‘She lives with you?’
I nod my head.
‘So why is she causing trouble for your business?’
I take a sip of my camomile tea and look him in the eye. ‘To be perfectly honest, she’s the mother-in-law from hell.’
He laughs, a loud belting laugh that sounds like a helicopter. ‘She said you were a nasty piece of work and needed stopping before you caused any more trouble.’
‘And you believed her?’
‘She seemed like a sweet, vulnerable old woman.’
‘That’s the trouble with the elderly, because they seem vulnerable we always have to give them the benefit of the doubt. They can get away with anything.’
He shakes his head and sighs. ‘I was gullible. I’m sorry. And I feel even worse because the delay was all my fault.’ He pauses. ‘What if I make it up to you and send some business your way.’
I lean across and put my hand on his arm. ‘That would be wonderful, Andrew, thanks.’
137
Hayley
Sunday lunch again. How life rolls on. Roast beef again. Today served with Mediterranean vegetables, carrots and asparagus. Aiden is here as usual. Eyes resting too long, and too often on Saffron. She looks as quirky as ever, in a denim miniskirt, a tie-dye T-shirt and her Doc Martens. You are sitting opposite me, making my heart beat faster. I am trying not to look at you.
Saffron leans across the table and offers a plate of gluten-free Yorkshire puddings to Caprice. Caprice takes one and pours gravy all over it.
‘Could I try one, please?’ I ask.
‘I want one, Mummy,’ Ben demands.
‘Me, too,’ Harry insists.
Saffron frowns at us all. ‘There aren’t enough. I made them specially for Caprice.’
‘Come on,’ Miles interrupts. ‘There are plenty. Mum will never eat four more puddings.’
Caprice looks up from her meal. ‘Of course I won’t. Everyone help yourself.’ Saffron moves the plate towards me, but her hand slips. The Yorkshires slide onto the carpet.
‘Oh goodness, I’m sorry,’ she mutters.
She gathers them up and disappears into the kitchen. She returns a few minutes later.
‘I’ve put them down the waste disposal. I’ll make some more next week.’
138
Caprice
The heavy lunch has made me feel sick. Overcooked beef with Bovril gravy. Yorkshire puddings with a touch of cement powder. You have never been a good cook, Saffron. Everything you create for your family is too stodgy. I notice you don’t eat it yourself. Everything you cook for yourself is even worse, and looks and tastes like vomit. That’s how you stay so slim. No wonder you have a bird-like appetite. But Miles is here, so I have to pretend I admire your culinary talent.
‘Thank you for cooking lunch, Saffron, my dear,’ I manage.
‘It’s a pleasure.’ You beam, flicking your tangled hair from your eyes.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll just go to bed and rest.’
‘That’s fine,’ you reply, voice and lips tight.
‘Are you all right, Caprice?’ Hayley asks. I sometimes think she’s the only one who cares about me.
‘Don’t you worry about me, I’m just a bit past my sell-by date.’
I lumber upstairs, feeling light-headed. As if I am about to vomit. My legs are no longer legs, but stone pillars. Try as I might, I can hardly move them. Every step a mountain, I eventually climb onto the landing and hobble towards my favourite landscape painting. The one Rupert bought me on our honeymoon. I stop in front of it and close my eyes. For a second I am back on the beach with him holding hands, sun and sea spray in my eyes. He tells a joke. We stand looking at the sea, laughing. Sand between my toes. The lacy edge of a wave tickling my feet. The water feels warm. The water is soothing me. My dizziness is increasing. My body is swaying. I continue to stagger along the landing.
I sigh with relief as I enter the comfort of my bedroom. Pink, and pretty, and frilly. The floral patterns wrap themselves around me, and their familiarity lifts me. I sink into my bed. The mattress is soft. It caresses and engulfs me. My eyelids are heavy like my legs. Someone has put weights at the base of my eyelashes. I cannot keep my eyes open a second longer. I close them. I am no longer in my bedroom, but walking along that beach at Mawgan Porth with Rupert again. The first day of our honeymoon. Rupert young again. Rupert and I in the first throes of our love.
Then blackness descends.
139
Hayley
You and Saffron left early for work. I took the boys to school and returned home. I’ve put the washing in, tidied the kitchen, and there is still no sign of Caprice. She was so tired last night. I will make her favourite breakfast and take it to her bedroom with the newspaper. Breakfast in bed for a treat.
I boil two eggs for six minutes, just the way she likes them. I toast two slices of her favourite ciabatta bread. I pop into the garden, pick a red rose and place it on the tray with her food, coffee and carefully folded Daily Telegraph. Pleased with my efforts, I race upstairs, looking forward to giving her a special surprise.
I knock on the door. No reply. I knock again. Still no reply.
‘Caprice,’ I shout.
Silence.
I hold the tray carefully pressed into my stomach, turn the door handle and push the door open with my shoulder. Caprice, but not Caprice, is lying on her back. Instantaneously, without knowing why, I know she is dead. Even though I have never seen a dead person before. The difference between life and death so obvious yet so indefinable. A slight almost imperceptible stiffness.
The tray falls from my hands and crashes to the floor. The eggs crack across the carpet, coffee falls in a torrent and the red rose tumbles to the floor, followed by the vase.
My friend. My mentor. I walk across the room towards her, body trembling. I lean across the bed and kiss her on the forehead.
‘Rest in peace,’ I whisper.
140
Miles
I’m in my office, reading. My mobile rings. Hayley. I pick up.
‘Miles, I have terrible news.’ Silence for a minute. A minute that seems like forever. ‘Your mother is dead,’ Hayley continues, voice like lead.
‘How …?’ I splutter. ‘Where …? What …?’
‘She didn’t come down for breakfast this morning. So I took a tray up for her. And when I went into her room, she was lying on her back in bed. Dead.’
This must be a dream. It can’t be real. My mother is part of me. I always felt she would live forever. I want to hold her. I want to touch her. Tell her that I will always love her.
‘Dial 999, immediately,’ I manage.
‘I already have.’
141
Saffron
Mother-in-law, you are dead, but it doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would. For years I have longed for you to be gone, but now it has actually happened, I feel nothing, not even remorse. There is just an empty space in my head.
142
Miles
The ambulance has been and gone, because Mother could not be resuscitated. Two police officers are in our house. A male, DS Stephen Badminton, who has grey hair and a grey face. He doesn’t look well. And a young female PC, Jenifer Tomlinson, with shiny black hair glued to her head like a helmet and eyes like a little beetle. They’re sitting in our drawing room sipping tea that Hayley made, dripping with authority and sympathy. Saffron and I are sitting on the sofa by the window holding hands. Hayley is sitting in the middle of the room opposite the police. Thank goodness the boys are at school.
‘So what did she look like when you found her?’ Jenifer Tomlinson asks.
‘Her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling.’
Hayley bursts into tears. PC Tomlinson looks across at Saffron and me.
‘Someone needs to ring her surgery. Get a doctor to come out, inspect her body and sign the certificate. Would you like me to do that for you, Mr Jackson?’
‘Yes please. It’
s Broadbent Surgery, Esher.’
I look up the number on my phone and give it to her. She dials through.
‘PC Jenifer Tomlinson, from the Surrey Police here,’ she barks at the receptionist. ‘I need a home visit from Caprice Jackson’s GP, to confirm her death and sign the death certificate.’
Black beetle eyes blink as she waits, holding the phone patiently to her right ear. If she is married she has decided not to wear jewellery. Her nails are short and practical, like her hair.
She nods. ‘Yes, that is the right address, Wellbeck House, Lexington Drive, Esher. Thank you,’ she says crisply and ends the call. She stands up and walks towards us. ‘A doctor will be here in about half an hour to examine the body.’
Your hand trembles in mine. The doorbell rings. Feeling surreal, as if I am moving inside a plastic bubble, I move away from you and step to answer it. I open the door. Aiden stands on the doorstep, in front of me. His familiarity confronts me and brings the reality of Mother’s death a step closer. We have spent so much time together with her. As soon as I see him I burst into tears. He puts his arms around me and holds me.
‘Where is she?’ he asks.
‘Upstairs. Still in her bedroom,’ I reply.
‘Let’s go and say goodbye to her together,’ he says. His voice is bombastic. It sounds more like a command than a suggestion.
I step away from him, shaking my head. ‘I’m not sure I can bear to.’
‘It’s the best thing. It means you will have closure.’
‘I don’t want closure. I want her to be alive.’
‘Brother, we all know that isn’t possible.’ He holds my hand and starts to lead me through the house, as if I am a child. ‘It’s not what you want; it’s what you need.’
I brace myself to comply. My legs are like lead as I force myself to climb the stairs, as I force myself to step into her bedroom, behind my younger brother. I have never hidden behind him in my life before. We step around the tray debris that Hayley couldn’t face entering the bedroom again to clear up. We hold hands and stand looking at Mother. Mother but not Mother, a strange stiff contortion of what our mother once was. Lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, eyes open. Feet together. Arms by her sides. A sarcophagus of skin and clothing covering what was once our mother’s warm body. I can’t bear to look anymore. I release Aiden’s hand and walk away. Back downstairs.
Not half an hour, as promised, but hours later, my mother’s GP Dr Pettyfour arrives.
‘Sorry for your loss. Your mother was a special woman. And I’m sorry I’ve been so long. I was busy with an emergency.’
I cannot bear to look at the strange stiffness that was once my mother yet again, so I allow PC Jenifer Tomlinson to lead him up to her bedroom. I sit in the drawing room alone. DS Stephen Badminton and Aiden have left. The DS has more important matters to attend to than the death of an elderly woman. Aiden spent ages in the bedroom with Mother’s body, but now has gone back to his flat in Chelsea. He said spending time with her had helped with closure. But he wanted to go home to cope with his grief alone. I’m not ready for closure. Not yet. I am still in the first throes of shock.
The boys are still at school, and are off to stay at a friend’s house tonight. So at least they are spared any angst for now. You and Hayley are pottering about in the kitchen. Saffron, you did not want to see my mother’s body, as you felt too squeamish about it. I hear the periodic clatter of dishes as the dishwasher is unloaded.
Time stops. I sit in the drawing room, back in my mother’s arms as a child. Snuggled in her arms, head leaning on the cushion of her breasts.
‘I love you, Miles. I’ll love you forever.’
That is what she always used to say to me, every day when I was young. Tears roll down my cheeks as I realise I will never hear her say that again. Never hear her voice again. Never watch her ready smile light up her face.
After what seems like hours, but when I look at my watch I realise is fifteen minutes, Dr Pettyfour reappears with Jenifer Tomlinson. He stands running his fingers through his floppy hair in the middle of our drawing room, shoulders wide, legs slightly apart. You have appeared and are standing in the doorway, Saffron.
‘I cannot ascertain the cause of death. I’ll have to refer this to the coroner’s office,’ Dr Pettyfour announces.
You turn paler than pale.
143
Saffron
Keep calm. Breathe. Breathe. I was expecting this.
144
Miles
‘The coroner’s office? What does that entail?’ I ask.
‘They’ll send a coroner’s officer to examine your mother’s body. I’m very sorry, but I expect they will need to perform an autopsy.’
‘An autopsy?’ I stammer.
‘Yes. It is a requirement when death is unexplained.’
It feels as if a knife is stabbing me repeatedly in the chest. The thought of my mother’s body being desecrated is giving me a panic attack. Saffron puts her arms around me and I cling to her like ivy.
145
Saffron
We’re talking to the funeral directors today, even though we’re not sure when your body will be released. At the moment it is too early to set a date.
Miles and Aiden are devastated of course. And, much to my surprise, Hayley is too. She is skulking about the house, head down, red-eyed and sniffing. And the children? They seem to be taking it in their stride, using the opportunity of us all being distracted to watch Harry Potter videos, endlessly.
I always imagined how I would feel when you passed. I thought I would feel free as a bird, with a soaring sense of happiness. But now, even after your body has been taken away, I just feel empty.
146
Miles
I am standing in Mother’s bedroom, looking out of the window, at the tennis court and the swimming pool, thinking about her life; all she gave to me. How she cared for me. How much she loved me. How she minimised Aiden, and treated me as if I was the only one. How much I came to rely on her love; to take it for granted. My body aches for her. I feel physical as well as mental pain; as if she has been cut away from me with a knife.
But our love is so strong it must transcend death. Her energy and love will live inside me forever. I must take comfort in that. And if at the end of my life, I am alone, dying slowly in an inescapable corner, at least I will always know I had the warmth of my mother’s love.
147
Saffron
Miles is upstairs in your bedroom. He spends a lot of time up there at the moment, now that your body has been removed. Gentle sunlight pours in through the kitchen window, as I sit drinking a cup of tea. I need to try and distract Miles from his grief. I’ll try and coax him to come for a walk in Windsor Great Park later, for old time’s sake. We haven’t managed to go for ages. We might as well do something. We’ve both taken time off work, and we have been so directionless we haven’t even chosen the hymns for the funeral service yet.
The post thumps through the letter box. I step into the hallway and pick it up. A letter addressed to me, franked by your solicitor. Strange it isn’t addressed to Miles as well. Curious, I rip it open.
Dear Saffron,
If you are reading this letter, I will already be dead. I pre-arranged for my solicitor to send this letter to you posthumously.
I know you murdered me. So do the police.
Did you really think you had fooled me? By the time you receive this letter I hope the police will be on their way to arrest you. They have received a letter too. A letter to help them carry out their duty.
I will be looking down from heaven with a bird’s-eye view of your suffering. My son won’t tolerate being married to the woman who murdered his mother. Mothers are always more important to sons than wives. Did you never understand that? Your life as you knew it is over, Saffron. Ever since you met me you have fought against me.
You thought you had won, didn’t you? But I am free of pain and it is I who will now rule from beyond
the grave. It is you who will now suffer. I have won the war in the end.
With all the love you deserve, always,
Caprice
The letter slips from my trembling hands and falls to the floor.
148
Miles
Early morning. Hayley has just left to take the boys to school. I look out of the window on the landing. A police car with flashing lights is pulling into our drive. I watch PC Jenifer Tomlinson and DS Stephen Badminton step out and walk towards our door. Stephen Badminton has unsightly grey hair sprouting from his cheeks. I thought policemen were supposed to look smart and shave, at least.
The doorbell buzzes. I pad downstairs to answer it. But by the time I reach the hallway, you are opening the door. The DS and PC step inside.
‘Saffron Jackson, I’m arresting you for the murder of Caprice Jackson.’ My heart stops. My brain does not comprehend. ‘You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court.’ He pauses. ‘Anything you say may be given in evidence,’ DS Badminton continues. PC Jenifer Tomlinson forces your arms behind your back and handcuffs you.
‘Are you out of your mind?’ you spit. ‘As if I would murder my husband’s mother.’
Thin. Pale. No colour in your face. You struggle against Jenifer Tomlinson as she manhandles you through our hallway and bundles you into the back of the police car. Just before your head disappears beneath her arm and you are pushed through the car doorway, you fix your eyes on me and mouth I love you.
The Unwelcome Guest Page 20
