Chapter 4
T he week ticked by. Millie filled her time sorting out her new home. While all the essential furniture was already there, she’d been given Alan’s blessing to move things around and change things as much as she wanted. She’d moved some pieces and added in lots of new things which gave it a more personal touch. It was starting to feel a little more like home, although she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to the contrast of the quaint, rustic cottage against the poky, functional flat she used to rent in London. The main reason being, here she was living alone. Still, she was grateful to have the sorting to do. It helped keep her mind from wandering too much.
Saturday had somehow rolled around, and she remembered Amy’s invitation from earlier in the week. Should she go? Did she want to go? Anxious butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She wouldn’t know anyone. Well, that was a lie, she knew Amy. Sort of. Plus, after all she had been invited. And how else would she meet new people? She’d spoken to Jenny every day since she’d moved but even Facetime wasn’t a substitute for actual human contact. She needed to start making an effort.
Trying desperately to ignore this internal monologue, she pulled open the wardrobe door, then paused. What did people even wear to the pub down here? Up in London, going out for a drink was either fancy wine bars or upmarket Gastropubs, overlooking glorious St Katharine’s Docks, off a quirky side-street in Soho or a trendy venue in Shoreditch. Your choice of outfit would match the location and even if you went straight from the office, you still looked smart and would have touched up your hair and make-up in the work toilets before leaving. On the contrary, she had a feeling pubs down in Cornwall wouldn’t be quite the same. Most people she’d come across down here in the village wore woollen fleeces and walking boots. OK, maybe that was a little exaggerated and pompous but the stark contrasts with the Londoners she’d surrounded herself with for years were hugely obvious. She didn’t want to look a mess, but also didn’t want to stand out.
After much deliberation, she decided on a pair of black jeans and a pewter grey vest. A chunky knit cardigan and boots accompanied the ensemble, mainly for warmth, and a little make-up finished off the look. She felt she looked OK, considering she had pretty much forgotten how to use make-up after not wearing it in a long while. A little tinted moisturiser, strokes of concealer on the dark grooves under her eyes, some daubs of blusher and a swish of mascara was her effort. Her hair hung loose, naturally wavy.
The pub – The Sandy Anchor - was a five-minute walk from her cottage, just like almost everything in this tiny place. Aside from a few streetlamps straining out some watery rays of light, the lane was pretty much pitch black. Millie trod carefully on the cobbles through habit, her mother’s voice echoing in her head from when she was around five years old “don’t step on cobbles, they’re ankle twisters!”
She realised then that she hadn’t thought about her mum for a while and felt a rush of guilt, despite their relationship being mostly fragmented for years prior to her death. She knew the fact she was even able to be here in Cornwall, having spontaneously left her old life behind, was due to the money her mum had left her in her will. Most people wouldn’t even think twice at this: of course, parents left their children money in their wills, right? But for years, her mum had told her repeatedly that there would be nothing for her, threatening that if Millie didn’t support her life choices, then she wouldn’t support her. As much as she had wanted to be there for her mum through her problems, she’d never been able to entertain her alcoholism and narcissistic tendencies, choosing instead to step back for the benefit of her own mental health. It was no secret that her mum had had a tough life and with never really knowing who Millie’s father was, she’d brought her up mostly alone. Whilst Millie was grateful to her, she’d learned over time that this didn’t give her an automatic pass to treat her however she chose. Following all the arguments, it had been a total shock to discover she had received the entirety of her mother’s estate after she’d died from liver cancer.
Millie passed three people on her way down, all of whom nodded or smiled and said hello. This was a stark contrast to London, where people practically went out of their way to avoid eye contact or polite conversation. She quite enjoyed it. It made her feel she belonged. Gradually, the pub came into view. Standing quaintly metres from the sea wall and beach beyond, it radiated warmth and cosiness. Hanging baskets overflowing with hydrangeas adorned the front wall and a large chalkboard claiming “dogs and their well-behaved owners welcome” added a witty charm. Reaching the door, Millie contemplated turning around, anxiety getting the better of her, but as soon as she pushed open the door, warm chatter greeted her, and she spied Amy almost immediately. Amy’s face broke into a smile, and displayed a look of surprise, as though she hadn’t expected Millie to come. To be honest, she was still a little surprised herself.
“You made it!” she said warmly, giving Millie a hug. “Great! Come and meet the crew.” She was relieved to see Amy was also dressed casually, yet even more so than her: jeans, a cable-knit jumper and Hunter wellies adorned her feet. Her hair, which had been so intricately plaited in the supermarket, now hung in messy waves around her freckled face. Not a scrap of make-up lay on her face, yet she looked fresh and youthful. Millie couldn’t help but instantly like her. A group of four other people sat around a circular table, pints in front of all of them. Her heart immediately dropped when she recognised one of the men at the table from their encounter earlier that week, but she managed to keep her face neutral.
Banging the table to get their attention, Amy announced: “So everyone, this is Millie! She’s just moved here. I served her at work this week, isn’t that weird?! Millie, let me introduce you to everyone. This is Ryan,” she indicated to a brown-haired boy with quirky glasses and a checked shirt. He gave a little wave, and she smiled in response. “This is Daisy.” A tall girl with incredibly long, thick hair and large eyes grinned at her. “This is Evan, he’s with Daisy,” Amy added, and Evan nodded his blonde head. “And this is Alfie. Or Alfredo if he’s being a knob head, which, let’s face it, is quite a regular occurrence.”
“Screw you, Collins,” Alfie said, flipping her off, but his voice was light. Millie couldn’t help but frown. So he could joke around with Amy but with her, he was rude? He didn’t acknowledge they’d already met, or attempt to say hello now, so she decided to keep her mouth shut too. Perhaps if she blocked it out, she could pretend their rude encounter had never happened.
“Come and sit down then!” Amy ushered. “What’re you drinking?” Millie glanced around at the table. Pint. Pint. Pint. She wasn’t overly keen on lager but didn’t want to make the wrong impression straight away.
“Just a pint will be fine,” she replied coyly, and Alfie smirked. She shot him a look. “Why’s that funny?”
“Nothing…you just don’t look like a “pint” sort of girl,” he replied, eyebrow raised. That was really starting to annoy her now. Was he trying to offend her? Catch her out, even? She firmly held his gaze.
“Well, typically it’s a “pint” of wine but I don’t want to go too crazy now,” she shot back, and the others erupted into laughter.
“I like this girl!” Daisy chuckled and Millie felt a little glow as she settled onto a spare stool. So, she’d have to pretend to like foul lager for the rest of her life? It seemed a small price to pay if it meant she could, maybe, belong.
* * *
“Are you crazy?! I can’t accept all this!?” Millie’s hands shook as she stared at the papers before her. She glanced up at the man sat in-front of her. His forehead wrinkled like a Shar-Pei’s; thick-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose. He studied her over the rim, eyes narrowed.
“This is what your mother requested you have in her will, Miss Jones. As an only child and with no next of kin herself, she chose to leave her entire estate to you.” She skim-read the document again, not really taking in the words. They danced around on the page like confetti, merging and then separating like flour through a sieve.
“But…but she told me there was no way I’d be receiving her money? I was strictly under the impression there’d be nothing at all left for me. I completely wasn’t expecting this?!” The solicitor clasped his hands in-front of him, and a hint of a smile played at the corner of his lips.
“Miss Jones, sometimes we feel like we know our loved ones inside out. Like they couldn’t ever possibly surprise us That the way they acted towards us was final and absolute. But ultimately, there are always secrets to behold. Sometimes, they shock us in the most incredible ways. I suggest you read this and see if it has any answers.” He pushed an envelope across the table which bore Millie’s name in the unmistakable and familiar scrawl of her mother’s hand. Swallowing hard, hands shaking, she carefully sliced open the envelope. It didn’t take long to read.
I never did well by you, Melissa. I wish I could turn back time and do things differently. For that, I am sorry x
The words shocked her – they were maybe the kindest words she had spoken to her in years. Immense guilt flooded through her, and she had a sudden desire to go back in time and try harder to help her mum. But of course, it was now far too late.
But this money…this was life changing. She didn’t know what to do.
So, she just cried.