Chapter Twenty-Six
‘Ice sceem,’ squeaks Olly from his car seat when I open the door of Reeni’s car. He’s waving both hands at me and kicking his legs excitedly.
‘Hi,’ says Reeni, reaching for the cloth Little Red Riding Hood book on the passenger seat so I can sit down. It crinkles as she picks it up.
‘Do you think I look OK?’ I swivel towards her so she can see me. I’m wearing a simple white T-shirt and blue jeans. I’m a bundle of nerves and I can’t pinpoint exactly why.
It’s been four weeks since I nearly drowned in the sea.
In some ways it’s flown and in others it feels like that nightmare was an eternity ago.
I got the job I went for at the bookie’s in the village.
Five days a week, including Saturday with Wednesday and Sunday off.
I hated it at first, but needs must, and I’ve settled in now.
Getting to know the regulars helped and it made me realise how much I’d missed the regular banter from my customers when The Beach House was thriving.
My wages aren’t going to set the world alight, but it’s regular money and it’s keeping the wolf from the door.
And I’m organising another photography evening and hoping to make them a regular thing, which will make things easier, financially.
My parents haven’t reached out at all and neither, thank goodness, has Greg.
I’ve bumped into Milo a couple of times.
The first time was a quick wave when he was driving past me in the VW, Dillon in the passenger seat, and the second when I was walking home from work.
We chatted briefly, but it felt awkward so I made my excuses and said goodbye as quickly as I could without seeming rude.
I’ve not seen Jackson at all since that morning and neither one of us has texted or rung.
For the first few weeks I used to keep an eye on everyone who walked past the open door of the bookie’s, but I never saw him. And gradually that habit has faded.
I’ve played his words on repeat through my head about losing the baby not being my fault.
I finally opened up to Reeni. She was shocked that for all these years I’d blamed myself.
We even asked Aaron for his medical view, which he couldn’t give for certain seeing as he didn’t know the facts, just our hazy recollections of those days.
His conclusion was that it was highly probable it wasn’t my drinking the day before the scan that had caused the miscarriage.
Even though everyone is of the opinion I am innocent, I still can’t fully let go of my guilt, but I’m trying.
‘You look great. Are you OK with going?’ asks Reeni.
I settle back in the seat and click my seat-belt closed. ‘Milo promised Jackson wouldn’t be there. I’ll be fine.’
Out of the blue on Monday, Milo had dropped into the bookie’s.
‘I didn’t know you were a gambler,’ I’d teased when I saw him uncomfortably looking up at the array of TV screens lined up across the walls.
‘I’m not,’ he’d confessed. ‘I’ve come to see you. Have you spoken to him yet?’
I shook my head and Milo muttered something under his breath which I couldn’t quite catch.
‘It’s fine. It’s water under the bridge,’ I’d tried to reassure him even though I wasn’t sure it was true.
‘That’s not why I’m here. Mum’s moved into the Lilypad. She’s all settled. She was wondering if you’d go and visit her.’
I’d looked at him, puzzled, and for a flash thought he might be setting me up to bump into his brother.
‘I’ll make sure I keep Jackson away if you don’t want to see him. Mum would really love to see you though.’
So that’s what I’m doing on my day off. Going to the Lilypad to see Sophie. I’ve a little bar of lavender soap from the local artisan shop run by Lottie, all wrapped up in bright floral wrapping paper, to give her as an icebreaker.
‘We’re off to Bert’s Bakery to get ice cream, aren’t we, Olly?’ says Reeni, as she pulls into the hospice car park.
‘Pink ice sceem,’ shouts Olly from his car seat.
‘We can wait until you’re finished and all go together if you want?’
‘I’ll be good. I’ll go for a walk along the beach to go home. Thanks though.’
As I’m reaching for the door handle, Reeni stops me by touching my arm. ‘It’ll be OK. But if it’s not and you need me, I’m only a phone call away.’
I smile at her gratefully.
I clutch my little present to my tummy as I walk in through the sliding glass front doors of the Lilypad.
There’s a reception desk where I sign in and they direct me in the direction I need to go.
I’ve never been in a hospice before. It has wide vinyl floored hallways with handrails and there’s a harsh disinfectant smell lingering in the air.
They’ve made the effort to make it homely with flowers at reception and breaks in the long corridor which have seating and huge windows which look out on green spaces, and there’s art on the walls.
But you can’t escape the institutional, medical overtones.
Maybe that’s why Aaron was so keen on revamping their outside space.
Being out in the open and able to see and hear the sea would be a welcome interlude.
‘Can I help you?’ asks a lady in a pale purple-and-white uniform coming towards me in the opposite direction.
‘I’m looking for Sophie Meers.’
‘Oh, lovely lady. Come this way.’
She leads me to the end of the corridor and takes a left and then a right.
At the end of the hallway there’s a small lounge with big full-length windows and double doors that open out onto the garden area.
Some of the chairs are taken with patients sitting peacefully on their own or with family and friends.
At an initial glance around, I can’t see Sophie.
‘She must be in her room,’ says the nurse.
I follow her until she stops at room number seventeen. She knocks gently a couple of times and then opens the door. The irony of the door number doesn’t pass me by.
‘Sophie love, you’ve a visitor.’
I raise myself up on tiptoes to look over her shoulder.
The room is a pleasant surprise. It’s a lot more personable than a normal hospital room.
There’s accent wallpaper on one section of the wall opposite the bed, which is complemented by matching curtains, and a comfy looking high-backed chair to match the soothing green-and-brown colour scheme.
‘Sophie,’ the lady calls again. She walks over to the bed, but the small figure lying on top of the covers doesn’t move. ‘She’s sleeping.’ She picks up a blanket from the nearby chair and puts it softly over Sophie.
‘Could you give her this and tell her I stopped by?’ I ask.
‘Of course, love.’ She puts my parcel down on the dressing table and picks up a brown manilla A4 envelope. ‘Sophie said to give you this if she was asleep.’ She gives me a kind smile. ‘She’s been sleeping a lot.’
I take the envelope she’s offering. It has Ellie Pittens written in spidery handwriting on it and it’s thin and flimsy.
‘I’ll tell her you called. She’ll be sorry she missed you. I’ve heard all about you. I might even book onto one of your photography evenings myself.’
I give an embarrassed laugh and, clasping the envelope tight, walk back along the warren of corridors.
Once outside, I sit down on the bench Reeni and I had sat on when Sophie had first come to visit.
I turn the envelope over, it’s so light it can’t have much in it.
I slip a finger under the flap and ease it open.
I have no idea why Sophie would have anything to give me.
There’s a single sheet of paper in it. I slide it out.
It’s not paper. It’s an A4 photograph. My eyes sweep back and forth across it and emotion bubbles through my body.
This is the photo I enlarged for Jackson.
The one he hung in the camper van. Daisy with her shutter open and his white-and-orange trainers at her door.
I put the envelope down and something falls out of it onto the floor.
It’s a single rusted vintage-looking key.
I open the envelope again to check to see if I’ve missed a note, but it’s empty.
I’ve got the photo in one hand and the rusty key in the other and my mind is racing with a million questions. Why have I got a picture of Daisy and a key? Do they go together? Has Sophie given me the key to Daisy? How does she have it and what am I supposed to do with it?
Curiosity gets the better of me as I roll the key around in my hand. I’m going to go and find out if it fits.
The beach huts are about a thirty-minute walk away.
The weather is beautiful and the beach busy, but I power on and manage to do the journey in just over twenty minutes.
I stop dead when I see Jackson and Milo sitting on Daisy’s concrete veranda, chatting as they look out to sea.
I half turn to go, but Milo’s voice rings out before I’ve taken a step.
‘Hey, Ellie.’ He stands and brushes the sand from his legs. He doesn’t look at all surprised to see me here. ‘Glad you came.’
Jackson looks up, caught off guard, and his expression clouds immediately. He stands too, his whole body rigid. ‘What’s going on?’ His eyes narrow as he glares at Milo.
‘If I’d have told you, you wouldn’t have come,’ he says simply. ‘You two need your heads banging together. Anyway, this isn’t down to me. It’s Mum.’
‘What’s down to Mum?’ growls Jackson. He sounds as uncomfortable as I feel.
‘She wanted you both here at the same time. She’s left something for you both in there.’ Milo nods towards Daisy.
I take a couple of steps closer to them. ‘Your mum gave me this.’ I hold up the rusty key. It’s coloured my hand a reddy orange. ‘Is this –’
Jackson nods. ‘For Daisy. Yeah.’
My eyes narrow to match his. ‘Why does your mum have a key for Daisy?’
Jackson shrugs and his cheeks flush a rosy pink.
‘Does it work?’
He motions towards the yellow door. ‘Try it.’
‘Are you going to give me any straight answers?’ I snap.
‘Christ, you two are a pair of toddlers. Open the door, Ellie,’ says an exasperated Milo.
I hesitate for a second and then think what the hell. Stepping up onto the concrete veranda, I wiggle the rusty key into the lock. I expect it to be difficult to turn, but the lock clicks with ease and the door swings open.
Seeing inside Daisy in ‘real life’ stuns me.
My breath hitches in my throat as I stand and stare.
It’s as if everything has been frozen in time.
The bunting on the back wall, Reeni’s red and blue striped cushions on the scruffy cream-painted benches, our rag rug which I’m guessing still hides the two broken floorboards, and the red bean bag Jackson bought me is still sitting in the far corner.
The only addition is a blue corduroy dog bed, tucked under one of the benches.
Our little metal foldaway table has been set up in the middle of the hut and it has a single cream envelope sitting on it.
Jackson steps up beside me, close enough that I can smell the fabric softener on his clothes and that familiar hint of aftershave, and my heart stumbles in my chest.
‘Mum has been writing that for over a week. I offered to scribe it for her, but she insisted on doing it herself and could only manage a bit a day,’ says Milo.
I blink hard, a lump already forming in my throat.
‘What does it say?’ Jackson asks his brother, his voice gruff.
‘No idea,’ says Milo. ‘I haven’t read it.’
Jackson is still staring into the hut. I can see his chest moving under his T-shirt, his breathing quick and shallow.
‘This is where I bow out,’ says Milo patting his brother on the arm. ‘Don’t fuck it up this time, bro.’ And he raises his eyebrows at Jackson as if to hammer home the point.
As he walks past me, he squeezes me on the arm. ‘Catch you later, Ellie. Don’t be too hard on him, yeah? It’s not his fault he’s an idiot.’ And with a wink, he’s gone, leaving the two of us standing side by side in front of a hut full of memories and a letter that might just change everything.