Chapter Forty-Three
FORTY-THREE
Jayne
I promised to keep an eye on Willow and Maggie for a few hours this morning. Davina is at work, and all of her usual childminders are booked, despite sky-high rates because of the school holidays. I can’t sit with them all day, so Willow is officially in charge. But I’ll be popping my head in every now and again to make sure they’re not burning the place down or destroying the contents of Davina’s expensive work wardrobe.
I want to spend some time with Meredith this morning, to have another go at getting her to share what’s in that letter. I’ll head down there as soon as I can.
My phone pings with a new email and I’m floored to see the word Christie’s —I only sent my email yesterday, but I’ve already got a reply from a man called Stephen Glover, the head of private sales. My eyes fly over the words, struggling to take it all in. I have to stop on the first floor and read it again from the beginning. Mr.Glover explains that the accompanying handwritten letter, the well-documented provenance of the dress, the personal connection of its current owner to the original one, the romance surrounding the fact it was pulled from the auction back in 1997, and the fact that Diana is now sadly deceased make this dress incredibly attractive . There is a significant global network , he goes on, of collectors who would want to know if it came to auction.
Then, at the very bottom of the email, he says that assuming all is as it seems, if we were going to sell this item—without even seeing or verifying its condition himself—he would expect to allocate a six-figure reserve price.
I grip the banister a little tighter and read the whole thing for a third time, convinced it must be a hoax. But logic would absolutely dictate it’s not. I contacted Christie’s, I remind myself. I’ve seen what the other dresses fetched at the original auction. Comparatively, this is not an outrageous sum of money. In fact, now I think about it, it seems like the perfect honor to bestow on Meredith. After all the years she devoted to making those beautiful gowns and this one in particular has actually increased in value. The question is whether she would ever consider selling it.
My thoughts are cut abruptly short by the sound of a piercing scream filling the air. Olivia immediately appears out of her door on the second floor having heard it too.
“Meredith!” she shouts, and we run the stairs together to the first floor. But when she answers the door her face is a picture of calm vagueness.
“Oh, Meredith,” I stutter, slightly taken aback. “It’s Jayne from upstairs. Is everything all right? I thought I heard you call out?”
She shakes her head, completely unflustered. “Oh dear, was I humming again?” I feel the relief flood through me.
“No, no, don’t worry. I’m so sorry to disturb you, Meredith. Go back inside and I’ll come and check on you later.”
“Okay.” She smiles and obediently closes the door.
Olivia and I stand for a moment, looking at each other, confused.
“Can you hear that?” Olivia asks. “I think it’s coming from downstairs.”
I start to shake my head but then stop. I do hear something. A child crying.
“Oh no. Maggie.” We head down to the ground floor and Davina’s front door this time. Willow throws it open and I see immediately that something is seriously wrong. She’s flushed and clearly panicking.
“She wanted to see if her fairy wings would make her fly, so she climbed up on top of Mum’s wardrobe and jumped off.” She’s tripping over her words, her breath snagging in the back of her throat. “She’s done it a million times before and been fine, but she didn’t put the pillows down to land on this time. She isn’t moving!”
My own heart is banging as we race through to the bedroom to where Maggie is lying in a crumpled heap, her left arm horribly bent outward from the elbow at an unnatural angle. She is pale and quiet, which is the most worrying thing of all. All the life has been knocked out of her.
“Don’t attempt to move her,” I say, trying desperately hard to remain calm. “We need to call an ambulance.”
“I’ve done that,” sobs Willow. “It’s on its way. Is she going to be okay, Jayne?” Her voice quivers and I sense the guilt she is feeling because this happened while Maggie was in her care. But it’s me who should be feeling guilty. I should have come straight here this morning.
“She’s going to be just fine,” I say, gently lowering myself down onto the floor next to Maggie. “You’ve done brilliantly, Willow.” I run my hand gently from Maggie’s forehead back across the top of her head, barely touching her, but wanting to let her know I am here. Her eyes flicker open, but she doesn’t speak. It’s not like Maggie at all.
“We need to let Davina know,” says Olivia.
“Oh God.” Willow starts to sob louder, the child in her not wanting to confront the seriousness of what has happened.
“Sit with her, will you, Olivia, while I call Davina? Just keep an eye on her and hopefully the ambulance will be here soon.” I step outside of the room to make the call.
“Jayne! Listen, I am about to go into another meeting. Is Meredith okay? Has she mentioned the letter yet?” I feel my throat constrict while I try to find the best words.
“I’m so sorry, Davina, but you need to come home.” I try to blink away the tears filling my eyes.
“What’s wrong? Are the girls okay?” She already senses what’s coming.
“It’s Maggie. She’s hurt herself. Willow’s called an ambulance.”
“Oh God. What happened?” I picture her then, throwing items into her handbag as she walks to the door. I don’t want to say too much and worry her further.
“She’s had a fall and her arm doesn’t look great but she’s conscious. Olivia is with her and Willow now.”
“Okay, all right, I’m on my way. Stay with her, please, Jayne, will you, until I get there? She adores you.”
“Of course I will. See you soon.”
“Oh, and Jayne, tell Willow this is not her fault, please? It’s mine and I’m not cross at all. I know she’ll be worried.”
I end the call and head back into the room. I can hear the rise and fall of an ambulance siren a few streets away.
“Olivia, will you go and open the front door so they can come straight in?”
In the following minutes the siren reaches a deafening volume, paramedics in green overalls and heavy black shoes fill the hallway, carrying a collection of equipment and a stretcher. The sight of them is going to frighten Maggie. Then Davina comes flailing through the door, dropping her handbag and blazer on the floor. Her mascara is bleeding under her eyes. Jake appears too. It’s all getting too chaotic and I’m pleased Maggie isn’t seeing all the fuss. I decide to stay in the hallway, giving the paramedics and Davina some space to examine her.
“It looks like she’s heard all the commotion too.” Jake nods toward the staircase, where Meredith has appeared, rubbing her hands frantically up and down her arms. I watch as she hugs her arms tightly around herself and rocks back and forth on the top step. The ambulance siren has stopped but her face is illuminated by the blue flashing light that is pouring in from the street. I move quickly to join her, but before I can reach her, she begins shaking her head frantically back and forth.
“They’re here. They’re with him now. He’s unconscious!”
I take hold of her with both hands and force eye contact, trying to help her recollect who I am and where she is.
“Take a deep breath, Meredith. It’s Jayne, from upstairs. Everything is fine. Come on, I’ll walk you back to your apartment.”
“I can’t go in there!” she bellows. “They’re working on him now. They don’t want me to see.” She drops her face into her hands. “I begged him to get those headaches checked, but he never did.”
“The ambulance is here for Maggie, Meredith. The little girl who lives on the ground floor?” I take hold of her hand. “She’s had a small fall. Nothing to worry about, I promise.”
“His arm won’t work. He can’t tell me what’s wrong. They are asking me lots of questions and I can’t remember the answers.” She’s casting her eyes around, and when they finally settle back on me, it seems to soften her. She releases a long slow breath and allows me to guide her back into her apartment and sit her down on the sofa.
“Did William need an ambulance, Meredith? Did the siren and the flashing lights remind you of that?”
“He opens his eyes briefly and I kiss him.” She smiles at me, lifting her fingers to her mouth. “His lips are so soft, but I’m not sure he can see me. I lower my face close so I am right there in front of him, and I hold his face in my hands and I kiss him again. My wonderful William. Then…then he leaves.”
Meredith’s breathing has calmed. She’s reclined back into the sofa and her body has slackened with relief or exhaustion, I’m not sure which.
I know what I need to do. I tuck a woolen blanket over her lap and switch the television on, lowering the volume so it is barely audible but enough of a distraction. I make her a hot, sweet tea that she probably won’t drink. She’ll need a nap, while the adrenaline dissipates and allows her body to relax again. I wait for her eyes to close, for the frantic flickering of her lids to subside, then I head for her memory room.
The letter is there on the floor and this time I don’t hesitate to pick it up. My eyes scan the words, my entire body stiffening as I read and understand them. I read them again. I check the date at the top of the letter: 13 July 2017. Then I feel the thump of disappointment and sadness drop through me like a dead weight.
He’s gone.
The crematorium has written to Meredith as his next of kin to advise that she has yet to collect his ashes. The letter explains that if it isn’t done within six months of the cremation date, then his ashes will be scattered in the memorial garden.
We are too late.
Meredith is too late to say her final goodbye. She has spent an entire year waiting for her husband to return, waking every morning, believing this would be the day that he would, and it was never going to be. How will I ever find the words to tell her this?
I take a seat in her favorite armchair and sit there silently for I’m not sure how long. Long enough to cast my eyes back over the wall of photographs and to briefly step back into Meredith and William’s lives. The smiles, the milestones, the achievements, the expressions I’ll never understand, the cracks that it’s now too late to heal.
I shake my head and sigh at the realization that we were never going to find him. We were looking for the wrong William. The letter confirms that while they shared a life, William and Meredith never shared a surname. He was William Hatfield.
I step back out into the drawing room, where Meredith is stirring.
“He will get better, won’t he?” she asks as soon as she sees me. “How is he now? Can I go and visit him yet?”