Somehow, though, the thought didn’t hold the same appeal.
CHAPTER TEN
ELLA
I carried the boxes into my flat and shoved them to the back of the wardrobe, the only place in my studio where I could put things out of sight. They were just boxes, I told myself, trying to shake the unnerving feeling that my mother had invaded my sanctuary. They were only objects – inanimate things, nothing more, nothing less.
Moving methodically and deliberately, I went through my usual bedtime routine: shower, pyjamas, then curling up under the duvet with Dolby and my book. Ten-thirty came and I switched off the light and lay in the darkness, counting my breaths in and out and waiting for sleep to come. Tonight, I’d nothing to fear. I’d faced down my memories and put my terrible nightmares to rest. I couldn’t wait for a full night’s sleep in peace.
Each time I closed my eyes, though, the boxes in the wardrobe loomed larger and larger, questions needling my mind like poisonous darts. Was the heart pendant in there? Had my mother thought of me in her last moments? Had she left something of herself for her daughter?
I pushed the questions away. I told myself over and over how ridiculous I was being. I twisted the duvet around my limbs, as if I was physically preventing myself from getting up to rip open the boxes. But no matter how hard I clenched the covers or pressed myself into the mattress, I couldn’t stop the urge building inside.
Sighing in frustration, I threw aside the duvet and got out of bed, switching on the light. I was done with all of this, but if the only way I was going to sleep tonight was to open those boxes and prove to myself the necklace wasn’t there, then I’d do it. Why not? Jewellery or not, my mother was gone. She’d still left me, and I’d long since accepted it. After tonight, I knew there was nothing more to fear; no reason my subconscious would linger on painful memories.
I opened the wardrobe doors and slid the boxes on to the sofa. Then I grabbed a knife from the kitchen cupboard and ran it down the centre of the bigger box, lifting the flaps. It was full of clothing I didn’t recognise, bright colours spilling out into the gloom of the dim light. A soft red silk shirt, a jade-green jumper, an orange pair of trousers, a purple velvet dress . . . so unlike Mum’s typical outfit of faded jeans or jogging bottoms along with whatever T-shirt she’d pulled from the laundry pile on the sofa that day. I pawed through the items, determined not to pause. I didn’t want to think about her. I was only doing this to put my mind to rest and get some sleep.
I spotted a clear plastic bag with the glint of metal inside. Despite myself, my stomach flipped: this must be the jewellery that was found on the beach. I tore open the bag and drew out the tangle of necklaces and bracelets. The butterfly bracelet, the earrings . . . No, no heart pendant. Not in this box, anyway.
Right, one more box, and then I could sleep. I grabbed the shoebox and slid my fingers under the yellowed Sellotape that attached the lid. It snapped easily, and I lifted the top.
I sat back, taking in the contents. Envelope after envelope was neatly stacked inside, some thick and some thin. I sifted through them, noticing none had been opened. There were dozens of them, and they were all addressed to my mother at Carolyn’s house. There was no return address, but the handwriting looked the same on each.
Why hadn’t my mother opened any of these? I wondered. And why had Carolyn kept them all this time, even those that had arrived after my mother’s death? Why hadn’t my aunt written to this person and told them my mother had died?
I shut down the questions in my mind as I scanned the inside of the box, looking for a glint of gold, but it was empty. I took a deep breath, steeling myself against any hint of disappointment. My mother hadn’t thought of me, but that was hardly news. How could she have killed herself otherwise? She might have been depressed, but she could have let Carolyn help her. She could have taken medication, but she’d decided not to.
She could have stayed, but she’d chosen to leave.
Case closed.
I replaced the letters in the box without giving them a second glance. I’d only opened it to see if the pendant was there. Whatever else – whoever else – my mother had left behind, well . . . I didn’t care.
It was time to get my life on back on track.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JUDE
August 1980
Before Jude could even blink, Bertie’s holiday in Hastings was over and it was time for him to head back to Edinburgh. He’d wanted to pick her up at Carolyn’s and take her out to a posh restaurant: a ‘last supper’, as she’d jokingly called it. And while she’d have jumped at the suggestion with previous dates, now she’d shaken her head. She didn’t need to dress up and go out; she didn’t need fancy food and expensive wine. She just needed Bertie.
Besides, she didn’t want anything special to mark that this was over. Sure, she’d known that Bertie was visiting for only a short time and that he had a life in Scotland (though she struggled to picture him anywhere but here, by her side). And, sure, they both knew that in a few weeks, she’d be leaving here anyway. But despite realising they’d soon go their separate ways, Jude had plunged headlong into their remaining days together, giving him her everything. He made it easy, and she couldn’t – she didn’t want to – hold back. Just knowing Bertie was waiting for her at their spot on the promenade brought a smile to her face.
‘What is up with you lately?’ her sister had asked a few days earlier, when Jude had finished washing up one night with a smile. Usually, she suffered through it as if someone was flicking her skin with the damp towel. Truly, could there be a more boring task in the world?
Jude had jerked, catching herself dreaming of Bertie’s arms wrapped around her. ‘Nothing.’ She didn’t want to share Bertie with anyone but herself, least of all her sister. Bertie was like a pleasant dream, and the last thing she needed was Carolyn shaking her rudely awake with her dose of reality. Bertie had wanted to meet her sister, but Jude had steadfastly refused. They had little time together as it was, and she didn’t want to waste it over an excruciating dinner where poor Bertie would be subjected to Carolyn’s grilling. Although, actually, she suspected Bertie might meet with Carolyn’s approval, unlike some of the other blokes she’d been with in the past. He was polite, had a steady job, dressed neatly, and spoke nicely. He and Carolyn were almost the same age, too. Bertie was nearly a whole decade older than Jude!
She shook her head now, a smile creeping across her face as she struggled into her favourite pair of jeans and a gingham top. Bertie might be miles away from her usual type, but she couldn’t be happier.
For now, anyway. She swallowed against the sadness that filled her when she remembered that this time tomorrow he would be gone, and life would fade to black and white again.
But there was always London, she reminded herself, sighing as she ran a brush through her hair. Just a few more weeks, and she would be escaping to a city where things were sure to be in Technicolor. Okay, so she still hadn’t figured out where she would live and how she’d survive until she made it as a singer. She didn’t know a soul and, even with Frank’s tips, it was bound to be difficult until she got going. Something like fear shot through her, and she took a deep breath.