The Thing About Clare Page 18

  ‘And then there’s the will . . .’

  Anna’s heart did a little leap. ‘What will?’ she asked. The will that’s sitting on my kitchen table under a pile of magazines and old invoices? she thought. Oh, that will.

  ‘Well, there must be a will,’ Miriam said. ‘Mum wouldn’t have died without leaving a will. But I’ve been to the bank and the solicitors that Dad used and they are both denying all knowledge. So, I’m assuming it must be in the house somewhere.’

  ‘Maybe there isn’t one,’ said Anna, grateful that this conversation was taking place over the phone so that her sister couldn’t see her squirming. She closed her eyes as she spoke, as if not being able to see anything would make the lies easier to tell.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Anna. Of course there’s a will. We just have to find it. It’ll just split everything four ways, I assume.’

  Anna fought the urge to make a joke about being the favourite and so getting the lion’s share. Sebastian might find that kind of thing funny but Miriam wouldn’t.

  ‘Okay. Well, we can keep an eye open for it when we’re at the house.’

  Nausea rose in her throat. How long could she realistically keep this up? If she could just persuade them that there was no will then they would stop looking and she wouldn’t have to confess a) that she had it, b) that their mother had asked her and not one of them to retrieve and burn it, and c) that she hadn’t actually carried out her mother’s wishes.

  Anna wasn’t sure why she hadn’t destroyed the will and the letter when her mother had been so emphatic that she should. Curiosity? That was certainly part of it, but something in Anna’s gut told her that whatever was in the letter, it was information that should not be lost. Maybe now was not the right time for it to be revealed but Anna’s instinct told her that Clare had a right to know whatever it was that her mother had first wanted to tell her and then to conceal.

  ‘Perhaps Mum had the stroke before she got round to writing one?’ Anna suggested, but it sounded feeble even to her. They both knew that Dorothy would never have left something like that to chance. ‘And Dad’s solicitors definitely haven’t got it?’

  Anna could almost hear the silent tut that came down the line from Miriam, could visualise her rolling her eyes. ‘No. I already said. Anyway, I was thinking that if we got together next weekend we could make a start. I’ve rung Sebastian and he can get someone to mind the boys so I just need to get hold of Clare . . .’ Miriam’s voice tapered off.

  ‘Where is she at the moment?’ Anna asked gently.

  ‘I think she’s at Louise’s again but I’m not sure. They had that row, didn’t they?’

  ‘What about River?’

  ‘Don’t get me started about that ungrateful little so and so.’

  Anna could hear her sister fighting to control her temper.

  ‘He said that he doesn’t know where Clare is at the moment and he can’t be held responsible for her actions.’

  ‘Well,’ Anna had said cautiously, ‘he does have a point. No one can help Clare unless she’s prepared to help herself.’

  ‘But he’s her son!’

  ‘Perhaps it’s just self-preservation? It can’t have been easy being brought up like that.’

  Miriam didn’t speak for so long that Anna began to wonder if the connection had been broken.

  ‘Well, anyway, I’ll get hold of her somehow and tell her to be at Mum’s on Saturday morning.’

  When Saturday dawned, Anna woke up feeling that there was something unusual in the offing. Then, as she lay there listening to the rain beat against her bedroom window, she remembered that it was the day of her mother’s house clearance and the brief fizz of delight was replaced by a heavy sense of dread. She snuggled back under the duvet, reluctant to have the day begin by getting up. Margot was curled in her habitual place on the pillow next to her and Anna pressed her nose to Margot’s little black one.

  ‘Morning, Margot,’ she whispered in case some hidden surveillance equipment might overhear her talking to her cat and mark her down accordingly. Margot responded to the sound of Anna’s voice by purring gently but didn’t open her eyes.

  In the kitchen, whilst waiting for the kettle to boil, she flicked idly through a magazine. Fresh-faced and beautiful young models smiled out at her from every glossy page. It would make much more sense, thought Anna, if they used models who actually had wrinkles to advertise these products. Every one of her forty-nine years hung heavily on her this morning. The kettle came to the boil and she poured the hot water on to the coffee grounds, enjoying the rich aroma that always seemed to smell better than it actually tasted. She carried the cafetière to the table, took a mug carefully from the overfull draining rack and a carton of milk from the fridge. Margot padded through and nuzzled her head against Anna’s legs, demanding food.

  ‘Here you go, old girl,’ Anna said to her as she poured the little crunchy cat biscuits into an earthenware bowl.

  ‘I’m not looking forward to today.’ Margot was focused on her food and didn’t appear to be listening. ‘Miriam will be tetchy, Sebastian morbid and God only knows how Clare will react. Do you think I could just go back to bed and forget all about it? Do you? Do you?’ She rubbed the cat’s ears affectionately but Margot was most unresponsive and continued to munch her way through her breakfast.

  ‘You’re not really being very sympathetic. I don’t know. Call yourself my friend!’

  Anna sat back at the table and poured the coffee. The steam rose until she added the cold milk. Cupping the mug in her hands, she pulled her knees up and wrapped her robe around them until she was bundled up like a little cocoon. By the bread bin was a pile of post that needed sorting out. It was where she put everything that she didn’t quite know what to do with or couldn’t be bothered to deal with on first opening. She hadn’t tackled it for some time and knew that it should be on her list for the coming week. There was nothing too dreadful in it – no red bills or store card accounts that needed urgent attention. It was all for filing or transferring to her diary. All except the large manila envelope that was hidden at the very bottom, which was invisible to anyone who gave the pile a casual glance but had been on Anna’s mind almost constantly since the day she had retrieved it from her mother’s house six weeks before.

  II

  When Anna got to the house, Sebastian was already there, sitting on the garden wall, swinging his legs. It was as if the last thirty years hadn’t happened.

  ‘God! How many hours have we spent sitting on that wall?’ Anna asked as she locked the car and walked towards him. ‘I used to pretend it was a horse. You couldn’t do that now,’ she continued, peering over into the garden where brambles and bindweed had taken over and were sprawling up the stone. ‘You’d cut your legs to ribbons. I thought someone was supposed to be doing the garden,’ she added.

  ‘Yes. I did too. I think Miriam had a word with some boyfriend of Rosie or Abigail. Can’t remember which one. I hope she didn’t pay him up front. It doesn’t look like he’s done anything for months.’

  The small front garden, once their mother’s pride and joy and indicator to the passing world of a state of order that continued into the house, was unkempt and overgrown. There was no longer any lawn – Sebastian had covered it over with black plastic and gravel when mowing it became problematic – and the borders seemed to consist mainly of tall yellow-flowered weeds with the odd head of stock or hydrangea poking resolutely through.

  ‘Oh, how your mother loved that garden,’ came a voice from next door, the implied criticism as sharp as if she’d voiced it directly. Mrs Connors stood on her doorstep, hairnet covering her curlers and a housecoat straining over her ample bosom.

  ‘She did indeed, Mrs Connors,’ replied Sebastian politely. Anna was grateful to him. He offered no excuses for what were clearly, in Mrs Connors’ eyes, their shortcomings but looked at the garden as if it were a grave.

  ‘You here to sort the house, then?’ asked Mrs Connors.

  ‘Tha
t’s right. It’s a big job but we can’t put it off for ever.’

  ‘I could send our Malcolm round if you need an extra pair of hands.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Anna quickly before Sebastian had chance to prevaricate. This was going to be difficult enough. The last thing they needed was Mrs Connors’s spy in the ranks. ‘We’ll be fine just us.’

  ‘You all coming to help, then?’ continued the neighbour, looking down the street for signs of more arrivals.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Anna briskly. ‘In fact, we’d better be getting on. Have you got the key, Seb?’

  Sebastian looked sheepish.

  ‘I thought you’d have one,’ he replied.

  ‘Damn,’ said Anna, and then wished she hadn’t. Mrs Connors was watching with interest to see how this pickle panned out. She would of course hold a key herself but she wasn’t about to volunteer it and pass up an opportunity to make Anna squirm.

  ‘Actually, I’m pretty certain Miriam is bringing hers,’ said Anna, turning away from Mrs Connors and pulling a face at Sebastian.

  As if on cue, Miriam’s car pulled up alongside the gate and Miriam got out.

  ‘You’ve got the key, haven’t you, Miriam?’ she asked quickly. Anna could see Miriam gearing herself up to reprimand them but then, glancing quickly at the tableau before her, Mrs Connors’s eager eyes ready to pick fault, she changed direction.

  ‘Yup,’ she said. ‘As we arranged.’ Anna chanced a wink at Sebastian.

  Miriam scrabbled around in her bag and produced a brass key on a plastic fob. Anna saw ‘MOTHER’ printed in Miriam’s neat handwriting.

  ‘Here we are,’ she said. ‘Shall we go in? Nice to see you, Mrs Connors,’ she added but did not make eye contact with her. She put the key in the lock and opened the door and, with barely a hesitation, made her way into the dark hallway with Anna and Sebastian following close behind. Anna closed the door firmly.

  ‘She’s such a witch, that woman. I shall be delighted when we never, ever have to set eyes on her again.’

  ‘Oh, she’s not that bad,’ said Miriam. ‘She used to be quite nice when I was little. She was great when you were born, Sebastian. I think she’s just got old and grumpy with age.’

  ‘I’m not surprised, spending her entire life living in that house with that socially disastrous son of hers. Honestly, she couldn’t wait to have a go at us about the garden.’

  Anna stopped, remembering just too late that it was Miriam who had made the arrangement with the ineffectual teenage gardener.

  ‘Yes. I must have a word with Harry about that,’ Miriam said, not rising to the bait.

  They stood in the hall. It was fusty, as if the air had been stagnant for too long. With all the doors closed there was very little light coming in, and the dirty windows compromised what there was.

  ‘Come on,’ said Sebastian. ‘Let’s go through.’ He opened the door into the lounge.

  The lounge also felt empty and uncared-for. The tired-looking sofas seemed to radiate the smell of years of meals eaten from a tray, and dust had settled thickly on every surface. On the wicker coffee table a peace lily drooped, its leaves dried and yellowing.

  No one spoke. Outside, Anna could just make out the tinny tune of an ice-cream van in a neighbouring street.

  ‘Did you manage to get hold of Clare?’ asked Sebastian. ‘Is she coming?’

  ‘I spoke to her yesterday,’ said Miriam. ‘She’s back at Louise’s for the time being. She said she’d get here if she could.’

  Anna had no doubt that Clare would come. If there was treasure to be found, Clare would want to be a part of the search party.

  Sebastian walked over to the mantelpiece and picked up a tarnished silver photo frame.

  ‘Look at us,’ he said. ‘So innocent.’

  ‘Well, you were,’ laughed Anna. ‘You could only be six months old in that picture. God, it wasn’t half a shock when you were born. We had no idea!’

  It was old family history but whenever it came up they always responded the same way.

  ‘Proper shock for me,’ said Miriam. ‘What with my pivotal role in your arrival on to the planet. I saw things that day that a sixteen-year-old should never have to see!’

  ‘I still struggle to believe that Mum had no idea,’ said Sebastian, following the well-trodden path.

  ‘Oh, believe it, little bro. It was one hell of a shock. I really think she thought her childbearing days were well behind her. I remember that look on her face when I found her in labour. There was no way that she knew. And you know what she was like. Even if she was in denial, she would have made some sort of plan. She wouldn’t have been able to help herself. There would have been baby clothes secreted about the place somewhere at the very least. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. You wore pink for the first week!’

  ‘It’s like something you’d read about in a teenage magazine,’ said Sebastian. ‘Still, it’s always served me well at dinner parties.’

  Miriam walked to the grimy window and looked out on to the street beyond.

  ‘All those people enjoying themselves right outside this window and Mum in labour on her own upstairs. Unbelievable.’

  She stood quietly staring out.

  ‘Things were never the same after that,’ she said in a voice so quiet that Anna had to strain to catch her words. ‘I had to give up my dreams of drama school for a start. And Clare . . .’ She let the words hang in the air between them.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s right,’ said Anna gently. ‘Dad had already said no to the drama school thing. Even if Sebastian hadn’t come along with his constant squawking demands for food and clean nappies . . .’ She smiled at Sebastian, her baby brother and now a good foot taller than her. ‘You’d never have gone to London. And Clare. Well, I know I was only young but even I could see that she was bent on self-destruction. Well, maybe not self-destruction exactly. But she was already well and truly off the rails. I suppose Sebastian’s arriving might’ve meant that Mum and Dad took their eyes off the ball a bit but I can’t see how they could ever have controlled her, short of locking her in her bedroom – and even then she’d have just shinned down the drainpipe and escaped.’

  The front door opened and banged shut, making Anna jump. When Clare sauntered into the lounge it couldn’t have been more obvious that they’d just been talking about her.

  ‘Started without me?’ she asked with a sneer.

  ‘No,’ said Miriam. ‘Not at all. We haven’t started at all. We were just chatting – reminiscing, really – about that day when Sebastian was born.’

  Clare seemed to relax a little. ‘Right in the middle of that bloody street party! Jesus, brother. You knew how to make an entrance! Some woman came to find me. I can’t remember where I was. Off with some lad or other. Anyway, she found me and she said, “You’d better get yourself back home”, and I said, “Why?”, and she said, “Cos your mum’s just had a baby!” I thought she was mad. A baby! At Mum’s age. People went on about it for months. We were the talk of the bloody town.’

  Clare sat down heavily on the sofa and a fine cloud of dust rose into the air. Anna risked a quick glance at her sister. The thick make-up that she was wearing couldn’t hide the dark rings under her eyes and her hair was lank and lifeless. There were food stains down the front of her T-shirt. One of her ballet pumps had a hole in the side through which Anna could see the greying skin of Clare’s foot.

  ‘So, what’s the plan?’ said Clare.

  Miriam turned from the window and came to sit next to Clare. Anna sat on the high-backed chair by the fireplace and Sebastian stayed where he was, like some Victorian father in an old-fashioned photograph.

  ‘I haven’t really given it much thought,’ said Miriam, and Clare rolled her eyes.

  ‘Liar!’ she said. ‘Miriam, arch planner extraordinaire, not given it much thought? Yeah, right.’ She winked at Miriam.

  Miriam raised her eyebrows at her sister.

  ‘Well, maybe a bit. How
about we each take a room, see if we can find anything that might have any value or anything sentimental. Then we can divvy that stuff up and get a price from the house clearance people for the rest.’

  ‘Sounds sensible,’ said Sebastian. ‘And we can see if we can turn up the will while we’re at it.’

  ‘I thought there was no will?’ asked Clare.

  ‘Well, we’re not sure that there is,’ said Miriam. ‘There’s no sign of one, but it just doesn’t ring true to me that Mum wouldn’t have made one. I know there’s not much to leave, really, but I’m sure she would have sorted it out after Dad died. Just bear it in mind, anyway.’

  Anna looked down at the floor so she didn’t have to meet anyone’s eye.

  III

  ‘Right, well, how about Anna and I do downstairs and you two take upstairs?’ suggested Sebastian, and when no one objected he continued, ‘We can make a start in the dining room, Ans.’

  Clare followed Miriam up the stairs and Anna opened the door into the dining room to be immediately punched in the stomach by a hospital-style bed. Her heart raced when she saw it and her throat thickened.

  ‘God, that was a shock,’ she said when she felt sure of her voice again. ‘I’d completely forgotten that that was in here. Where did it come from? Won’t someone be wanting it back?’

  Sebastian put his hand to his mouth, breathing steadily and deeply. Anna could see on his face the strength that it was taking to compose himself and she wished with all her heart that she could close the door and protect him from the memories of death and dying. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said after a moment. ‘Miriam will know.’

  The bed was stripped, the clean sheets and blankets folded neatly in a pile at its foot. The mattress had a plastic top sheet.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Seb,’ said Anna. ‘We can leave this room to the others if you like.’ Sebastian just shook his head and so she went in.

  The dining table had been folded and pushed in against the sideboard. The chairs were stacked in twos in front of the window. On the mantelpiece were some curling get-well-soon cards and a crystal vase which, thankfully, someone had emptied and washed. The thought of being greeted by dead flowers was almost more than Anna could bear.