High Tide

by Veronica Henry

  Vanessa couldn’t help laughing yet again. Her mother refused to be moved. Nevertheless, the gesture was kind, and she felt a rush of fondness for Spencer for thinking of Mary, who had indeed worked tirelessly to make Pennfleet House run like clockwork. She couldn’t wait for Mary to find out what she’d been left. She deserved every penny.

  She knew she should wait for the solicitor to contact Mary himself, but the last thing she wanted was for Mary to open the envelope in front of her husband and mother-in-law. That would severely restrict her choice of what to do with the money. Mary didn’t speak about her home life very often, but Vanessa could read between the lines. Her mother-in-law sounded like a tricky customer, and it must be difficult living with a man who had lost his job. Mary had a lot to deal with, but she never complained, and she always had time for other people. She was almost a saint.

  So when Mary came in at midday, Vanessa sat her down at the island with a cup of tea.

  Mary looked worried.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she told her. ‘It’s good news.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Mary. ‘I thought you were going to let me go.’

  ‘That is the last thing I would ever do. No. I wanted to tell you that Spencer left you some money in his will.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Twenty thousand pounds.’ As she named the sum, Vanessa felt delighted. It would be a fortune to Mary. She thought of Karina, who would be disgruntled by her fifty grand, even though she didn’t deserve it.

  Mary just sat there. She looked stunned.

  ‘I can’t take that. It’s not right.’

  ‘Well, you don’t have a choice. It’s yours whether you like it or not. And it is right. It’s Spencer’s way of saying thank you for everything.’

  ‘But it was my job.’

  ‘Oh, Mary – you always went above and beyond. You know you did.’

  Mary was overwhelmed.

  ‘I can’t take it in. Twenty thousand pounds!’

  ‘And you’re to spend it on yourself.’ Vanessa was going to be strict about that. She wasn’t an interfering person – she hadn’t inherited that from Squirrel – but she was determined that Mary should indulge in something that would make her life a little better.

  ‘What on earth am I going to spend twenty thousand pounds on?’

  ‘Anything you like. Anything at all. But if I were you, I wouldn’t mention it to the others just yet. Not until you’ve decided what to do with it.’

  Mary looked thoughtful. ‘I can’t not tell them. That would be lying.’

  ‘No, it wouldn’t. Anyway, you don’t know yet. Officially. I wasn’t supposed to tell you. You’ll be getting a letter from the solicitor.’

  ‘So it’s a secret?’

  ‘If you like.’

  Mary thought about it.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to say a word.’

  It was a sign, thought Mary, as she went off to the utility room to fetch her cleaning materials. Somebody up there, aided and abetted by Spencer, had known what was going to happen to her. The money was there to tide Kenny and Ruthie over, when the worst happened to her. Twenty thousand pounds wouldn’t last for ever, but it would certainly help.

  All Dr Webster’s kindness and reassurance went out of the window. She was for it, thought Mary. She would get to the consultant and he would shake his head sorrowfully. She stood in the middle of the kitchen, a duster in one hand and the polish in the other, and wanted to cry. She couldn’t, though, because Vanessa would want to know what the matter was. She had to keep going.

  She squirted a dollop of Pledge on to the dresser and began to polish.

  Kenny drove as fast as he could from the surgery to Shoredown. He headed for the big retail unit on the outskirts of the town, where the new supermarket had just opened. It stood like a spaceship, all gleaming glass.

  He’d seen the advert last week, when he and Mary had come here to do their big monthly shop.

  We are proud of our drivers, who help make us the top choice for internet grocery shopping in the area. Help us deliver the goods! If you have a clean licence and are used to dealing with the general public, come and see our recruitment manager now.

  At the time he had thought he was too good for the job. Too good to pack up big green boxes of groceries into the back of a van and trundle round the countryside delivering them. Too good to wear the supermarket uniform, with a name badge on, because he’d once been foreman and everyone had known his name and didn’t need telling who he was.

  Everything had changed. Fear and guilt and remorse and terror all jumbled up inside him. What had made him think he was so special? All that mattered now was that he could make amends.

  He strode into the supermarket, his head held high. The sign was still there.

  Five minutes later, he was sitting in a blue chair in front of a desk. A thin-faced woman with large glasses ran through a checklist of questions. He was astonished when she seemed delighted by his credentials.

  ‘You’re just the sort of person we’re looking for,’ she told him.

  What – a loser?

  He thought it but didn’t say it.

  ‘I need to do a CRB check, of course, because you’ll be in customers’ houses. But if all that goes smoothly, we can have you up and driving as soon as.’

  She gave him a rabbity smile that made her nose wrinkle.

  Bloody hell. It was that easy. Who knew?

  Kenny left the supermarket and drove to the other side of the retail park. There were two big electrical places, so he chose the one where they’d bought their washing machine, because it seemed as good a reason as any. He walked over to the computer section and gazed round at the blank staring screens. He had no idea where to start.

  His sons had gone mad at him when they moved. How were they supposed to keep in touch, all the way over in Australia?

  ‘There’s an amazing thing called the telephone,’ he told them.

  ‘No one uses phones anymore for this kind of thing, Dad. And it’s free, over the internet. Over the Wi-Fi.’

  ‘It’s not bloody free if you’ve got to pay five hundred quid for a computer, is it? That’s called a false economy.’

  He’d stayed stubborn, and Mary didn’t push, because she wasn’t the pushy type, and once a month they dialled first one son and then the other on a Sunday morning for a ten-minute chat, timed on the egg timer in the kitchen.

  Now, however, he walked up to the first assistant he could find.

  ‘I want a computer. Or a laptop. Whatever I need to speak to my sons in Australia. Over the Skype or whatever it is.’

  ‘No problem. What’s your price range?’

  ‘I don’t care. I just want the easiest.’

  He didn’t care. All of a sudden the only thing that mattered was Mary. He’d got a few hundred saved up, out of his benefits and what he won on the horses. He didn’t know what he’d been saving it for, but it made him feel a bit more secure, knowing there was a nest egg. In case of trouble.

  He hadn’t expected this sort of trouble. Remembering Mary’s face this morning made him shudder.

  The assistant was talking to him.

  ‘Have you got Wi-Fi at home?’

  ‘We did have, when the boys were at home. Do I need it?’

  ‘You will do, yes. But if you’ve had it, you should be able to get it reconnected. Come and look at these.’

  The lad showed him a small range of laptops and how they worked. He wrote down on a piece of paper what Kenny would need to do, and who to contact. ‘I’ll take this one,’ he said, not knowing why he had chosen it, but wanting the deal done as quickly as possible. He had other things to accomplish before the close of play.

  Jobs and laptops were easy to acquire, it seemed.

  Removing his mother was going to be a different story.

  He had always known it was going to be difficult. Which was why he had avoided it for so long. He knew he should have nipped it in the bud when she firs
t bowled up. Should have shown her the door after two weeks, when it became obvious that she was far too comfortable. Of course she was, with Mary’s cooking and housekeeping, because Mary was kind and selfless and ran round after both of them because she had run round after people all her life.

  Yep, thought Kenny, he was a miserable, ungrateful worm who had let his wife run herself ragged, because he was too gutless and lazy to stand up for himself or for her. He’d taken the easy option all the way. Not any more.

  ‘Mum,’ he said to Ruthie, who was, surprisingly, not in front of the telly for once, but was sitting at the dining table replacing her false nails. The sight of it made him feel slightly ill. She was surrounded by pieces of white plastic, applying them one by one with glue to her nail-beds.

  ‘Don’t disturb me. I need to concentrate.’

  ‘No. This is important. You have to move out.’

  Ruthie looked up at him with a benign smile, rolled her eyes in faux fond exasperation and carried on her work.

  ‘I mean it. You’ve been here long enough. It’s time for you to find a place of your own.’

  Ruthie gave a sigh of impatience. He was interfering with her concentration.

  ‘You were never supposed to be here for this long.’

  She held out her left hand and admired it.

  ‘Don’t ignore me, Mum.’

  She looked at him with raised eyebrows and started on her right hand.

  ‘What is behind all this? Who’s rattled your cage?’

  ‘Mary and me, we need our privacy. We were happy to help you out, but … you can’t stay here for ever.’

  ‘So you’re chucking me out? Is that it? Your own mother?’

  ‘No. Of course I’m not chucking you out. We’ll help you find somewhere.’

  ‘Me? In my condition?’

  ‘Mum. There is no condition. You’re just …’

  He floundered under her level gaze.

  ‘What? I’m just what, exactly?’

  ‘Well, you need to lose a bit of weight and move about a bit.’

  She gave a bark. ‘You can talk. And her. She’s no Twiggy.’

  ‘At least she gets off her arse.’

  ‘Which is more than you do.’

  Kenny flinched. He wasn’t going to tell her what he’d done that morning. He didn’t want her knowing any of his business. Not at the moment. Not until things were straight.

  ‘There’s some flats in Shoredown. We can get you into one. We can sort out your rent – you’ll get some help with that from the council.’

  ‘Oh. Do you know, I thought I would get help from my own family. I didn’t think I’d have to go begging.’

  ‘It’s not begging. You’re entitled to it. And you have got some money, Mum. I know you have.’

  ‘Have you been going through my stuff?’

  ‘No. But you have, haven’t you?’

  Ruthie was shrewd, he knew that. He didn’t know how much, but he knew she had cash to dip into. She wouldn’t look at him.

  He tried a gentler tone.

  ‘I don’t want to upset you. But like I said, we need our privacy—’

  Ruthie snorted. ‘Been reading Fifty Shades, has she?’

  Kenny felt his heart harden. No one laughed at Mary and got away with it.

  ‘Either you go with my help and my blessing. Or you can bugger off.’

  ‘Well,’ said Ruthie. ‘That’s nice. That’s very nice indeed.’

  He didn’t care what she thought. Everything was different now.

  He looked up at the ceiling. It was too much for him. He tried to breathe, but he couldn’t.

  Even Ruthie, self-absorbed, self-centred Ruthie, could see something was the matter.

  ‘What is it? What’s the matter with you?’

  He couldn’t tell her. Mary wouldn’t want her to know. Mary was very private. Besides, he couldn’t imagine her being of any help. He just turned to her.

  ‘Could you, for once in your life, put somebody else first?’

  23

  On Tuesday, Kate spent the day on what seemed like endless administration, talking to service providers and going into the bank. She realised Rupert was right, that probate was a huge chore. Every time she thought about him she felt agitated, and more than once was tempted to telephone and cancel their dinner. He was only going to make a fool of her again. She remembered he’d offered her the use of his office, and she had to admit it was tempting – he was bound to have Wi-Fi, and a photocopier – but something stopped her. She used the Wi-Fi in Sam’s café instead, and the photocopier in the tourist office. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do for now.

  She looked up the company Rupert ran with his brother. Pennfleet Holiday Cottages. It was a predictably upmarket venture, done in a low-key way, just like the Malahides. They had a signature look for the decor of each cottage – soothing heathers and greys and lavenders. There were picnic hampers on arrival, with tartan rugs; bicycles to borrow; televisions hidden away behind hand-painted doors; piles of board games. All very discreet but well thought out.

  Kate recognised Belle Vue would be perfect. It would sleep a family of four very nicely. Rupert could do a refurb over the winter – new kitchen, new bathroom – and have it ready to rent by spring.

  She was cross with herself for falling into his trap. But she decided she could play it to her advantage. If she sold to him, she could save agents’ fees and not go through the agony of endless negotiating.

  She’d had two estate agents value the house the day before, both of whom gave her a price within five thousand of each other. She’d done her research on the internet anyway, and decided roughly what she wanted to ask.

  ‘It’s not really the best time of year to go on the market,’ said the second, who was full of useful advice. ‘You might need to stand your ground. But I think this should sell well. Of course, your other option would be to do it up – you’d get a really good price then.’

  ‘It’s difficult, when I’m not here,’ said Kate. ‘Of course, what I’d really like to do is live here myself and do it up.’

  She was surprised when these words came out. It was true, though – as she had cleared the house, she had imagined the tired seventies decor ripped out, a cream Shaker kitchen installed, a modern staircase in glass and steel rising up to the first floor … She could visualise it so clearly, and felt sad that it would fall to someone else, that they would excise any evidence of her and her family and breathe new life into the old stone walls.

  ‘And by the way,’ said the agent, ‘if it doesn’t sell straight away and Pennfleet Holiday Cottages make you an offer, don’t have any of it. They drive a hard bargain. Hang out till the spring. You’ll definitely get your price then.’

  Kate couldn’t help laughing. Rupert’s reputation went before him. Well, he was in for a shock if he thought he was going to get one up on her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’ve been very helpful. I’ll let you know what I decide to do.’

  As the agent left, Kate felt rising panic. Carlos was pressing her for a decision on when she was going to get back. She knew she had to have a meeting about the ball as soon as she could. It wouldn’t look good to dither. It was the pinnacle of her career. She needed to get the key people on board. She couldn’t mess this one up. But she couldn’t just walk out of Belle Vue. Or could she? Maybe she should lock it up and leave it, then come back in a month or so, when probate was through.

  By the time Debbie came round to help her clear out some cupboards, she was feeling very tetchy.

  ‘Thank God you’re here,’ she said. ‘I’m never going to manage.’

  ‘You just need to be organised,’ said Debbie.

  ‘Thank you so much for helping me.’

  ‘It’s fine. I’d only be going for a run or going to the supermarket or running errands. It’s much more fun to be gossiping with you.’

  ‘Just like the old days, eh?’

  ‘How many times did we sit in this ki
tchen reading our horoscopes?’

  ‘And drinking that horrible fizzy pink wine that gave you a headache?’

  ‘And trying to finish our sixth-form projects. What a waste of time that was. I did mine on eighties supermodels. I mean, really – why?’

  Kate laughed. ‘I did heraldry. Yawn!’

  They set to clearing out the airing cupboard next to the bathroom. It seemed that even old pillowcases and tea towels could bring back memories. Kate hated consigning them to the recycling. She understood the compulsion to hoard, because stuff gave you a sense of identity. But common sense and practicality won the day in the end. And Debbie’s insistence that, much as the striped towels reminded her of her childhood, they had no place in her life.

  ‘Keep the good stuff. Just the really special things. Your parents don’t want to be remembered through a ratty old towel.’

  It was astonishing how long it took to clear out. Kate supposed there was over fifty years of stuff in there – stuff her parents had had since their wedding day.

  ‘This is just the airing cupboard. What about the rest of the house? Oh God … I’ll never finish.’ She looked at her watch. ‘And I better go and get ready.’

  Debbie looked at her. ‘I can’t believe you’re going out with Rupert Malahide tonight.’

  Kate couldn’t believe it either. Maybe it was because she hadn’t been out for dinner with anyone for months, because work was so busy? Maybe she was flattered? Maybe she wanted to prove something to him?

  ‘After the way he treated you,’ Debbie said with indignation. ‘What a cock.’

  ‘Oh, you know what? It was just teenage nonsense. It wasn’t a big deal.’

  Kate tied a knot in the top of the bin bag. She could say that now, but it wasn’t how she’d felt at the time.

  It was the summer she and Debbie left school, before they went on to sixth-form college in Shoredown – they both wanted to go there rather than stay on at the school, because it seemed more grown-up. They’d spent the months working and playing as hard as they could. The sun shone on Pennfleet every day, and a little rain fell at night from time to time, considerately, to keep any fear of drought at bay and to keep the gardens and allotments plumped up.