Mel tenses as she remembers how they grilled her and Tom about events, how they scoured the scene at Bray’s house, confirming, among other things, that Billy’s prints were on the poker. And they’d brought in specially trained officers to talk to Kate, to gently coax out her version of events. Even Chloe had had to make a statement. And of course, Sarah revealed her story, leading up to how Kate had taken it upon herself to get revenge on her behalf.
‘But Billy was mainly asking about Kate.’ Mel sips her tea. ‘And when he can see her.’
Tom gives a slow nod, looking at Mel. ‘How do you feel about that?’
‘Oddly OK,’ she replies. ‘And Kate wants to see him. He’s actually agreed to go through the court to arrange contact. He’s resigned to it being supervised, to travelling down here twice a month to see her. He told me he hopes that one day she’ll be able to stay in Birmingham with him for a couple of days here and there. I could hardly believe it when he told me he’d got a job and is renting a flat of his own.’
Tom nods, taking it all in. ‘As long as Kate is happy and safe,’ he says. ‘And you, of course,’ he adds, leaning over and giving her a kiss.
‘You’ll get the lads jeering if there’s much more of that,’ she says, grinning, nudging his shoulder with hers.
‘Mum?’ Kate says later that afternoon in a way that tells Mel she’s got something on her mind. She’s not long been home from school, and Mel knows she saw her counsellor for another session today.
Mel looks up from her sewing machine, taking her foot off the pedal and holding still the fabric of the cushion cover she’s making. Kate comes to sit down next to her, having grabbed a bottle of Coke and a bag of crisps from behind the bar.
‘What’s up, love?’
Kate pauses, staring at the ceiling in thought as she crunches. ‘You know how keeping things inside isn’t good?’
‘Mmm, I do,’ Mel replies, turning to face Kate.
‘Well… there’s something I have inside that isn’t good.’
‘Do you want to tell me?’
‘You’ll be cross, Mum, but my counsellor asked me today what I thought was best – keeping it inside and it sitting there for ever, making me sad, or telling you and you getting annoyed for a bit and then it’s gone.’
‘And what did you decide?’
Kate puts the crisps on the table and takes a breath. ‘I decided that I should tell you it was me who put the money in your locker at The Cedars.’
‘Ok-aay,’ Mel says calmly, forcing herself not to react. ‘I really appreciate you being honest, Kate.’
‘It was Bob’s idea. I was helping him tie his laces that time and we were just chatting. I told him that you were really worried about money and sometimes went without. He got the cash from his jacket pocket and gave it to me, telling me to put it in your locker, knowing you’d find it in there. You’d already given me the key so I could get some snacks out.’
‘Oh, darling,’ Mel says, seeing the pain on Kate’s face. So she was wrong about Josette setting her up.
‘Bob said he’d let Josette know what he’d done, in case it was against the rules. He didn’t want you to get into trouble.’
No, Mel thinks. In that case, she wasn’t wrong about Josette. The woman knew Bob had given her the money but had wanted her gone. The cash presented the ideal opportunity.
‘Are you cross?’ Kate asks, picking up the crisps again. ‘When you lost your job, I… I felt like it was all my fault.’
Mel smiles. ‘Not in the least cross,’ she says, giving Kate a hug. ‘It was a very kind thing that Bob did, and not your fault Dragon Boss had it in for me. Some people just make it their business not to like others in life, Kate. Remember, it says nothing bad about you, but everything rotten about them.’
‘Amen,’ Kate says, holding up her palm for Mel to high-five. ‘Is it OK if I go to Chloe’s house on Friday after school for a sleepover? It’s the last day of term.’
‘Fine by me,’ she replies. ‘On one condition,’ she adds, sticking her hand into Kate’s bag of crisps. ‘No archaeological digs.’
‘Are you OK?’ Mel asks. She reaches across and squeezes Sarah’s hand as they stand at the shore several days later, watching the gentle waves lap up the shingle. The tide is midway and on its way out, with enough slabs of rock exposed for the three of them to stand on and do what they came to do.
‘Yes, I am,’ Sarah replies, tipping her face upwards into the breeze. She closes her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply. ‘I’m fifty-four,’ she says. ‘And I am finally laying my babies to rest. The babies I had when I was only several years older than her.’
They both look over at Kate, who’s out of earshot, stooped down and gathering fossils.
‘I used to escape down here, you know. I’d sit for hours on those rocks with my nose stuck in a book. It was only the tide creeping up on me that forced me to move. It was an escape. No one ever missed me. I can’t tell you the number of times I imagined running away, but in the end I always went back.’
‘I understand that,’ Mel says, grateful that Sarah has also agreed to therapy, to deal with the trauma behind each and every one of her self-inflicted scars. ‘Kate,’ Mel calls out, ‘come over here.’
‘It’s time,’ Sarah says, holding the urn in her hands. Her scarf billows around her neck, her loose blonde hair whipping around her face. ‘I’m glad they’re together,’ she adds, tapping the lid before Kate draws up.
‘Like me and Angus are together now, too,’ Mel says, squeezing Sarah around the waist. ‘I spoke to him last night on the phone. He sends his love.’
Sarah looks at Mel for a moment, as if she’s about to say something, her mouth opening then closing. Kate bounces up, a fistful of shells and fossils to show them.
‘Come on then,’ Sarah says. ‘Do you want to help me sprinkle the ashes out to sea?’
Kate nods, shoving the shells into her pocket and taking hold of Sarah’s arm. She walks with her grandmother to the rocks, helping her step down to where they meet the sea. Mel joins them, standing the other side of her mother as Sarah prises the lid off the pot. She says a little prayer before gently tilting and shaking the urn.
The wind catches the ashes, carrying them in a swirl before they land on the water’s surface, spreading out and dissolving in the waves as they get washed out on the retreating tide.
‘Bye bye,’ Kate whispers, echoing her grandmother.
‘Bye,’ Mel mouths too, fighting back the tears as she links arms with her mother. Three generations of women standing strong at the edge of their future.
Fifty-Three
‘God, I remember this,’ Sarah says, pulling another bundle of clothes from the wardrobe. ‘Mum loved it. Used to wear it all the time.’ She holds up an orange and cream blouse with a large pointed collar.
‘So Seventies,’ Mel says, stripping the old bed of its sheets. Joyce’s room – room seven – hasn’t been touched since she passed away, and Sarah says it’s time for her things to go, for the room to be decorated and made ready for guests. It’s been out of bounds for over a year, with Sarah keeping the key on her at all times. She’d not been able to face going inside.
‘I reckon Kate would love a few of these things,’ Mel adds. ‘She adores vintage stuff.’
‘Let’s save some for her then,’ Sarah says, eyeing the sheets as Mel bundles them up. There are several patches of dark, dried blood smeared on the striped flannel. ‘He did that,’ she suddenly says, pointing at the black sack Mel has stuffed them into, ready to be disposed of. Mel knows they’re the sheets Joyce died in.
‘Bray?’ Mel asks. Sometimes Sarah wants to talk about him, sometimes not.
She nods. ‘Mum had a stroke, as you know. But he didn’t realise that I saw him laying into her with his fist, even after she’d just died.’ Sarah shakes her head, sighing. ‘He was mad as hell that he hadn’t managed either to persuade her to write him into her will in time or marry him. Mum had some good sense, at
least. He told the doctors he’d attempted to revive her, but she’d fallen on her face as he tried to get her out of bed. I knew different but I had no voice. Literally.’ She adds: ‘I learnt that things were easier when I didn’t speak.’
It’s as they’re carting the last of the black sacks out to the car for the charity shop that Sarah stops Mel, a hand on her arm. ‘I’d like to go and visit Angus,’ she says. ‘Something’s happened that’s not quite right and… and I need to make it right,’ she adds with a small smile.
Mel tries to read her eyes and, for the most part, she can. She doesn’t want to bring up the subject of money, ask why she inherited far more than Angus. But she’s sure their mother had her reasons and perhaps now wants to settle the difference.
‘I think that’s a wonderful idea,’ she says. ‘He’s been saying for ages he’d love you to come and stay. Between you and me, I think he gets lonely. He loves his job, but it’s hard work for little money. I can vouch for that. I’m sure he’d love the company.’
‘Yes,’ Sarah says, ‘that’s exactly what I thought. It’s time to put a few things right.’
‘Micky!’ Mel says loudly, answering his FaceTime call. As usual, she’s covered in paint and dust, wearing her overalls and a headscarf, and she hasn’t stopped grafting since Kate went off to school earlier. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes,’ she says, sitting down on the bare boards, leaning up against a wall.
‘And you’re just a sight,’ he says, laughing. Mel sees he’s in his shop, hears the lazy rhythm of jazz in the background.
‘The presidential suite will be ready for you soon,’ she jokes. ‘When are you and whoever the latest guy is coming down to stay? I miss you so much.’
‘It was Phil but, alas, Phil is no more,’ he says with an overstated flourish. ‘I’m back swiping, my darling. It’s my destiny.’
‘What happened to rekindling some of your past loves, like I suggested?’ Mel smiles, knowing Michael will never change. ‘Anyway, come alone, then Kate and I get you all to ourselves,’ she says. ‘But hurry, before I get booked up. Honestly, you wouldn’t believe the response I’ve had to the little launch I did. We had a food-tasting evening with an eight-course menu and local craft beers. Half the village must have come in. Plus, I’ve had quite a few guests staying and some have already left glowing reviews. I’ve even had an enquiry about hosting a fortieth birthday party. And that scumbag journalist came crawling back, can you believe, asking for rates for his wedding reception. I took delight in telling him I was booked up. Things are on the turnaround, Micky.’
‘I’m so pleased for you,’ he says, going on to ask about Kate, as well as Tom. Mel feels herself blushing.
She tells him how well Kate is doing, that she’s flourishing at school. ‘And Tom and I are just taking it slowly,’ she confesses. ‘But things are good. Plus I still owe him that cake.’ She laughs, resting her head back against the wall.
‘And what about Angus? Did you sort the… the money situation with him?’
Mel lowers her voice. ‘We spoke, yes. Honestly, the poor guy works all hours and is really strapped for cash. I know only too well what that job’s like.’ Mel sighs, wondering whether to tell Michael. She doesn’t want to lie, so decides to keep it vague. ‘Look, between you and me, Micky, I transferred him some cash. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep otherwise.’
Michael sucks in a breath. ‘You did?’ As expected, he looks shocked. ‘That’s very kind, Mel. But how… how much?’
‘It’s not going to make much difference to me but it means the world to him. He’s a bit of an oddball, but I like him. And he’s my brother.’ Mel still hasn’t tired of dropping the words ‘mother’ and ‘brother’ into conversations.
‘And it means Angus can get ahead in life a bit. He deserved a break,’ she says, avoiding the question. She knows he’ll be cross with her.
‘Yes, yes, he does,’ Michael says slowly, nodding his head. ‘He certainly does deserve a break.’
‘Anyway, the good news is that Sarah… Mum… knows there’s this huge disparity, a kind of elephant in the room. She’s gone off to stay with Angus for a day or two. She left just an hour ago. I think she’s gone to make good and sort it out. Apparently, she still has a large amount left in trust from her grandfather, all taken care of before she was even born.’
‘Sarah’s gone to see Angus?’ Michael says, looking surprised.
‘I know, right? She’s getting braver by the day. I got her a pay-as-you-go phone. I wanted to drive her, but she insisted on taking the train. Angus is picking her up from the station.’
Michael nods, a frown forming. ‘Well, good for her. And good for you too, my darling. Everything sounds wonderful. I’m so proud of you.’
‘It is, Micky, it really is. For once in my life I can truly say that I’m happy.’
Fifty-Four
Tom switches over the vinyl on his turntable, replacing the Pink Floyd album with a Thin Lizzy LP, and sits back down next to Mel.
‘I’ll do a quick reading before your dad gets here then,’ Mel says, shuffling her tarot deck. Tom looks intrigued, taking another slice of the home-made cake she’d brought round to share. ‘And don’t make that face,’ she adds, laughing. ‘I’m really into the cards. They’ve never let me down.’
‘It’s my cake appreciation face,’ he replies through a laugh and a full mouth. ‘Anyway, I like it that you’re…’
‘Strange?’ Mel finishes for him, laying out some cards in a spread on the little table in front of them. She nudges him, giving him a look. ‘And save some cake for your dad and his carer.’
‘No, I was going to say quirky,’ Tom says with a wink. ‘So go on then, what does the future hold?’
Mel stares at the cards she’s dealt and laid out on the coffee table, slowly shuffling the others. She frowns.
‘Don’t tell me… you’re going to meet a tall and handsome man who you’ll fall madly—’
‘No,’ Mel says quietly. ‘No, they don’t say that at all.’ She shudders as a chill creeps up her spine. She shakes her head. ‘Five of Pentacles, Three of Swords… The Tower, The Moon.’
Mel stares up at the ceiling, sighing.
‘These are… these are potent cards together,’ she says, shaking her head and staring, pondering the combination. ‘With the tarot, you don’t simply take each card at face value. A reading is the sum of its parts.’
‘So what do they mean?’
‘Poverty, heartbreak… betrayal. An impending and disastrous event with no way to stop it…’ Mel points to each card, frowning, staring, trying to make sense of them. ‘That’s just the start.’
‘And The Moon?’ Tom asks.
Mel looks up at him. ‘Secrets,’ she whispers, jumping as the front door suddenly knocks. ‘But I need to clarify with more cards,’ she adds. ‘The reading is incomplete.’
‘I can’t wait,’ Tom says in a silly voice. ‘I’ve a nice bottle of red we can open later, too. Might make it more palatable,’ he jokes. ‘And by the way, you look beautiful,’ he adds, stopping before he goes to the door, giving her a kiss on the lips. ‘I love that dress.’
‘Thanks,’ Mel smiles. ‘It’s new, and it’s about time it had a proper outing.’
‘Dad,’ Tom says warmly as he opens the door, giving him a hug. ‘And Shelley, thanks for bringing him down. Do both come in. You’re looking well, old man.’
‘If you say so, son,’ Walter says, shuffling inside. ‘Hip’s been giving me trouble again.’
Mel watches as Walter gets his bearings, taking off his jacket with Shelley’s assistance. He leans on his stick, shuffling across the room, wheezing his way over to an armchair. Tom helps lower him into it.
‘Dad, this is Mel from up at the Inn. Do you remember her? You met a few weeks ago.’
‘Hi, Walter,’ Mel sings out as the old man looks up at her, as if he’s only just realised she’s there. ‘How are you?’
Walter stares at her, his lower jaw qui
vering. His blue, almost frosted-looking eyes flick over her as he tries to focus. He licks his lips, as if he’s about to speak but can’t find the right words. He scratches his chin, slowly rubbing shaking fingers over his grey stubble.
‘Well, I’ll be darned. Is that you, Joyce?’ he says, his face lighting up. ‘I’ve been looking for you all this time.’ He chuckles. ‘How’s that girl of yours? Terrible business,’ he says. ‘Just terrible what happened.’ He shakes his head, clacking his lips together as he looks away, frowning.
‘No, Dad, this is Melanie. The new owner of Moreton Inn. It’s not Joyce.’ Tom mouths Sorry at Mel, who shakes her head in return, smiling.
‘Nice to meet you, Walter,’ she says, bending down and holding out her hand. Walter takes it, gripping it firmly, clasping it within both of his. He pulls her closer, tugging her down. Mel gets down on her knees next to him.
‘No need to be so formal, Joycie. It’s me, Walt.’ He brings her hand to his mouth, shaking as he draws it close, giving it a kiss.
‘Dad, you’re confused. This isn’t Joyce,’ Tom repeats, laughing kindly and rolling his eyes at Mel. ‘Fancy a cuppa?’
‘I’d rather have some of what you’re having,’ he laughs, spotting the champagne bottle.
‘There’s cake, too,’ Mel says. ‘For you both,’ she adds, looking over at Shelley.
Soon, they’re eating a slice, with Mel still sitting on the floor beside Walter.
‘You’ve got cream round your mouth, Walt,’ Shelley says, leaning over with a napkin. ‘There you go.’
‘Did you make this, Joycie?’ Walter says, looking at Mel. ‘It’s delicious.’
Mel glances at Tom, wondering if it’s just better to go along with it.
‘Yes, I made it, Walter,’ she replies. ‘I’m glad you like it.’
‘How’s that girl of yours now, Joycie? Is she talking yet?’ Walter shakes his head. ‘Terrible goings-on.’
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