev. Phil’s eulogy was warmer than the garment surrounding Mattie, every word carefully chosen and delivered from the heart. It would have been clear to any stranger in the church that the vicar had not only known Grandpa Joe but also loved him dearly. Mattie could see the gentle undulation of her mother’s shoulders, her head nodding as Rev. Phil relayed bittersweet anecdotes and spoke of a man whose love for his family and his friends knew no bounds.

  Except with me, Mattie thought. He found his boundaries with me, didn’t he?

  She maintained her distance as the family moved outside to the far warmer church grounds to commit Grandpa Joe’s body to the ground. Rev. Phil asked if any of the family wished to say a few words at the graveside, to which her father, Uncle Reuben and Uncle Seth responded; their words choked by sobs. Mattie wanted to push through her gathered family members and declare her love for her grandfather, to pour out her apology for defying him, even though it was too late and he would never hear her words. But nobody wanted to hear her say that today, did they? Whatever Jack said, she knew her mother and her uncles blamed her in part for Grandpa Joe’s speedy demise. They had never said as much, but her mother’s pointed remarks about how positivity could and should have helped her beloved father-in-law fight back were as damning as an actual accusation.

  Finally, when the family moved away, followed hesitantly by Jack, Mattie moved to the open graveside, its edges bedecked with flowers, and stared down at the soil-strewn oak coffin in the dark earthen hole.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, hurt and regret all but stealing the power of her voice as tears flooded down her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye. I know you were right now.’ She took a breath, the scent of sun-warmed grass and damp earth filling her lungs. ‘If I could make it up to you, I would. I’d do anything . . .’

  The air around her seemed to still suddenly, even the birds in the cedar trees that edged St Lawrence’s graveyard falling strangely silent. Kneeling slowly by the edge of the grave, Mattie gazed down at the brass plaque half-covered by scattered soil. This was the end of a season of her life, but was she prepared to carry this pain forever? She shook her head. ‘No, I will find a way to make it up to you, Grandpa. I promise you that . . .’

  Walking away from the graveside, she saw a familiar figure bounding across the vivid green lawn between the gravestones.

  ‘Mattie! I hoped I’d catch you. How are you doing?’ The vicar kept his smile steady despite clearly seeing the state she was in.

  Mattie felt a rush of affection. ‘Not good, Phil.’

  Rev. Phil offered her his arm. ‘I understand. He was a good man, loved by all. But he wasn’t perfect. You and I both know that.’ He raised a hand to silence Mattie’s protest. ‘And so does your family. They’re hurt now and they might say or do things they’ll later regret. But Joe loved you and he never stopped, despite being a stubborn ass.’

  His decidedly un-vicar-like choice of words brought an involuntary smile to Mattie’s face. ‘Thanks, Phil.’

  ‘Come back to the vicarage? Vanessa’s laid on a great spread and the neutral territory might be beneficial.’

  ‘I don’t know . . .’ The urge to disappear back to the safety of her home was strong.

  ‘I’m not asking you, Mattie, I’m telling you. As a vicar. Bearing in mind who my boss is, best not to argue, eh?’

  As she let herself be escorted to the vicarage, Mattie’s thoughts returned to the graveside promise she had just made. She didn’t know how she would ever fulfil it, but a new determination burned, furnace-hot, within her. One way or another, she was going to make amends . . .

  Chapter Two

  ‘Memories Are Made of This’ – Dean Martin

  ‘Blimey, I haven’t seen one of these for forty years!’

  The bearded man grinned as Mattie handed him the old Bakelite radio from the shelf behind the counter. Reuniting people with their past was one of the things she loved most about her business – every day at work new stories emerged of her customers’ lives. She felt privileged to share them. And today’s revelation was no exception.

  Percy Walker had become a regular visitor to Bell Be-Bop – the small vintage goods shop Mattie had owned for two years. He had recently moved to the town after many years living abroad, and seemed to be furnishing his new house on the outskirts of Kings Sunbury almost exclusively from Mattie’s shop. A suntanned seventy-one-year-old, he was enjoying reliving his youth through the items he purchased.

  ‘I first heard Little Richard on this,’ he beamed, his eyes focusing decades back. ‘In my mother’s front room, while she was round at my Auntie Elsa’s. I managed to tune it to Radio Luxembourg and my rock ’n’ roll love affair began. I was a Teddy Boy, you know, back in the day.’ He patted his sunkissed bald pate. ‘Quiff’s long gone, mind, but I had quite the head of hair back then. How much for the radio?’

  ‘Eighty,’ Mattie replied, wondering if she should discount for her newly loyal customer. ‘But if you want to help yourself to anything from the record box I’d be happy to throw those in for free.’

  More than pleased with her suggestion, Percy hurried over to the chalk-painted tea crates containing stacks of 78 rpm records and began to eagerly leaf through the titles. Mattie felt her heart contract as she remembered doing the same as a young girl with Grandpa Joe’s record collection. Through him she had discovered and fallen in love with 1950s and 1960s music, from Elvis Presley and Lonnie Donegan to Chuck Berry, Tommy Steele and Connie Francis. Indeed, much of his record collection had been her first stock in the shop, before Asher, before the argument and before the mis
take . . . Shaking the pain away, she focused on her customer. Today was not the day to dwell on the past, even if the past was what was funding her future.

  ‘I don’t know why we don’t just sell Percy the shop and be done with it,’ she whispered to Laurie, her assistant, as she returned to the sales desk made from the front section of a mint-green 1955 Ford Thunderbird. ‘We could make a fortune and retire.’

  Laurie grinned. ‘And miss all the non-stop excitement of this place? Not on your nelly! Admit it, Mattie, you love running this shop. It’s in your blood.’

  Mattie couldn’t argue with that. It had been a struggle to establish the shop in the provincial High Street of Kings Sunbury in the beginning. For what felt like months its only visitors came to peer curiously at the vintage stock, as if gazing at museum exhibits. Then Mattie started the online side of the business, and suddenly visitors began arriving not just from neighbouring towns but further afield, too. It was too early to deem the shop a roaring success, but sales in recent months had been promising and now, with a small but growing regular clientele like Percy, the future looked brighter. And today, with the sting of the funeral still raw, being here gave her hope for better times ahead.

  ‘No world cruise for us yet, then.’

  ‘Not yet, no. So,’ Laurie leaned against the counter and Mattie knew what topic was approaching faster than an express train. ‘How were your family yesterday?’

  Feeling her stomach twist, Mattie shrugged. ‘As you would expect. Dad’s retreated into himself. Mum’s still angry about everything. Grandpa Joe was more like a father to her than a father-in-law. She’s devastated – I get that. But she’s built a wall around herself that I can’t breach. We didn’t talk at the church, most of my family barely talked to me at the wake. No animosity or outright arguments, of course, that’s not our style. But I was glad to leave, let’s just say that.’

  ‘And your sister?’

  ‘Heartbroken, of course. Looking after Mum. But she called last night and we had the full post-mortem of events.’ That had, at least, been one consolation in yesterday’s painful progress. ‘It was just a horrible day.’