Chapter 26
‘Only me,’ Cheryl called, as she opened the front door.
She stretched her visits to the public library for as long as she could.
There was a table where she could make herself coffee, and the librarians, all kind ladies, often brought in cakes or biscuits.
They were aware she never put much in the donation tin, but she sensed they knew and understood her circumstances.
It occurred to her, as she pulled off her coat and gloves, that Sheila had set her free.
If she no longer had to wait around for her inheritance, there was nothing to stop her leaving now.
Finding a job would be easier now than in ten years.
She could move out. Let Sheila know how it felt to be abandoned.
But what if the solicitors’ letter was real? What if she really was going to inherit money? Wealth? How satisfying would it be, after all this time, to be the one with power?
She carried her bag through to the kitchen and thought her heart might stop.
Her mother stood behind the kitchen table, an odd look of triumph on her face.
On the table were an old Christmas biscuit tin that Cheryl kept on the very top shelf of the dry goods cupboard, her collection of travel brochures from the top of her wardrobe and the letter from the solicitors that had arrived the day before.
‘Well, well, aren’t we the one with secrets?’ Sheila said as, one by one, she removed Cheryl’s secret treats from the biscuit tin.
It wasn’t easy to get one over on Sheila.
Every time she went to the shops, Cheryl was expected to stick rigidly to the list, keep the receipts and hand over the exact change.
But the greengrocer’s stall on the weekly market didn’t give itemised receipts and every week she’d been able to hold back a tiny amount of cash without rousing Sheila’s suspicions.
And that cash was hers to spend as she wanted.
Cadbury’s Fruit she was genuinely afraid of being left alone.
Sheila gave a wail of fury. ‘Don’t just stand there like a big-eyed cow. Say something. I don’t know who put you up to this, but I know you’d never have thought of it for yourself. What did you think you were going to do? Frighten me into changing my mind?’
Her mother thought she’d sent that letter to herself.
‘It arrived yesterday, Mum. Before I knew anything about your will. You can check the postmark. And I have no idea where it came from or who this man is.’
For several seconds, Sheila neither spoke nor moved. Then she pushed the letter back into its envelope and stalked past Cheryl and into the sitting room. The fire was still burning brightly in the hearth. Sheila pulled the fireguard away and glanced back.
‘Last chance,’ she said. ‘Admit it was you.’
‘I had nothing to do with it, Mum. Use your brain. Where would I get the paper from? Or a typewriter?’
‘Don’t you speak to me in that tone.’ At last, Sheila looked uncertain.
‘Let me put the kettle on. I got you two books about the lifeboat service. And some good stories. One by that author you like. Milly something. We can start it tonight.’
‘Well, if it’s nothing to do with you, you won’t mind then.’ Sheila opened her hand and the envelope dropped into the flames.
Cheryl ran forward. Pushing her mother out of the way – something she’d never done before – she dropped to her knees. The envelope was properly alight, the flames eating up the crisp paper. There was less than half of it left, and that half was a charred mess.
‘How dare you push me?’ Her mother had landed in the nearest armchair. ‘Have you forgotten everything I’ve done for you?’
Cheryl felt a stabbing pain in her ribs; her mum had kicked her.
‘There are worse places to end up than Meadowcroft, you know?’ Sheila’s foot connected once again with Cheryl’s ribs.
‘Why would you do that?’ Cheryl felt despair creeping over her. The letter had brought her hope. Of course she didn’t think it was real – how could it possibly be real? – but it had put a dream into her head. It would have been nice to keep the dream for a while longer.
‘Hitting an old lady,’ Sheila went on. Cheryl said nothing.
She hadn’t hit her mother, she’d never hit her mother; she’d pushed her out of the way as she’d rushed to save the letter and she shouldn’t have done that, but there was no harm done.
‘They put you away for that, you know?’ Sheila went on.
‘Grievous bodily harm. Not that I need anything new on you.’
This again. As the last blackened curl of the letter shrank to nothing, the despair in Cheryl turned to a rage she couldn’t remember ever feeling before. She stood up and stepped out of range of Sheila’s feet.
‘I’d be very careful if I were you, Mum. If I’m going to prison – and you’re probably wrong, it won’t be much worse than working at Meadowcroft – then I might as well go for something worthwhile.’
She reached out and picked up the poker, gripping it firmly in her right hand, before looking her mother full in the face. She saw, with immense satisfaction, the gleam of terror in Sheila’s eyes.