Chapter 46
‘Have you spoken to your sister recently?’ Amelia asked.
I stopped walking, a feeling of dread in my stomach. ‘Not for a while.’ I didn’t add that the last time had been in March. ‘Why?’
‘It’s probably nothing but I haven’t seen her in a while and I’m getting worried. I’m outside her cottage and I’ve been knocking on the door but there’s no answer.’
‘Did she give you a spare key?’ I asked. Amelia was right to worry. Marianne never left the cottage so, if she wasn’t answering the door, something was wrong.
‘No, and I’ve checked under some plant pots but I can’t see one.’
‘I’ve got one but by the time I get home and drive to you… Could you break a window? Maybe the kitchen one. I’ll pay for the damage.’ The windows were still single glazing so should be easy to smash.
‘Okay. I’ll go round the back.’
‘It’s my sister’s neighbour,’ I told Will. ‘She hasn’t seen her for a while and she’s worried.’
I put the phone on speaker to avoid having to repeat the rest of the conversation.
‘There’s a key on the inside of the back door,’ Amelia said. ‘Give me a second.’
I winced at the sound of breaking glass.
‘Just putting my hand through and… I’m in. Urgh!’
Panic stabbed at me. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘The smell. Oh, my God! There’s bin bags and rubbish everywhere.’
I sighed. ‘I know. She has a hoarding problem and she wouldn’t accept my help.’
‘I’m going through to the lounge. Hang on. Urgh, it stinks in here too.’
‘Any sign of Marianne?’
‘No.’
‘Try her bedroom or the bathroom – first two doors at the top of the stairs. Careful on the stairs, though.’
‘It’s such a mess! Is this why you asked me if I’d ever been inside?’
‘I wondered if she’d opened up to you about it.’
‘I had no idea. Bathroom’s empty and so’s her bedroom. I’ll try the others.’
‘It’s our parents’ room next, then what was mine.’
‘Nothing in your parents’ room,’ Amelia said. ‘Just pushing open your door and… oh, God! I’m so sorry, Yvonne.’
I clutched onto Will’s arm, tears pooling in my eyes. ‘Is she…?’
‘She’s long gone.’
‘A fall?’ I asked.
‘She’s lying on the bed on top of the covers holding a doll in a red dress.’
Scarlett Skye. Tears burned my eyes and my throat tightened. When I spoke, my voice sounded distant. ‘Can you call an ambulance? Or would it be the police? I don’t know what you do when… Do you mind? Is that—’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll make the call. I know what to do.’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘I’ll drive,’ Will said as I hung up.
‘I can’t expect you to—’
‘You’ve had a shock and I want to.’
I nodded, tears spilling down my cheeks. Will drew me to his chest and held me.
‘I don’t know why I’m crying. We weren’t close. She hated me.’
Will knew how difficult things had been between us. I’d told him a little about Marianne the weekend we met but I’d told him a lot more during our walk earlier, including my difficult decision to stop contacting her.
Will tightened his hold. ‘She was still your sister, though, and you cared about her even if she didn’t act as though she cared about you.’
‘I should have pushed her more. I knew she had to be ill but I backed off.’
‘Because she wanted you to back off. You can’t keep pushing against a closed door. You did more than most people in your position would do.’
He was right, but it didn’t stop me feeling guilty.
* * *
There was a police car outside 4 Hayscroft Lane but Amelia had clearly been watching out for me as she came rushing out of her cottage.
‘The police are with me,’ she said. ‘There was nowhere to sit next door. I’m so sorry, Yvonne.’
‘I’m sorry you had to find her. That must have been difficult.’
‘It’s okay. I’m a nurse so it’s not the first time.’
The next couple of hours passed in a blur as I gathered information and made arrangements.
Marianne’s death was not unexpected. A doctor confirmed she’d had stage four bowel cancer but had signed an advance decision document refusing treatment, carers, hospital or a hospice, adamant that she wanted to die on her own terms at home.
It was heartbreaking to think that she’d died alone and presumably in pain, but she’d spent her whole life choosing to be alone so it made sense that she wouldn’t want people around her in her final days.
I rang Paulette to see if she had any recommendations for funeral directors in the area and she gave me the details of a company she highly recommended so I arranged for them to attend.
She’d swapped her Sunday shift with me to give me today off and kindly offered to work tomorrow too but I told her I’d be fine and would appreciate the distraction of the shop.
Will cleared all the bags from the stairs so that the funeral directors could remove Marianne’s body safely. In the meantime, Amelia’s husband had arrived home from work and boarded up the broken window so at least the building was secure until I could sort out a glazer.
With the police and funeral directors gone, Amelia asked if there was anything else we needed and I thanked her profusely for being so helpful today and for being a friend to my sister.
Returning to my former bedroom with Will, I picked up Scarlett Skye.
‘I’m so confused,’ I said. ‘Why was Marianne in my bedroom holding my doll?’
‘Probably because she did care about you after all.’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe. I guess I’ll never know now.’
It was surreal being back here and difficult to compute that Marianne was gone. I didn’t feel sad, didn’t feel relieved. If anything, I felt numb.
‘Do you know what your sister’s last wishes were?’ Will asked after a while.
‘Not a clue. We never spoke about anything like that. We barely spoke at all. I didn’t know her, Will.
I didn’t even know she was ill. I asked her repeatedly and she fobbed me off.
Stage four cancer. I can’t…’ I shook my head.
‘I’m guessing cremation – most people go for that these days, don’t they? ’
‘Could she have left a letter in her own bedroom or somewhere else you’d find it?’
‘Oh! Christmas Day! She invited me round and I was only here for ten minutes. All she wanted to do was show me…’
I dashed into our parents’ room with Will following, folded back the rug, lifted the floorboards and removed the contents – two bundles of documents and a shoebox. The first bundle related to the cottage and included the deeds, and the second was for Dad’s smallholding.
‘Looks like Marianne sold it back to Hayscroft Farm after Dad died,’ I said. ‘That’s news to me. I assumed she had someone in managing it.’
There was a bank book attached to the sale confirmation and I opened it out, gasping at the substantial sum of money in it, presumably from the land sale.
‘That’s a lot of pennies,’ Will said when I showed him.
‘Whether the money’s still there is another matter, although I can’t imagine what she’d have spent it on if it isn’t. She’s never done anything with the cottage and she never went out.’
I moved the documents aside and lifted the lid on the shoebox. Resting on top of a pile of photographs was an envelope with my name on it.
‘Final wishes?’ Will suggested as I lifted it out.
There were two pieces of paper inside – a letter and an official-looking document, which I unfolded first.
‘It’s my full birth certificate,’ I said, clocking my name at the top.
I had the short version at home – the one with my name, sex, date and place of birth – and had never thought to ask whether they had the long-form version.
I scanned down the additional details and my breath caught. That couldn’t be right.
‘What’s up?’ Will asked.
I stared at the document, my stomach churning. How the hell had they all kept that from me?