Chapter Thirty-Four
THIRTY-FOUR
Jayne
I let Meredith get to packing, slip out the front door, and start to race back up to my apartment, then halt halfway. Her latest recollections are great news and I want to share them with someone.
A minute later, I’m knocking on Jake’s door.
“Well?” He beams the second it swings open.
“She loved it. It worked. It’s going to help. For the first time, she realized she made the dresses, Jake. I think seeing them all together with the footage and coverage, it connected it all. Who knows how much of it she will remember beyond today, but…” I throw my arms around him, he’s not ready for it, and we both clumsily collide.
“That’s such good news,” he says. “I am so happy for you.”
“Isn’t it! We’re heading to Sandringham tomorrow, leaving early. I feel so much better about all this now. It feels like we may have taken a major stride toward finding out what’s happened to William.”
I pause as I see he is gently laughing now.
“Oh, sorry, Jake, I’m blathering on and you’re probably in the middle of work.”
“Yes, I am, but it’s absolutely nothing I would put before seeing you so happy.” He hangs back, keen to see how I will respond to that.
“This does make me happy,” I say. “All of it. Meredith, everyone in this building, and…” I leave the sentence hanging but he isn’t going to finish it for me this time.
“…and you. You make me happy, Jake.” I don’t shy away from the words.
A gentle, beaming smile lights up his face. “Glad to hear it,” he says as he grabs my hand and pulls me in through the door, “because I have a birthday present for you. It’s not the kind of thing I could give you in front of everyone last night, so I’m sorry you’ve had to wait.”
The mischievous look on his face says it all. This is not something I’ll be unwrapping but undressing.
I really should have taken at least a cursory look at the map before I offered to drive us both to Sandringham. It’s going to take four hours, goodness knows how much longer by the time I’ve factored in all the loo stops. But the train was a nonstarter this time as there’s no direct route.
Remarkably, Meredith is ready and waiting for me when I tap on her door at eight a.m.
“Have you packed toiletries, Meredith? Remember we are staying overnight.”
“Yes, yes, I have it all.”
“Are you sure? I can take a quick look through your case if you want me to.”
“No need, it’s all packed,” she chirps back cheerily. “I made a little list for myself yesterday, after you left, so I wouldn’t forget anything.”
“Excellent, okay, where’s your case? I’ll get it into the car.”
“It’s there.” She points down the hallway to a suitcase that is the size you might reasonably expect for a family of four taking a week away.
“That is a very large case for one night, isn’t it?” I try not to think about the number of random items that may have made their way inside.
“It’s the case we always take away. It has all the brilliant internal compartments so I can make sure our things don’t get muddled up. I can’t travel without it. That would just be odd.” She smiles at me like I’m the one lacking common sense.
The one thing she hasn’t got with her, I notice, is the essentials bag that she always insists on carrying, unless that, too, is stuffed into her case.
“Okay then, let’s get going.” I grab hold of it, then struggle to move it across the carpet it’s so heavy. Everything I have packed is in a backpack that’s slung over my shoulder.
Davina, Willow, Olivia, and Jake all appear to wave us off, accompanied by Maggie, who is loudly complaining about the fact she’s not invited. Carina’s message wishing me “the very best of luck” pinged onto my phone screen at seven this morning.
I’ve placed a cooler bag between us in the front of the car, filled with egg sandwiches, a couple of ripe bananas, some digestive biscuits, and a handful of the individual cheese portions I’ve noticed in Meredith’s fridge before. That should keep us going.
We are about an hour into the journey, happily coasting in the middle lane of the M5, Meredith humming her own version of every song on the radio, when suddenly she stops.
“Oh no.” She clasps both her hands to her cheeks. My foot instinctively eases off the accelerator.
“What is it, Meredith?” I try to keep my voice level and calm.
“I’ve just realized what I’ve forgotten.” She looks at me sideways like I’m going to be really unhappy when I hear what it is.
Whatever it is, surely we can cope without it?
“Oh gosh, it’s the kettle. I’m so sorry.”
“The kettle? You were planning to pack a kettle?”
“Yes, the travel one.”
I sigh audibly with pure relief. “Well, no need to worry, I’m sure the cottage I’ve booked will have a perfectly good one.”
“Ha! I thought that last time, though, didn’t I? Do you remember? And then I couldn’t have a decent cup of tea. Awful!” She chuckles to herself, then reaches across and gives my thigh a pat.
“Where was the trip, when you forgot the kettle?” I nudge.
“Oh, um. Where were we going now? Salcombe, I think. Yes, a girls’ trip. Do you remember all those tiny tucked-away shops, all squeezed together? You loved exploring them all, buying pretty boxes covered in seashells and postcards to write to school friends.”
“Did I?” She’s speaking to me as if I am Fiona, and I’m really not sure how to react, so I simply play along.
“Do you remember our walks down to the waterfront? Hilly, wasn’t it? Fine on the way down, not so good on the way back up. The fudge shop! Salted caramel, that was always your favorite. Do you remember the day we got the little boat across the estuary?”
I look at her quizzically, encouraging her to remind me.
“Far too cold for the tourists—wasn’t it?—so we had it all to ourselves. Our own personal water taxi. As we tried to get out of the boat it bounced off the harbor walls and you leaped off the little bench seat. D’you remember? We both got soaked to the skin as the water emptied into the boat. We were still laughing about it when we got back to the B and B. I made us a cream tea and we sat in front of the fire. You said it was the best holiday you ever had.” She pauses for a moment, giving the images in her mind time to sharpen. But then her head dips and she looks so incredibly sad.
“Then I got a call from your father and we had to cut the trip short. My goodness, you were so angry with me…it felt like you’d only just got your bucket and spade out of the boot and I was telling you to put them back in again. You cried all the way home. How could I have been so cruel?”
I try to ask Meredith more questions, but she doesn’t want to speak after that. She turns her head away from me and stares out of her window, watching a sudden rain shower pelt the glass. I sense her embarrassment. That the fleeting moment she thought she was sitting next to her daughter has passed and now she feels foolish for ever believing she was here. Or is it because she remembers the great disappointment Fiona felt and that she was the cause of it?
I’ve booked the last unrented cottage on the estate, despite the fact it’s excessively large for just the two of us, and paid for the minimum two nights though we need only one. But its exterior, with its high arched windows, looks impressive, and I hear Meredith sigh loudly in appreciation as we approach it.
“Oh, look at this,” she whispers. “We are going to be very happy here.”
The red-and-brown brick house is double fronted, covered in dense ivy, and sits close to the estate’s formal walled gardens. It has its own private walkway leading directly into them. There are only a handful of cottages within the grounds—all owned by the Queen—that can be rented, and I’m hoping I’ve struck lucky and Meredith stayed in one of them, maybe even this one. It’s the closest one to Sandringham House itself so there is a certain logic to this being the best choice. All of the furniture and pictures inside, I’ve read, have been borrowed from the royal residences, so who knows? Perhaps Meredith will see something that she has seen before that may help resurface some important detail. It’s optimistic, but that’s what I feel we need.
None of the bedrooms on the first floor are en suite. Meredith chooses one on the south side, overlooking the well-stocked flower beds and borders below, and I take the smaller one next to hers. I throw my bag onto my bed and then return to her room to help her unpack.
She has pulled the case open and is starting to remove items of clothing. It takes me a few seconds to realize what is so wrong.
There is a small packet of pocket handkerchiefs with a W embroidered on them. A compact shaving set, a comb, some chunky woolen socks, several jumpers and trousers, tartan pajamas, three dark woolen suits. Then a large box of aspirin and a packet of earplugs. With the exception of a handful of Meredith’s items that she seems to have tossed on top of the already full case, everything here is William’s.
“Are these William’s things?” I prompt. It would explain why there are so few of them in the places I’d expect to see them at their apartment.
Meredith begins to pick up each item and turn it over lovingly in her hands, tracing where William’s fingers were before hers, before setting it neatly back onto the bed, apart from the shaving set, which she holds and studies further. “He has the softest skin, always so meticulous about shaving, never leaves any bristles because he doesn’t like to think they’ll scratch my face when he kisses me.” I watch her slowly swallow down the pain of the recollection. Then she stands back from the bed and stares at the belongings, frowning.
“Did you pack them, Meredith?”
“I think so.” She remains staring at the items lined up on the bed. “But not for this trip. They must have been left in the case from before.”
I decide we could do with stretching our legs and getting some fresh air after such a long journey. I give Meredith some space to sort through the few things of her own she has brought, and we arrange to meet downstairs when she’s ready. We decide on the shorter of the two mapped walks, which is a mile and a half circular route, and head off in the direction of the main visitor center. From there we pick up one of the broad woodland paths, both greedily absorbing all the sights and smells that nature gifts us, following the yellow arrows that mark our route. I point out all the trees I recognize: the Corsicans, Scots pine, oak, sweet chestnut, and birch. The trails are peaceful, and by the sounds of it, everyone has headed for the kids’ adventure playground, shrill screams are carrying through the tree branches above us and it reminds me of Maggie.
Meredith is very quiet and, I notice, there is still no sign of the essentials bag.
“It’s supposed to be one of the Queen’s favorite residences, isn’t it, Sandringham?” she eventually asks.
“Yes, I believe so. The house and formal gardens close to the public every autumn and winter when she comes.”
“It reminds me of Richmond Park. The same earthy smells, the same sense of wide-open space. Families having fun together, forgetting that there is work to do tomorrow.” She lifts her nose and inhales another lungful of ripe woodland air. “I walk for miles with her around that park at weekends. Sometimes that’s what it takes to get her to stop crying. She’s always crying.”
“Is Fiona a difficult baby? Do you find it hard being a new mum?” I follow Meredith’s lead, sticking to the present tense. “I know lots of women do.”
“I knew it would be tough in the early months, we both expected it to be, but I feel the extra pressure of making sure William is getting the rest he needs. I try to take her out a lot so he can catch up on his sleep. Sometimes the crying gives him terrible headaches. He needs silence. His brain needs complete rest. To totally switch off.”
“Why is that?” I ask.
We walk on a little farther in silence. Either she hasn’t heard my question, or she is choosing to ignore it. Perhaps she is unsure of the answer.
“Would you like to go up to the main house, Meredith? I think we still have time to go inside if you’d like to, before it closes.”
“Would you mind terribly if we head back to the cottage?” She seems disconnected from the day. Her gaze more vacant than usual. “I feel quite tired. I may have a little nap before dinner, if that’s all right with you?”
Maybe it was the early start, but Meredith lacks enthusiasm for this trip so far. Her usual keenness to explore is missing. Sandringham isn’t having the same effect on her that other locations have had, and I can’t work out why. While she heads to her room, I start preparing some vegetables to go with the lamb shanks Davina has supplied for our dinner. But as I’m peeling and chopping the carrots, I’m wondering if this trip may be a waste of time after all.
“Pureed carrots, they’re always a winner,” she announces as she enters the kitchen and sees ours in the saucepan on the stove. “She won’t eat most things, but she will always eat carrots.”
“Are you hungry yet?” She’s slept for far longer than I thought and it’s nearly six p.m.
“Starving actually. Can I do anything to help?” She bends down to take a peek through the oven door, keen to discover what’s on the menu tonight.
“Why don’t you lay the table and I’ll dish up,” I suggest.
“I suppose I have it easier than them,” she says to herself as she is placing cutlery onto the table and folding some napkins that she’s found on the sideboard.
“How’s that, Meredith?”
“Well, I’m at home with a tiny baby that I adore more than anything, but William is learning to work with someone new in my place.” She’s picking up the conversation we started on our walk, like the sleep she’s had in between hasn’t happened. “And Fiona, well, she’s discovering the world around her, having new experiences every day, working out what she likes and what she doesn’t, and I am so lucky to be witnessing it all. Everything’s changing.” She says all this with a lightness and ease, like it is no big deal at all, but then, as is so often the case, there is a shift in her tone. Suddenly she’s more serious.
“The problem is, things slip through the net when life is that busy, don’t they? Or maybe that’s just an excuse.”
Of course, how could I have missed it? The fact that Meredith must have been on maternity leave with baby Fiona when this dress was worn by Diana to Sandringham. She wouldn’t have accompanied her here that night.
“Am I right in thinking you never came to Sandringham, Meredith? You didn’t follow the dress here with Diana, as you have with the others? You’ve never been inside the main house?”
“Oh goodness, no. There is no way I could. Fiona’s tiny. I need to be at home while William works.”
It explains why she has been so reticent since we arrived. None of what I am putting in front of her means anything because she never experienced it the first time around and I could kick myself for not pausing to work that out.
I try not to let the disappointment show on my face by loading our plates with the lamb and some creamed mashed potatoes. And all may not be lost. Perhaps other details will surface.
My mobile is on the table and I notice a message from the WhatsApp group illuminate the screen.
DAVINA: Jayne, call me when you can. x
I make a mental note to respond to her when we have finished dinner. It’s Meredith I want to give my full attention to right now.
“I guess it must have been difficult for William, without you by his side every day, like he was used to?” I try to pick up the conversation again.
“He doesn’t complain but he’s not looking after himself.” Meredith frowns. “He used to enjoy the walk to work and back but that’s stopped. He catches the bus, which isn’t really like him. He always used the walk to clear his head, to prepare himself for the day ahead, or to unwind from it before dinner. Being that sedentary can’t be good for anyone, can it?”
I shake my head, pleased it’s one thing I don’t have to worry about with all the dog walking miles I rack up in an average week.
“Then the empty wine bottles started to appear outside by the dustbin. I shouldn’t complain, it helps him to relax.”
“Did you miss working together?”
“Very much. But I try to follow his example. I get on with whatever needs to be done. If William is prepared to, then I must too.” She raises the small glass of red wine that I have poured for each of us. I lift mine to meet it.
“What are we toasting?” I ask.
“To William,” she says with a beaming smile. “I think you’re going to love him when you meet.”
I scrape the last of our leftovers into the kitchen bin and decide to deal with the washing-up in the morning.
“Come on,” I say, “it’s been a long day. Let’s get to bed.” I make sure she has everything she needs. “You know where I am if you want anything. I’ll keep my bedroom door open so just come in and ask.”
I lie back on the bed, every limb feeling leaden, like the mattress isn’t strong enough to support me. All my random thoughts from the day start to replay. Snatched moments from the car, Meredith unpacking William’s belongings, the food we ate, Davina’s message. My thoughts sharpen again. I didn’t respond, I didn’t call her back. I try to ignore the oversight, but it has started to burrow into my brain, making it impossible to let go of the day and welcome in sleep. I reach for my phone. There is a second message from Davina. She has moved our conversation to a private thread.
DAVINA: I’m sorry to drop this on you, Jayne, but I saw something in Meredith’s apartment today while I was having a quick clean. I thought you might want to ask her about it while it’s just the two of you there. It’s a letter from Bath Crematorium and dated July 2017, a year ago. It’s unopened, Jayne. I’ve been racking my brain and I can’t think of a single reason why a crematorium would write to anyone, beyond the obvious. Can you?
I stare up at the ceiling, willing a possibility to come to me. But it’s a fruitless exercise. There is no other explanation. Except we checked the records. There is no recorded death for William. So, what could be in the envelope?
Sleep will be impossible now. We all accepted at the beginning that this outcome was a possibility, but we had struck a confident line through it. What have we missed? Surely Meredith cannot be a widow and have forgotten it? And even if she had, her daughter would not leave her alone to deal with it. What if the possible contents of this letter don’t relate to William at all? What if it’s Fiona? What if we are jumping to entirely the wrong conclusion? Couldn’t this just as likely be a circular letter to the local community, appealing for fundraising? Volunteers to weed the grounds and rose gardens?
As I lie here listening to the pounding of my own heart, I see Meredith out of the corner of my eye cross the landing and head for the stairs.
I catch up with her just as she is about to start her descent.
“Everything okay, Meredith?” I ask like it is perfectly normal for her to be wandering about in her nightie late at night.
“I shouldn’t be here. It isn’t my turn to come this time. I need to get home, I think. William will be wondering where I am.”
She looks so fragile. Maybe it’s the sight of her in a thin nightie, her hair unbrushed, her face makeup free, a thin veil of fear visible in the whites of her eyes.
I loop my arm through hers.
“You’re right, Meredith. It’s my mistake. I thought you would like it here, but I was wrong. We can leave straight after breakfast in the morning. How does that sound?”
“I don’t know what I will do until then. That’s not my bed, so I can’t sleep there.” She nods back toward the bedroom she came from. “Whoever’s bed it is might come back.”
I think for a moment. It seems too odd to suggest we share a room for the night. She may wake later and find it even more confusing when it’s me and not William beside her.
“Why don’t I make us both a warm drink?” That raises a smile. “Then how about you come into my room? I know a great movie we can watch together.”
As Steel Magnolias is reaching its awful, tragic conclusion and Sally Field is desperately hoping a collection of treasured photographs will raise Shelby from her sleep, the magnitude of the future conversations I may have to have with Meredith weigh heavily on my mind. What if the absolute worst has happened to William or Fiona? What if she has lost the only man she ever loved, or the daughter she so clearly misses? Who will tell her?
Who will care for her?