by Eleanor Ray
“There’s no need for insults,” said Richard.
“See what I mean?” said Nina. “You’re on everyone’s side but mine.” No one answered. “Fine.” She pushed past Richard and went inside, returning moments later with the car keys. “I’ll be back tomorrow for my things,” she said.
“We’ll pack them for you,” said Charles, rather smugly.
Nina jumped in the car, slammed the door, and sped away.
Richard stood still a moment, tiredness wrinkling his face. Then another expression passed over his features. Amy wasn’t sure, but she thought it could be relief.
“Right, everyone,” he said. “It’s late. Back to bed.”
He encouraged the boys back inside. “Good night, Amy,” he said. “Sorry about…”
“Not at all,” said Amy. “Sleep well.” She watched them go back inside. The lights turned off. Amy waited for her eyes to adjust to the moonlight again, then opened the recycling bin.
She gazed inside, then reached in and pushed the papers to one side. The bottles lay there. Peaceful. Beautiful. She reached her hand in to pull one out, then stopped. It had been a hard day, and the conflict with Nina hadn’t made things any easier, but at the same time she could feel a gentle sense of peace, emanating from the resting bottles. She’d saved the excavator for Charles. Perhaps that was enough for tonight. Perhaps it was time to let these bottles go.
She closed the lid, and realized that she felt a little bit lighter. Amy turned back towards her own house and walked home in the moonlight.
* * *
AMY SAT ON her hallway floor early the next morning with her front door open for extra light. It felt weird to her, having the fresh air flood her house, and she could see particles of dust dancing in the sunlight as if in celebration. She was sorting the fragments of pots into piles, trying to work out which piece went with which pot. It reminded her of doing a jigsaw puzzle; blue with the blue, flowers with the flowers. The edges were the easiest.
Some were not too bad. A few big pieces that could be easily glued back together. They would never be as strong as they once were, but they would be whole again. She could keep the plants in the plastic pots Richard had bought her and put them inside the repaired ones: that would keep the pressure off. An extra support system.
Others were beyond repair. She kept the pieces anyway, remembering her ideas for reuse. It had only been three weeks, but it seemed like forever since a single pot had been smashed in her back garden, revealing the lost ring to her.
And then the letter. And the photograph.
The ring was still around her neck, though of course now its meaning was less obvious to her. Had Tim intended to marry her, then found the pressure too much? How had it found its way to her garden? And when had the letter from Chantel arrived?
She glanced up to her hallway shelf. The large envelope with Please Do Not Bend firmly printed in authoritative red sat there, watching her as she worked. She sorted the last of the pots, then stood up and opened it again. Inside was the letter, its envelope, and the photograph. She looked just at the envelope for a moment, stepping farther into the sunlight flooding in from her front garden. The stamp was still there, but the postmark had long since been worn away.
She paused, then looked more closely. There was a very subtle raised shape, an out-dent. It made a gentle shadow, only visible in the bright July sunshine. She took her fingertip and felt the shape. It was familiar. Instinctively her hand went to her chest where the ring hung.
She removed the ring and held it next to the envelope.
It matched, stone for stone.
There was no doubt. This ring had been inside the envelope.
* * *
AMY TRIED TO process the information. Chantel had put an engagement ring from Tim, presumably intended for Amy, together with the confession letter. Why?
Not to taunt her. Chantel was not a cruel person, no matter what she might have done. She wanted Amy to have that ring.
Amy could see no explanation. A ring, a photograph, a letter confessing Chantel and Tim’s love for one another. She lined up the items next to each other and stared at them until her vision went fuzzy.
“I’ve collected my things.” Amy looked up. Nina stood in front of her, surrounded by several suitcases. “Bye.”
“You’re not really going?” asked Amy, hurriedly putting her clues back in the envelope. “I’m sure you guys can work it out. Wasn’t it all a big misunderstanding?”
“It’s not just that stupid digger,” said Nina. She made no secret of peering into Amy’s house. “God, you’ve got a lot of stuff,” she said.
“Thank you,” replied Amy.
Nina let out a reluctant laugh, then came and leaned on Amy’s porch railing. “I don’t like how I’ve become,” she said. “I did some not very nice things. That’s not me.”
Amy looked at her.
“I didn’t smash your pots, Amy,” she said, in response to Amy’s gaze. “I fell in love. I thought I could take the boys on too, but it’s too much. I was angry all the time. I wanted Richard, but not with his baggage.”
Richard appeared at Amy’s gate.
“We all have baggage,” replied Amy. She glanced back into her house. “No one travels lightly anymore.”
Richard nodded. “Come talk when you’re ready,” he said, addressing Nina.
“Losing someone you love isn’t easy,” said Amy quietly. “If you have a choice…”
“Staying isn’t easy either,” replied Nina. “It’s time to go.”
“Just a minute,” said Amy, remembering. She left Nina standing in front of her house and hurried to the kitchen. “Here,” she said, handing her the yellow mug that had been broken the first day they met. “I’ve fixed it.”
Nina looked at the mug, then up at Amy. “Keep it,” she said. “It’s yours now.”
“Thank you,” said Amy, relieved that the mug could stay with her. She smiled at Nina. “Good luck.”
“Good luck to you too,” replied Nina. “I think you’re going to need it.”
* * *
AMY HAD ENJOYED her trip to the supermarket. For so long she’d eaten whatever provisions the corner shop provided for dinner and a ready-made salad or sandwich from the places near the office at lunch. Wandering around the supermarket with an empty trolley that could be filled with possibilities had been a pleasure. What a vast array of food was available, if you had the space to store it.
Amy still didn’t have much space, but she’d cleared away a few of her least favorite mugs from the kitchen counter and dug out a slow cooker. A single-pot meal, the recipe book declared, that would be wholesome and delicious was within the skill set of even the least accomplished cook. That was what the boys and Richard would need with Nina gone. Preparing a meal in times of trouble was what her grandmother would have done, and Amy chopped carrots contentedly. A packet of sausages, a couple of onions, and a few small potatoes sat on top of a box next to her, patiently waiting their turn. She’d brought Scarlett into the kitchen to watch her newfound domesticity, and the bird looked on, surprised and curious.
* * *
AMY HAD LEFT the meal to do its thing all day while she was at work—slow cookers were aptly named. But opening the lid and breathing in the rich aromas, Amy decided it was worth it. She emptied the contents into a rather elegantly curved stew dish that she’d picked up at a charity shop some years ago. It had a cream-colored interior and a dark-blue glaze on the outside that had made Amy think it could be a relative of one of her mugs. When she’d got it home, she’d found that the blues didn’t match, but she’d kept it anyway.
Amy realized she’d got stew on her black trousers and went upstairs to change. She selected an orange dress from the wardrobe, which was now permanently accessible. The color reminded her of an egg yolk, warm and rich.
Wrapping tea towels around the dish to protect her hands, she made her way outside to knock on Richard’s door. It was harder than she’d anticipate
d with both hands occupied, so she set the dish down for a moment to knock and was bending down to pick it up again when the door swung open.
She stood up, feeling a little light-headed. “Amy?” said Richard.
“I thought that since Nina had gone, you might need…” She picked up the dish and thrust it forwards.
“What’s that?” he asked, then smiled as he realized. “I can cook, you know,” he said with a laugh. “It’s not the fifties.”
“Oh,” said Amy, suddenly feeling foolish. Perhaps acting as her grandmother would have was rather outmoded.
“I’m sorry,” said Richard. “I shouldn’t laugh. That was very thoughtful of you.”
Charles appeared at the doorway. “Amy!” he said. “My excavator savior and mouse rescuer.” He smiled. “That’s what Dad said you were.” He turned to his father and whispered something.
“Of course,” said Richard. “Amy, would you like to join us for dinner? We’ve just sat down. Will what you’ve made save till tomorrow?”
“I’m busy tomorrow,” said Amy, wishing again that she hadn’t accepted that date with Liam.
“Not a date?” asked Charles, his ears pricked.
“Well…”
“Amy’s private life is her own,” interjected Richard. “Sorry, Amy.”
“The stew will keep for two to three days,” replied Amy, pleased with what she’d read in the recipe book. “If kept refrigerated.”
“Perfect,” said Richard. “Then maybe join us again in two to three days.” He smiled. “Come through.”
The table was set with a wooden bowl containing salad, a smaller wooden bowl full of fresh garlic bread, and a plain Pyrex dish with a steaming lasagna. The boys had already been served, and Richard went to the kitchen to get an extra plate.
“Look how happy Mickey is,” said Charles. “We bought him a proper tank with sawdust and a wheel and food and a water bottle of his own.” Amy peered into the tank. A tiny mouse barely the size of her thumb peered back at her. Something in his expression reminded her of Scarlett.
“He is exquisite,” she said.
“I love Mickey,” agreed Daniel.
Amy took a seat. “Wine?” called Richard from the kitchen. “A nice glass of Merlot is the perfect accompaniment to lasagna à la Richard.”
“Thank you,” said Amy, helping herself to garlic bread.
“Nina didn’t eat garlic bread,” said Charles. “Because of the carbs.”
“Oh,” said Amy. She looked at the bread in her hand and took a giant bite. “She was missing out,” she said. Charles grinned at her. Richard filled her glass, and Amy admired the wine bottle. It appeared black and opaque when full, but as Richard filled her glass she saw the familiar translucence develop. It really was lovely.
Amy was distracted when Richard served her up a hearty portion of lasagna. She tried not to look at the bottle again as the four of them tucked in. It felt weird to Amy hearing the sounds of others eating around her. She was used to dining with only Scarlett’s company.
“That’s a pretty pendant,” said Richard. “Is it a ring?”
“It’s from an ex-boyfriend,” said Charles. “But Amy isn’t going to marry him because he’s disappeared.” Amy suddenly found the mozzarella in her lasagna hard to swallow, and took a gulp of her wine to assist.
“Charles,” said Richard, “Amy might prefer it if you didn’t reveal aspects of her private life at the dinner table.”
“But you already know,” objected Charles. “I heard Nina tell you after Rachel told her.” There was silence for a moment, then the reassuring clatter of knives and forks on plates.
“It’s okay,” said Amy.
“Done!” announced Daniel. “Cartoons?”
“Okay,” said Richard. The boy slipped off. “Charles, do you want to join him?”
“I’ll stay here with Amy,” replied Charles. “More wine, Amy?”
“I’ll pour, thanks, Charlie,” said Richard with a laugh.
Amy allowed her glass to be refilled. The glass was simply shaped but effective. She’d seen something similar in the supermarket and had managed to resist. In fact, she’d bought nothing more than she needed for her slow-cooker meal. Maybe when she went back she’d buy a bottle of wine to repay Richard for his hospitality. The thought sent a judder of memory through her so fierce that her wine glass shook. An inexplicable need to talk about what had happened rose up like heartburn.
“Are you okay?” asked Richard, placing a steadying hand on her arm.
“I found this ring in the garden,” Amy blurted out, words escaping from her like rats running from a sinking ship. Or mice escaping her house. “And I didn’t know what it meant, but I did know it was from him. Then I found a letter from my best friend who went missing at the same time, and a picture of a bit of woodland or a park or something but I can’t work out where, even though I feel like perhaps that’s the key to the whole thing. And now I know the ring was inside the same envelope. It all fell into the pot I used to keep for umbrellas by the front door, and sat in my garden for God knows how long, and the letter is all but illegible.” Amy paused for breath. Both Richard and Charles were staring at her.
“Was it a nice park?” asked Charles.
“I don’t think that’s the point,” said Richard, his voice soft. “Amy, have you taken this to the police?”
“That’s what I said,” said Charles, looking pleased. “When she told me about the ring ages ago.”
“I took the ring and they weren’t interested,” said Amy. “I think they’d need more evidence than this—” She cut herself off.
“They need a dead body,” guessed Charles, grinning darkly. “Maybe the letter tells you where the body is. It would just be a skeleton by now,” he added, his eyes shining. “The worms would have eaten—”
“We get the idea,” said Richard. He paused. “What did the letter say exactly?”
“I can’t make out much of it,” said Amy, trying not to think about skeletons.
“I’m a very good reader,” said Charles. “I can even read Miss Gillingham’s writing.”
“I could look at it for you?” suggested Richard. “If you’d like a second opinion?”
“And a third,” said Charles.
Amy hesitated. The letter felt private—but then, it was predominantly illegible. What harm could it do? “I’ll go and fetch it,” she said.
Back inside, her house felt quiet. For a moment she closed the door and shut her eyes. She could smell the dust and hear the silence. The letter was sitting in the kitchen now, protected by its Please Do Not Bend envelope. She didn’t have to obey that writing, she realized. She could rip the whole package into tiny pieces, throw it away, and carry on living as she had been. She didn’t even need to go back to Richard’s house. She owed nothing to the neighbors, nor they to her. They could move at any point, and she’d have no right to ask them why or where.
Her things wouldn’t leave. Scarlett would always be with her. Her mugs. The remaining bottles.
But not the pots. Things could be destroyed too, just like relationships. Her hand went again to the ring. The ring that could not tell her the truth.
Amy opened her eyes. It was unlikely that Richard would be able to decipher more of the letter than she had, but it was worth trying. She grabbed the envelope from the kitchen, blew Scarlett a quick kiss, and made her way back to the neighbors’ house.
“There you are,” said Charles, opening the door for her. “We’re going to have ice cream as a special treat since we have company.” He smiled at her. “That’s you.”
Daniel was back at the table, spoon in hand. “Ice cream,” he said merrily.
“Would you like some, Amy?” asked Richard. “It’s from Cornwall, apparently.”
“Sure,” said Amy. Perhaps it would settle the nervous feeling in her stomach. They all sat around the table again, the envelope in the middle. Charles reached out for it.
“Finish your ice cream first,�
�� said his father. “Then we’ll look when Amy is ready.”
Daniel beat them all in finishing his ice cream and wandered back to the television. Amy ate hers slowly, but eventually took a final lick of the spoon and set it down. It had been a long time since she’d indulged in ice cream. She reached for the envelope and emptied the contents. She could see Charles itching to grab the letter, and passed it across to him. “Do you want to look at the photo?” she asked Richard.
He took it and frowned. “Trees, grass, hills. Some kind of machine on the edge. I can’t see any landmarks.”
“Let me look,” said Charles. “I know all the parks. You take the letter.” Richard looked to Amy, who nodded assent. They switched papers, and Amy took another sip of her wine. There was only a small amount left in the bottle now, and the emptiness glowed a brilliant green in the light.
“That isn’t just any machine in the corner,” said Charles finally. “It’s a digger.” He looked excessively pleased with himself. “Look, you can see the edge of it here.” He pointed. “It’s a JCB 5CX, I think. But that’s odd. It has tracks.” He paused. “Can I take this photo upstairs?” he asked. “There’s something I want to check in my room.”
“I suppose that’s fine,” said Amy. Charles took the photo and scurried away.
“I don’t know what to make of the letter,” said Richard finally. “There’s not much to go on. I don’t want to pry,” he added, “but did they say anything to you before they left?”
“No,” said Amy. She hesitated. “Chantel was my best friend. We grew up together. I still can’t believe that they would do that to me. If I could find out where this photo was taken, perhaps…” Amy stopped and took another sip of wine. “It’s been so hard,” she said. “Not knowing what happened and having to believe that they betrayed me. I’ve lost them, but not in a way I can mourn. Not properly.”
“At least you have hope,” said Richard. “I’d give anything to have that back.” He drank from his glass, then put it down. Amy realized they were both staring at the bottle.
