Chapter 8
‘He thinks we’re exaggerating,’ Holly said, meaning me.
Lewis said, ‘I think you’re being over the top, too.’
‘For crying out loud.’ Holly stood. ‘She looks exactly like Mum when we were kids. It’s how I remember her in my mind. Before she got sick.’
From the scant details Holly had given me about Elizabeth’s death, I knew that she had died when she was forty-four.
She had told me that her mum had been diagnosed with breast cancer when she was in her mid-thirties but after a year of treatment had gone into remission and been given the all-clear.
Then, in 2006, it had come back. This time, the cancer was brutal and fast-moving and, by the time she was diagnosed, it had already spread into her bones and her brain.
The family had spent their final Christmas together, here in Applecross, before returning to Birmingham, although they had come back here the following March, so Elizabeth could spend her final days here, in this place that she loved.
That was a couple of months before Holly had been due to sit her A-level exams. Elizabeth had been a young mother, a mum of three by the time she was twenty-seven, and looking forward to freedom.
With all three kids grown or almost grown, she had been planning to start a new career, although Holly was vague about what this was going to be.
‘Let me show you how similar they are.’ Holly left the room.
‘I’m stunned that you can’t see it,’ Miranda said to Lewis.
He sighed. ‘Yeah, they look alike, but you don’t need to be so emotional about it.’
Holly returned, more flustered than ever. ‘The photographs of Mum. They’re all gone.’
‘What? Are you sure?’ She and Miranda went back out into the hallway, then into the living room. Lewis and I followed them.
‘There was one right here, a wedding photo.’ Holly touched the mantelpiece above the woodburner. There was a photo of the three siblings there, and a couple of pictures of Charles shaking hands with Ozzy Osbourne and a former manager of Aston Villa. But there was a gap right in the middle.
‘There was one on the wall going up the stairs, too,’ Holly went on. ‘That picture of Mum, taken here, when they first bought this place.’
‘I love that photo,’ Miranda said.
‘Me, too. She looks so happy in it.’ Tears spilled on to Holly’s cheeks and I tried to put my arm around her, but she shrugged me off.
‘I know there was one on the dresser in the master bedroom, too, another picture of the two of them, on their anniversary. I bet that’s gone as well.
I’m sure they were there when we were here in the summer. ’
‘Where’s that bloody husband of mine gone?’ Miranda asked.
We found Zack outside, on his phone, which he put away when he saw Miranda.
‘Has my dad visited this house since we were here last summer?’ she demanded.
He glanced up towards the top floor, like he was concerned Charles and Jasmine might overhear.
‘I don’t think so. Why?’
‘Because someone has taken down all the photos of our mum.’
‘Oh. Yeah.’
‘You knew?’
‘I was going to tell you. Charles asked Morag to take them all down. They’re in a drawer in the kitchen.’
I thought Miranda might hit him. Instead, she turned and marched to the kitchen, opening drawers until she found the framed photos, which she laid out on the table.
At the centre was the portrait of Elizabeth that Holly had mentioned, taken when she was thirty-four. The hair was slightly different, and she was a shade paler, being Scottish rather than from the Sunshine State. But it was undeniable. This could have been a photo of Jasmine.
‘Bloody hell,’ I said.
Miranda scooped up the photos and went to leave the room, clearly intending to put them back in the spots where they’d been displayed. But something made me say, ‘Wait.’
She bristled, but I had to say it. ‘I’m guessing Jasmine doesn’t know how much she looks like your mum.’
‘Well, she’s going to find out.’
‘But maybe …’
Miranda’s glare had made my mouth go dry. ‘Spit it out,’ she said.
I looked at Holly for support, but she was in her own world, clearly too freaked out to speak.
I swallowed. ‘It’s not Jasmine’s fault, is it? It must be hard for her, coming here, meeting you all. Maybe let her settle in, get to know her a bit, before confronting her with all this stuff about her being your mum’s spitting image. And shouldn’t you talk to your dad about it first, too?’
There was a silence. Miranda was staring at me like she couldn’t believe I had the temerity to speak.
But Lewis said, ‘He’s right. You girls need to give poor Jasmine a break. Try to imagine how you would feel if you were her.’
Holly dipped her head, contrite suddenly.
And then, before anyone else could say anything, we heard an American voice behind us.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Jasmine said, as everyone turned to face her. ‘Hey, is everything okay?’
Lewis was smooth, I had to give him that.
He put his arm around her shoulders, guiding her towards the living room before she could take in the pile of photos Miranda was holding.
‘We’ve been talking about how happy we are that you’re going to be spending Hogmanay with us.
’ He turned his head and, with a grimace and flick of the eyes, gestured for Miranda to put the photos back in the drawer.
To my surprise, she obeyed.
‘Why don’t you lie down on the sofa?’ Lewis said. ‘I’ll put the telly on. Maybe we can find something really boring that will help you sleep. I’ll get you a blanket.’
As soon as they’d left the kitchen, Miranda spoke to Zack through gritted teeth. ‘You and I need to talk. Let’s go for a walk. Where’s the dog’s lead?’
Zack muttered, ‘For fuck’s sake,’ but took down the lead from where it was hanging on the back of the kitchen door. Watson, who had heard the word ‘lead’, appeared from beneath the table where he’d been snoozing.
‘You’re going to tell me everything you know about this woman and how my dad happened to meet someone who looks exactly like our mother.’
They drifted into the hallway and I watched them from the kitchen doorway.
‘I told you. We were on that business trip, and—’
She cut him off. ‘I want exact details. How they met. What they said. Who approached who. And I don’t care if you’re in a difficult position. This is not work. This is life. This is family.’
‘All right. Calm down.’
‘Do not. Tell me. To calm down!’
Zack put his palms up. ‘Can anyone tell me if my head is still on my neck? I think it just got bitten off.’
‘You must have known this was going to happen,’ Miranda said, ignoring his attempt to lighten the mood. ‘Why didn’t you warn us. Or at least warn me?’
‘Because I knew I’d never hear the end of it. Also …’
‘What?’
‘Charles asked me not to.’
‘So your loyalty is to him rather than me?’
His lack of response said a lot. But I was still surprised when Miranda said, in a low voice, ‘I hate you.’
‘You didn’t hate me last night. I’m pretty sure Patrick and Holly heard how much you don’t hate me.’
The expression she pulled was murderous. But instead of speaking, or hitting him, she marched out through the front door and waited, her back to us.
With a sigh, Zack clipped the lead to Watson’s collar and went out to join her.