The Last Thing She Told Me

by Linda Green

  3

  ‘Bye, love. Hope you have a good day.’

  I wasn’t allowed to kiss Ruby in public any longer so, as much as I wanted to, I didn’t attempt to. Ruby didn’t bother replying. She walked off up the street, looking forlorn, her rucksack drooping off her back in sympathy. I hadn’t wanted to suggest a day off school because I knew it would cause problems if I took a day off work. It would be bad enough having time out for the funeral. It was a small school and there was no cover for a teaching assistant, which meant even more work for Fiona.

  Besides, I was sure Ruby would feel better once she was at school and had something to take her mind off Grandma. Moping at home would do her no good. I sighed as I realised I sounded like a mother – my own mother.

  Maisie tugged at my hand. ‘Come on, Mummy. You mustn’t be late, or you’ll get in trouble with Mrs Stimpson.’

  I smiled down at her and started walking. At that moment I wanted to rewind eighteen months to the point where we were all at the same school. People had often asked me if it was weird, working at the school my children attended. And I’d always said, no, it wasn’t. It seemed entirely normal to me. I’d loved having Ruby in the classroom with me for her last year at primary school. But it had meant that her starting secondary school had hit me hard. Other parents had let go long ago. I never had.

  Maisie chatted away as we walked through the town. It was a bright day, the autumn sun already over the hills and inching down one side of the valley. I loved living there. Loved that you could look up and see exactly where you were in the calendar at any time of year. I’d have hated living somewhere so grey and out of touch with nature that I’d have had to check my phone to see what month I was in.

  Maisie was telling me about the new range of smelly stationery Emily had got. I said, ‘Oh,’ and ‘Right,’ and nodded intermittently but my mind was elsewhere. Tearing back and forth between whether Ruby would manage to keep herself together at school, whether Mum would turn up later at the registrar’s and what Grandma had meant about the babies.

  I wondered if she’d had a couple of miscarriages. Mum was an only child: perhaps there had been other babies who hadn’t made it. Grandma had never spoken about it, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. If she’d had a miscarriage at home, she could have buried the little she had been left with in the garden. Her way of remembering. Maybe Grandad hadn’t known about it. They’d never seen each other in their underwear before they’d got married, Grandma had told me that much. She might not have felt able to tell him about a miscarriage early in their marriage.

  ‘Emily!’ Maisie let go of my hand as we reached the playground and ran towards her best friend. Fortunately Emily was always at breakfast club too, so Maisie didn’t mind having to come to school early. She ran back to give me a hug, then disappeared inside with Emily in a blur of ponytails and excited giggling.

  I arrived in the staffroom just as Fiona had put the kettle on.

  ‘Morning. Good timing as ever.’ She said with a smile.

  I smiled back but I’d forgotten that Fiona had a built-in putting-a-brave-face-on-it detector.

  ‘Your grandma?’

  ‘She went yesterday. Peacefully. I was there.’

  ‘Oh, Nic, I am sorry,’ she said, giving me a hug.

  Andrew, the year-five teacher, glanced at us but I didn’t feel like making a staffroom announcement. It was only Fiona who had known she was dying.

  ‘I’ll need some time off for the funeral. I don’t know yet when it will be. I’ll try to make it the afternoon so I can be in for the morning if possible.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. You need to take the whole day off. I’ll sort the kids out with something to keep them quiet. How have the girls taken it?’

  ‘Maisie’s fine and Ruby’s being Ruby.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Fiona, handing me a mug of coffee. ‘It’s always hard for the sensitive ones. Is she going to the funeral?’

  ‘I don’t think I could stop her if I wanted to.’

  ‘It’s probably a good thing. Give her a chance to say goodbye and all that. Was your mum there?’

  ‘No,’ I replied.

  Fiona raised an eyebrow. ‘But she’ll be at the funeral?’

  ‘We’ll have to wait and see.’

  Fiona nodded, knowing not to push it. ‘Did your grandma have any other family? Brothers or sisters?’

  ‘Two older brothers and an older sister, apparently. She’d lost touch with them years ago, though. Some big family fall-out. I imagine they’re all dead by now, so it doesn’t really matter.’

  ‘Is your brother helping?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Families, eh?’ said Fiona. ‘Lucky you’re bloody brilliant at holding everything together.’

  I smiled at her, not wanting to admit that most of the time I struggled to hold myself together, let alone anyone else.

  *

  It was weird, driving back to Grandma’s house knowing she wasn’t there. Ruby had wanted to come but I’d told her it would be boring for her and she was better off staying at home with James and Maisie. As I pulled up outside I felt tears prick and had to sit in the car for a few minutes to compose myself. The house would feel so empty without her, even though she’d only been a tiny shrivelled figure lying on the bed in the front room for the past few months.

  I got out of the car, walked up the path and let myself in, ‘Hi, Grandma, it’s me,’ stuck somewhere in my throat. I shut the door behind me and stood for a moment, the silence echoing back at me. There was an envelope on the mat with my name on it. I tore it open: a sympathy card from Andrea next door. She must have seen the body being taken away yesterday. She’d been good to Grandma, always checking on her to see if she needed anything from the shops. I should probably knock and thank her but I wasn’t sure I was up to it. I shut my eyes for a minute. Took a deep breath.

  The house still smelt of Grandma. Old and soapy with a hint of Yorkshire tea (two sugars, of course). I ran my fingers over the flock wallpaper in the hall – maybe her smell had impregnated it. I imagined Maisie doing a scratch and sniff test to find out.

  I walked into the front room. It was, of course, just as I had left it yesterday. I’d pulled the blankets up (Grandma had never taken to duvets) over the pillow as if I was hiding something underneath. I was. It was the indentation of her head that I didn’t want to see. I swallowed and looked around the room. The table was a mess of knick-knacks, assorted cups and saucers, and a half-eaten packet of Jacob’s crackers, which I knew I should throw away, but I couldn’t face it. I was trying to ignore the fact that the house was now unlived-in and unloved. No one except Grandma had ever liked it.

  I remembered Grandad complaining frequently about the room being too gloomy to read the sports pages without the light on. Not to mention the noise of the wind against the bedroom window at night. And Mum never visited if she could help it. Family Christmases had always been at her house, and on Grandma’s birthday Mum would ask Dad, and later me or Justin, to fetch her for tea at ours. When I’d asked her why we never went to Grandma’s, she’d always said it was too cold and damp. Even in the middle of summer.

  Grandma was probably right: no one else would have wanted the house. Not to keep, anyway. But I still felt uneasy at the idea of us selling it when I knew that wasn’t what she’d wanted.

  I glanced down at the floral carpet, worn in places and held together with tape at the edges to stop it fraying. It was, like the rest of the house, a relic from a bygone era. In many ways it should have died with her. Perhaps it would be kinder to put the whole house to sleep than to sell it. Whoever bought it would get rid of the carpet and probably strip the floorboards underneath, exposing them to the light for the first time in years.

  I sighed and steeled myself for the task at hand. Grandma had a briefcase for important papers. I presumed it used
to belong to Grandad, as she’d never needed one for work. I couldn’t remember seeing it in the front room, but with all the clutter it was hard to know. I guessed it was still upstairs in Grandma’s old bedroom.

  Every creak on the stairs sounded louder than usual. When I got to Grandma’s room I hesitated outside the door. It felt wrong, entering when she wasn’t there, wasn’t even present in this world any more. The idea of people going through my stuff when I was gone filled me with horror. I made a mental note to get rid of anything I wouldn’t want people to see, long before my time was up.

  I pushed the door. Everything was as I remembered. The double bed was still there. James and I had carried the single from the spare bedroom downstairs when Grandma had moved into the front room. It was presumably Mum’s old bed. I couldn’t imagine that it had ever been replaced.

  There was still a nightie hanging up behind the door, an assortment of creams and half-empty tubes and bottles on the dressing-table. I ran my fingers over the candlewick bedspread. It would probably go to the charity shop, though I couldn’t imagine there was much demand for bedspreads, these days. I suspected it would stay there for months and I would see it when I went in some time next spring and bought it back because I couldn’t bear to think of a piece of her life being left there forever.

  I opened the wardrobe and rummaged around at the bottom. The briefcase was in the corner at the back. I took it out and put it on the bed. It was even more battered than I remembered: the leather was worn away at the corners and the handle was coming off at one side. The jumble of papers inside didn’t surprise me. Grandma had never had an efficient filing system. I tipped the contents out on the bed and started sorting through the various envelopes, putting all the documents I’d been told I needed to register the death in a separate pile.

  The white A4 envelope marked ‘Will’ in shaky capital letters was the last I came to. I opened it to find a piece of A4 paper with the letterhead of a solicitors’ firm in Halifax, informing her that her will would be securely stored with them, as per her instructions. I slipped the letter back into the envelope. I would ring them tomorrow. At least we wouldn’t have to wait long to find out the situation with the house. I picked up the papers I needed and popped them into my bag, then put the briefcase back into the wardrobe.

  I stopped to have a look through the things hanging from the rail. There were dresses I had never seen her wear. Things from the fifties and sixties. I had no idea what we’d do with them. A vintage shop, perhaps? I spotted a yellow polka-dot dress I remembered from an old photograph of her and Grandad on their honeymoon. They’d been standing on the front at Bridlington, Grandma every inch the English rose. She’d been such a beautiful young woman. Beautiful in a very natural, innocent sense. Grandad’s frown seemed out of place. She’d told me that the sun was in his eyes but, to be honest, Grandad had always seemed to be frowning. I put the dress at the end of the rail, knowing I couldn’t possibly get rid of it. Maybe Ruby would like it. It would be nice to give the girls something that had belonged to their great-grandma. She would have liked that too. She was always one for keeping things in the family.

  I went downstairs and looked around the kitchen. It was hard to know where to start, there was so much to get rid of. I opened the fridge. It was the weirdest thing, seeing half-finished packets of ham and cheese that had outlasted the person who was eating them. I wondered for a second about taking the contents of the fridge home, but it felt wrong somehow, even though Grandma had hated waste. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to stomach eating it, anyway. I began emptying everything into the bin, trying not to think of what Grandma would say.

  When I’d finished, I took the kitchen bin out of the back door and dumped the contents in the wheelie bin. It was starting to get dark and the wind was developing a chill, I glanced down the garden and my gaze fell on the two fairy statues in the far corner. Something twisted inside me as I recalled Grandma’s words. I walked down the path towards them. I couldn’t remember a time when they hadn’t been there, yet I’d never studied them in detail. They looked like they were made of cast iron, although they had been coated in something which was now a dirty alabaster colour and chipped in places, to reveal the iron underneath.

  The nearest figure to me was of a fairy sitting on a toadstool, her bare legs tucked underneath, her wings outstretched behind. The second statue, set back slightly from the first, was of a fairy kneeling, one hand on the ground, the other outstretched, a butterfly resting on her fingertips. Her eyes were closed. I’d once asked Grandma if she was making a wish for the butterfly to stay there always. She’d smiled and told me that was exactly what she was doing.

  I’d talked to them when I was little. I’d even given them names, although I couldn’t remember them now. I’d often asked Mum if we could visit the fairies at Grandma’s. Mostly, she had found a reason to say no: too busy, too late, too wet, too cold. But on the rare occasions we had gone, the first thing I’d done was to run down the garden to say hello to them.

  Grandma had been talking about them at the end, I was sure. All those memories she must have had of the times we’d gone down the garden together to see them. The way we had both lingered over our goodbyes. It was the statues she’d wanted me to look after. Maybe that was why she’d left me the house.

  Perhaps that was all that was needed. For me to take care of her fairies.

  *

  The next day, when I arrived at the registrar’s office in Halifax after school, Mum was sitting on a chair clutching the worn straps of her navy handbag. She looked up at me, the dark circles under her eyes more visible than usual.

  ‘Hi,’ I said, managing a smile. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to make it.’

  ‘Tricia swapped shifts so I could do an early.’ I sat down next to her. ‘Thanks for sorting everything out,’ she said. ‘I know it should be my job.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I replied, feeling bad for being angry with her now.

  ‘How are the girls?’

  ‘Ruby’s pretty upset. She’s desperate to come to the funeral.’

  ‘Then let her.’ My eyebrows rose. I had expected Mum to be against the idea. ‘Give her the chance to say goodbye,’ she said.

  ‘What about Maisie?’

  ‘Maisie too. It’s important.’

  Before I had the chance to say anything more, a young man emerged from a door at the back of the room. He was dressed in a brown suit and his face sported an expression straight out of the compassionate-sympathy training manual.

  ‘Mrs Hallstead and Miss Hallstead?’

  We nodded and stood up at the same time. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ he continued, shaking our hands in turn. ‘Please do come through.’

  I followed him into the office. It was decorated in neutral colours and was entirely functional, apart from a box of tissues on the desk. When I turned to check on Mum, she was biting her bottom lip, seemingly trying hard not to be the first to need one.

  *

  When we left the registrar, I didn’t tell Mum I was going to pick up a copy of the will. Maybe because I thought it would be too much for her. Maybe because I suspected she hadn’t been left anything and it would be too awkward.

  I sat in my car, waited for her to leave first, then turned right out of the car park, instead of left for home.

  When I got to the solicitors’, they had the sealed envelope ready for me.

  ‘If you’d like to open it now, have a read-through and ask any questions, you’ve very welcome to do so,’ said the young woman, once I’d shown her my ID and the death certificate. ‘Otherwise, take it home, read it in your own time and feel free to contact us if there’s anything you don’t understand.’

  As desperate as I was to read it, it didn’t seem right to do so in public. Grandma had always been of the don’t-wash-your-dirty-linen-in-public persuasion so I’d read her final wishes in privat
e. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I’ll take it home.’

  She handed me a leaflet about understanding wills. Then I got straight back into the car and drove home. When I let myself in, James was cooking dinner.

  ‘How did it go?’ he asked.

  ‘OK. I haven’t read it yet. Where are the girls?’

  ‘Maisie’s watching TV in the front room. Ruby’s in her bedroom.’

  ‘Right. I’ll do it now, then.’

  I went upstairs, shut the door, peeled open the envelope and took out the will. It felt intrusive, like opening Grandma’s head and peering inside. The first thing I saw was my name, as executor of the will. I turned the page and saw straight away that I was the sole beneficiary of the estate. There was no stipulation in the will that the house should be passed to Ruby but Grandma had said so and I couldn’t delete it from my mind.

  *

  James looked up as I returned to the kitchen.

  ‘Well?’ he asked.

  ‘The house is mine.’

  ‘Great. Does it say anything about you not being able to sell it?’

  ‘No, but it doesn’t make any difference, does it? She made it very clear what she wanted. She asked me to leave it to Ruby. I can hardly go against her final wishes, can I?’

  ‘No,’ said James, deflating in front of me. ‘I guess not.’

  12 May 1944

  Dear Betty,

  I meant what I said, you are as pretty as a picture. And now I know you have the voice of an angel too. I couldn’t go any longer without speaking to you. I had to know if the owner of that smile felt the same way about me. And Betty, your voice is the sweetest thing I swear I have ever heard.

  I know you’re shy. I get the impression you’re not used to being around men. Maybe your mother has warned you off them. But Betty, I tell you, I’m not like the men she has told you about. All I care about is treating you right. Making you feel like the special girl you are. I want you to be my special girl, Betty. I want your smile to be just for me. And the other boys can keep their Rita Hayworths and Betty Grables because I have you. An apple pie and ice-cream girl, that’s what my mother would say about you. And one day Betty, I want to take you home to meet her and the rest of my family because I know they’d love you. And then you’d know how serious I am about you. One day this war will be over. I know many guys aren’t going to make it through to the end but I’m a born optimist (that’s another thing my mother says) and I know I’ll be one of the lucky ones who survive. I can see a time when all this is over and we can build a new life together, you and I. We can start a family of our own, and I know it might sound like I’m running away with myself but if there’s one thing this war has taught me, it’s that life is short and we need to grab happiness while we can. These are the dreams which keep me going when it gets really bad, when I don’t know if we’re going to make it back. I think of you and my future life with you, Betty, and that’s what gets me through.