Cash
Carrie’s house was the last on my list. Not geographically, just because it felt too soon to be nosing around there when she’d only just died.
I supposed they could be collecting Carrie’s things, although it seemed a little soon. But then I realized that the removal men were taking boxes in. As I watched, a young woman came out of the house, directing them to be careful.
Before I could move, she looked up, spotted me and smiled. Damn. Then she walked over. I flushed, feeling awkward and guilty.
‘Hi,’ she said.
I guess she was in her early twenties, long, mousey hair in two pigtails, wearing a flowered sundress, socks and sandals. She seemed a little dowdy, although she was quite pretty.
Automatically, like I’ve been taught, I tipped my cap to her. ‘Afternoon, miss.’
Her smile widened. ‘Afternoon. And isn’t it a beautiful one?’
‘Yes, it is.’
She looked at me curiously. ‘You don’t have any mail for this house, do you, because that should have been stopped?’
‘Oh no,’ I said quickly. ‘I’m just delivering down the street, and I happened to notice you were moving in.’
She beamed again. ‘Yes, and I’m so excited to be living here. When I got the call to say I’d been approved, well, I squealed with joy.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘And the fact this house had just come up. I mean, they showed me some others, but when I saw this one, it just felt right.’
I could have asked any number of things then. I could have just been on my way, but instead I heard myself say: ‘When?’
She frowned. ‘Sorry?’
‘When did this house come up?’
‘Oh,’ she waved a hand. ‘About two weeks ago. Can you believe it?’
I couldn’t. Because Carrie only passed away four days ago as far as I knew. So how could this young woman be moving in so fast?
She held out a slim hand. ‘I’m Freya, by the way.’
‘Cash,’ I said. ‘I’m your mailman.’
‘How lovely. Well, I’m sure we’ll meet again, but if you’ll excuse me, I’d better get back to make sure the movers don’t drop anything valuable.’ She laughed. ‘Not that I have much valuable. It’s so nice that they furnish the house for you.’
‘Yes,’ I said, my throat dry, thinking, But that was Carrie’s furniture. Probably still got the indent of her dead butt cheeks.
I started to cycle away, and then, a couple of doors down I spotted Mr Bryson, an older gentleman who lost his cherished wife to cancer last year. He’s pleasant enough, but a little caustic, the way older folk are sometimes, like age wears away the veneer of polite that we all usually wear.
Bryson was standing on his drive in just a baggy T-shirt, shorts and slippers. His pale legs were rippled with varicose veins, and his white hair looked wild. He held a sleek grey cat in his arms. When he saw me, he waved. I stopped my bike again.
‘Afternoon.’
‘That the new one?’ he said, without preamble.
‘Yes, sir. Seems to be.’
He made a noise halfway between a snort and a grunt. ‘Ain’t decent. Disrespectful is what it is.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Moving in so fast when Carrie is barely cold in her grave. How did that house even come up, that’s what I want to know, when half around here stay empty for years?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said honestly.
He shook his head. ‘Something ain’t right.’
‘I … well, in what way?’
He eyed me suspiciously. ‘She was scared, you know.’
‘Who?’
‘Carrie. She was a nice lady. Used to bring me meals, check on me after Harriet died. Always happy. But not the last few times I saw her. She was scared. And then she asked me to look after this.’ He gestured to the cat in his arms, and only then did I realize it was Carrie’s cat.
‘I’m not so fond of cats myself, but she seemed desperate, so I said yes. ’
‘That’s kind of you.’
He made the snorting noise again. ‘She knew.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Carrie knew. The next thing, she’s dead.’
‘What did she know?’
Bryson regarded me with his rheumy, faded eyes. ‘You know too, don’t you?’
‘Know what?’
Bryson nodded as if I’d answered the question. He reached into the pocket of his dressing gown and pulled out a tightly rolled wad of paper. ‘Found this tucked into the cat’s collar.’
I stared at it. My gut churned. Just a wad of paper, yet I was sweating like he was holding a grenade.
Bryson sighed. ‘I’m old, Cash. Eighty-nine with a dicky heart – the doc told me I’ll be lucky to see Christmas, and I guess at my age that is lucky.
’ His face grew more serious. ‘It’s too late for me.
’ He held out the roll. ‘Take it. Don’t care what you do with it.
Bin it, burn it … or you can look at it.
See what the nice lady wanted someone to know. ’
I took the paper and placed it carefully in my satchel. As if something had suddenly occurred to him, Bryson looked up and down the street and then peered back at me. ‘Ain’t you a little late for your usual round?’
‘I’m, err, just delivering a few extra parcels.’
He nodded. ‘Then you best finish and … you take care.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Once you know, you can’t unknow.’
I watched him shuffle off and disappear inside his house, and then I glanced back at the removals van.
She knew. You know too.
Once you know, you can’t unknow.