Letting You Go (14 page)

I
t was an odd experience, watching a person’s headstone being sited. Or in the case of the late Mayor Sinclair, his whopping archangel memorial piece. The air had gone cooler once the sun had dipped behind the church spire. The clock tower said nearly six o’clock, the memorial guys must’ve been at it all afternoon. Alex could see it was an archangel because in all the struggling most of the canvas tarpaulin had come loose and was sagging around the angel’s base like a dropped bathrobe. Alex was trying to pretend it wasn’t happening across St Cuthbert’s churchyard, three men in high-viz jackets toing and froing with a series of ropes and pulleys, trying to look professional before disaster struck.

She was being a coward. Hiding out with Dill, knowing that at the north side of town, there was a chance Finn would be in one of Susannah’s barns behind the Longhouse wondering if Alex was going to turn up.

Alex finished picking up the last of the yellow rose petals that had blown all over Dill’s plot from somewhere. ‘So no burning ship for the mayor, Dill? I heard he was a fan.
Maybe he’s playing it safe hanging out at St Cuthbert’s, just in case he wasn’t descended from Vikings.’

Maybe she was playing it safe too, coming here to quietly ask that Blythe have another good day tomorrow. Coming to Dill with her tiny apologies. This seemed the only place she could make them, where she could say the words out loud and no-one would tell her how insubstantial they were.

St Cuthbert’s bells began ringing for six pm. Alex followed the steeple all the way up to where it reached for the endless cerulean sky. She should probably come to church more often, not that she was completely sure what she thought about Heaven. She wasn’t sure if her father had lost his faith when they lost Dill or whether he was just too angry with God to come to church any more, but Mum still came. Blythe had stopped singing in the choir, but she still came.

The memorial guys were battling on. Alex cast a cursory glance across the other, less ostentatious, headstones. Most of them were filled with more text than Dill’s.
Beloved son and brother.
A dedication as short and sweet as his time had been.

‘You’re still beloved, Dill Pickle,’ Alex said quietly.

Dill hadn’t had a chance to become a beloved father, or uncle or grandfather like most of the others laid to rest here. They’d never know if Dill’s kids would’ve inherited his summer freckles, or that daft dimple, or whether or not they’d have used those traits to deadly effect in the art of charming their mothers.

‘Do you remember Mum’s face, Dill? When you opened
the box from Mal and all those shiny sharp bits were inside? Mum’s eyes were like saucers.’ Dill’s eyes had been like saucers too. Alex remembered, Dill had only been obsessed with learning how to shoot an arrow on target once Malcolm Sinclair had turned up at the house with that archery set. An early birthday present, something Mal’s dad had found in the attic, going to waste.

‘Mum was so upset about the mayor sending you a gift like that, Dill.’ Granny Ros had gotten both barrels over the washing up. Blythe didn’t care that it was only going to go in the bin back at the Sinclairs’ house. It looked expensive, and dangerous. Blythe had been set to have Jem politely ask Mal to take it back. ‘But you charmed her on that one too, Dill Pickle.’

Alex smiled but it was bittersweet. She remembered the afternoon so clearly. The last minute change of plan. Their dad nipping out in the pickup on an emergency callout, Jem and Dill driving Mum mad with the arguing.

Alex swallowed. ‘Dad would’ve shown you how to shoot them properly, Dill. So your arm didn’t get so tired.’ She bit down hard on the inside of her lip. Her voice came out strained and wiry. ‘I’m so sorry I left you, Dill.’

A
lex rubbed at the little dark splodge on her parents’ bedspread. Didn’t Jem say they’d changed the beds last weekend?

‘Jem?’ she shouted across the landing. ‘Has the dog been in here?’ Could it jump this high yet?
Houdini
they should call her. She’d slipped her lead enough times this week. No answer from the direction of Jem’s room. Alex followed the phone cable from the socket beside her mum’s bedside table down onto the floor and under her parents’ bedroom door. She picked up the last of the towels from the laundry basket on her mother’s reading chair and arched her back to see out onto the landing.

Jem’s door was still shut, she must have been holed up in there all day. Alex had come home with a tiny inkling of something being off and had checked for signs of Jem leaving the house for some reason. Jem’s shoes and keys were all still where they’d been this morning. Alex felt another stab of guilt. Was she doubting Jem, too? Off the back of one nosey sod’s assumption? Alex thought about her mum
asking after Jem today and Alex’s guilt melted into irritation again.

‘Did you even make it into the shower today, Jem? Must’ve been a really good catch up with Mal seeing as you didn’t make it to see Mum today,’ Alex wanted to shout.
Or down for dinner, for that matter.
Maybe she really did have a migraine.

It was no big deal, Alex had told herself. Her dad hadn’t called to say he wasn’t coming home so he was clearly in about as much of a hurry to eat with his family as Jem was. Alex was used to eating alone anyway so, no big deal.

Alex might’ve thought about letting this upset her, but there was something about the Parsons woman and her two little girls at the hospital that had started occupying a growing spot in the back of Alex’s mind. The Parsons woman, squirrelling. Maybe her awful husband was blowing all her food money on gambling, like Finn’s dad used to.

His name had come from nowhere. Alex felt a surge of guilt. She should’ve dropped in at Finn’s place by now. But she couldn’t do it. This morning at the garage, it had been a short sharp reminder how paper-thin her dad’s tolerance was. Arranging to meet Finn on purpose would be like sucker-punching a big hole straight through the middle of it.

Alex picked up the empty laundry basket and stepped over the phone cable into the hall. The puppy began wagging its tail, excitedly reversing as Alex stepped towards it. ‘Stay off the beds, you naughty dog. Hey, no, wait! You can’t go in there.’

Alex set the basket down and followed the puppy to the door at the end of the hall. Dill’s door had never been closed.

‘It’s not a weird shrine, if that’s what anyone is thinking,’ Blythe had said lightly over dinner once. ‘Boys’ things never go out of trend, do they? And one of you girls might bring us a grandson home one day, and he can play in there with his uncle Dillon’s things and we’ll tell him what a hell-bat he was. It’s not like we need another guest room anyway, we already rattle around this big old house.’

Jem thought it was their mum’s way of making sure he didn’t get forgotten. Letting everyone know that it was OK to look at Dill’s things and remember him. Alex did not go in here.

‘Hey. Dog. Come on! What’s this? What’s this in my pocket? Come on, let’s go and get your ball.’ The puppy was having none of it. She was already buried beneath Dill’s bed, two corn-coloured back paws scrambling to get under there too. ‘Hey, no, come on, dog. Out of there.’

The floor creaked behind her. Alex spun back nearly taking her own eye out.

‘Dad … You scared me.’

Ted had his hands in his pockets. It made him look childlike. ‘I’m sorry, for snapping at you this morning, Alexandra. It was bad timing. You caught me off-guard.’

Alex tried to get her bearings. ‘That’s OK. I should’ve let you know I was coming. You were, erm … in the middle of something.’

Ted nodded. ‘Who’s your sister on the phone to?’

‘Work, I think. I think they’re hounding her.’

‘Good,’ her dad said absently. ‘That’s good.’

Alex mentally punched herself for wandering in here. ‘Can I fix you some dinner?’ she asked hopefully.

‘No, thank you. I ate at the hospital. I’m tired. I think I’m going to go take a shower.’

‘Oh, OK. Well I’ve just put fresh towels in there.’

He rocked back on his heels. ‘Thank you, Alex.’

‘It’s fine.’ Alex smiled. He’d just apologised. For snapping. Something lightened inside Alex’s stomach, a knot releasing just a fraction.

‘I’m going to go then, take my shower.’

‘OK.’ Alex gave him a lopsided smile.

Here she was standing amongst Dillon’s things, precious things, and he hadn’t said anything that suggested it wasn’t OK for her to do that. Hadn’t made her feel like a stranger in their house when it would be so easy.
He’s trying, Al
, she told herself confidently.

Ted turned to leave then held back stiffly in the doorway.

‘When you’re done in here, Alexandra … just make sure you leave things the way they were. It’s just your mother, she doesn’t like things upset. Probably best if no-one comes in here.’

‘W
atch where you’re goin!
Jesus!
’ Alex started at Jem’s sudden outburst; she almost deployed the emergency stop her father had made her practice again and again as a learner driver lest she become a notoriously late-braker like Mrs Fairbanks. ‘Sorry. But honestly, these people. Getting to the souvenir shop for a crappy plastic battleaxe is not worth dying for.’

Alex felt her lungs easing again after the sudden excitement. ‘Blimey, Jem. You’re like the girl on that film …
Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels
.’

‘What girl?’

‘The girl who’s comatose on the sofa when the bad guys come in for the drugs, then she springs up and—’

‘Blows them all away with the big gun?’ Jem said disinterestedly. Jem was like that girl, kind of. All or nothing, war or peace, funny or furious.

Alex stole a quick sideways glance at her sister. Most of Jem’s face was hidden behind her Ray-Bans and fringe. Her mouth had a hard set to it this morning. Jem had sat in silence on the way into town. Alex had tried several
conversation starters, what to have for tea, when was the last time they’d watched
Point Break
before last night, how pretty did Millie Sinclair look the other day in that dress, you’d never know she had one leg shorter than the other, would you? Jem wasn’t biting anything though, bar her thumbnail.

St Cuthbert’s spire peeped into view beyond the banners snaking over the high street inviting visitors to
Go Beserk!
Which didn’t really make sense, Alex thought, because it was the visitors to the town who were supposed to help the Anglo Saxons fend off the invading Vikings who were, by definition, the true beserkers they’d all learned about in school.

Alex tapped on the steering wheel. ‘They were putting up the mayor’s headstone at St Bertie’s yesterday, I wonder if Mal’s seen it yet. An angel, it’s huge, probably visible from space.’

‘An
angel
?’ Jem said coolly. She was still looking out of her window. ‘Because the good old town Mayor was whiter than white?’

There was a spike in Jem’s voice. Was she ill? Alex had dug out migraine pills last night but Jem hadn’t taken them. She’d finally emerged from her room just in time to catch Alex rifling through their old DVDs. One short sharp reminder of the sanctity of Dill’s bedroom and Alex had found herself suddenly in need of a couple of hours’ escapism. Patrick Swayze in a wetsuit had seemed a reliable choice.

‘He doesn’t really do it for me.’ Jem had said. ‘All that macho stuff, I’ve never got it if I’m honest.’

Alex had carried on watching the movie and wondered if maybe Jem had a serious condition of the brain, not just the aftereffects of a migraine and/or hangover, but she wasn’t going to argue with her, not after Jem had relayed the late-night conversation she’d had with Mal. Blythe had been happy and well in the churchyard, not stricken with grief as Alex had convinced herself. Alex had thought to casually ask what else they’d been chatting about all night, then decided not to push it. Why prod when you can quit while you’re ahead?

Alex knocked her indicator on and pulled into one of the bays near Brünnhilde’s Baps. A teenage boy was taking a selfie with his head positioned alarmingly close to the whopping Brünnhilde statue’s best assets.

‘What are we doing, I thought we were going straight to the hospital?’

Alex shut the engine off resolutely. ‘We are, but I want to get Mum some flowers first. I saw Dill’s and, well, they do the trick, don’t they? Brighten a place.’

Jem looked through the windscreen at Wallflowers’ shop front.

‘From here? I’ll wait in the truck, thanks.’ Jem put her feet up on the dash and went back to her thumbnail.

‘Seriously, Jem? So Carrie was an idiot at school. Weren’t we all? Isn’t it time to just be friendly and get on with it?’ Alex had a thought.
You big hypocrite.
She was totally
avoiding Finn. And not even because she didn’t like him, but because she
did.
How school-yard was that?

‘What do I need to go in for, Alex?’ Jem snipped. ‘She’s not having any of my money.’

‘Actually, Jem, I think I might have left my purse in the hall.’ Jem groaned. ‘Well I had to put it down to mop up the dog’s piddle on the way out and you were too busy!’ Jem had been attached to the phone, again, but saying so might trip off her mood.

‘Fine.’ Jem huffed again and got out of the truck. ‘But I am not in the mood for Carrie sodding Logan.’

Alex followed Jem onto the pavement towards the new array of flowers Carrie had in tubs outside. Fewer bees today, thankfully. Alex scanned the buckets. Jem was already flipping through the icons of her phone. ‘Four whole bars of signal. Hoo-
bloody
-ray.’

‘These are pretty. Mum likes pink, right, Jem?’

Jem shrugged. ‘I suppose.’

Alex looked at her. Jem looked washed out in the sunshine. She never left the house without killer makeup and Alex could see now, Jem hadn’t even put base on this morning.

‘What’s that look for, Alex? Yes, I think she likes pink, but would I stake my life on it? Probably not. Maybe she prefers yellow? Who knows? And why am I supposed to know all the answers anyway? I don’t know every little thing about Blythe Foster? Do you?’

Alex lowered her handful of flowers. ‘What is wrong with
you this morning, Jem? And yesterday, actually? Have I done something?’

Jem looked away down the high street, then at her sandals. ‘No. Look, just shout me when you’re ready to pay.’

‘Let’s just get these then.’ Alex huffed. ‘We’ll go with the pink and hope for the best. Before standing this close to Carrie’s shop sends you completely over the edge.’

Alex pushed on the glass door and stepped into the cooler air of the florist’s, the heady scent of hydrangeas and newly cut timber was immediate. Wallflowers was very minimalist inside, more like a side street gallery, all white walls and sporadic Perspex displays. An unpleasant banging sound was coming from somewhere out back. Carrie looked up from where she was strategically placing pheasant feathers into a bunch of something purple.

‘Eugh, this noise! Sorry, oh
hi
, Alex! Oh … hello, Jem.’

Jem smiled flatly. The hammering banged on. Carrie shook her sleek ponytail over her shoulder. ‘Sorry about all this racket, I’m having work done.’

‘Not on your face, unfortunately,’ Jem mumbled. Alex heard herself laugh nervously.

‘I want to take the shop hard into the bridal market, so, more workspace!’ Carrie hadn’t heard Jem. Good.

‘Sounds promising,’ Alex replied. Alex saw Carrie give Jem a stealthy once-over while Jem wasn’t looking. Jem looked ace, Alex thought, even without the makeup. Jem poked disdainfully at a tulip arrangement and puffed out her cheeks.

‘I’ve got to be honest, this place was a
joke
when I took it over, but our Facebook page has gone
mental.
’ Carrie thrust a business card into Alex’s hands. ‘You should follow us, Alex. Tell your friends. Especially the well-heeled ones who aren’t married yet. What about you, Jem? Planning on walking down the aisle any time soon?’

Jem was still idly looking around, arms folded across her chest, clearly unimpressed. She seemed geared up for an awkward silence. Alex intercepted it. ‘I was saying to Jem, about this wedding programme,
Wedding Warriors
or something. The things people buy, the money they spend is
unbelievable.
Jem makes jewellery now,
amazing
jewellery and I was telling her she should—’

‘Jewellery? As in, like, pretty jewellery?’ Carrie handled her words like they were made of salt. Her mouth was doing this funny thing around them.

‘No, the ugly sort,’ Jem answered sarcastically. Then she smiled it off.

Carrie smiled back. It was going to be sharp looks at dawn at this rate. ‘No kidding. So do you, like, have a Facebook page or something, Jem?’ Carrie asked brightly.

‘Jem doesn’t do Facebook. Do you, Jem?’ Alex flashed Jem a look. Confrontation, of any proportions, made her toes curl.

Carrie twigged it wasn’t worth waiting for an answer from Jem and turned to concentrate on Alex instead. ‘Everybody’s on Facebook. It’s where we all go to pretend we’re all happy fabulous people, isn’t it, Alex? I always wonder
when a person our age isn’t on Facebook, if maybe they’ve got something to hide. What do you say, Jem?’ Carrie asked innocently.

Alex was starting to see why Carrie rubbed Jem up the wrong way. Carrie was putting a filter on it for Alex’s benefit, that much was obvious. But under the childishness Alex could feel an unpleasant charge in the air.

‘I’m not on Facebook either, Carrie. Just these, thanks.’ Alex set the pink flowers on Carrie’s glass counter.

‘Ah, peonies. For your mum?’

‘We just thought we’d brighten up her hospital room, didn’t we, Jem?’

‘Well, I’ve had the whole gang in this week. You two today, Finn’s out back right now as we speak, flexing over his workbench.’ Alex stiffened. It wasn’t like she’d promised she’d pop in to see Finn’s studio yesterday, she’d never said,
for definite.
‘Would you like a card with these? I could get some cellophane and twine and—’

‘No, that’s OK, thanks. We’re in a hurry,’ said Alex. The racket out through the back of the shop had stopped. ‘A big hurry, actually,’ she lied.

‘Suit yourself,’ Carrie chirped. ‘What was I saying? Oh yes, the old St Bertie’s gang, so I’ve had you lot in, Finn, and Malcolm Sinclair too. He caught me last thing Monday evening,
just
caught me actually, while I was shutting up shop. Clueless as usual, didn’t know what he was looking for. I tried to help but he’s a typical man, panic-grabber. He bought a tonne of yellow roses in the end. I tried to tell him,
yellow is for
friendship
, thinking he might want to get his wife something a bit more thoughtful but
no.
I mean,
friendship.
Show me a wife who wants
friendship
from her husband.’

Show me a wife who doesn’t
, thought Alex. ‘Maybe they weren’t for Millie?’ Alex said objectively. She looked at Jem then, but Jem had turned her back again. She didn’t appear to be looking at anything in particular now, only the door.

Carrie shrugged. ‘Who knows? He looked a bit shifty though. Couldn’t get gone quickly enough. Didn’t even hang around for a card to go with them.’ Carrie ducked her head a little. ‘Maybe they
weren’t
for Millie.’

Jem bristled. ‘Maybe they were for his mother, Carrie,’ she said sharply. ‘Or maybe, people should just get on with their own lives and mind their own goddamned business.’

Carrie’s face tensed. ‘Actually, I remember now,’ she said, ignoring Jem completely. Carrie began playing with another pheasant feather. ‘I think they
were
for his mum. What date was Monday again?’ Carrie checked her calendar. ‘Yep, it was … Mum made me pencil it in when I took over.’ ‘
Don’t forget, Mayor Sinclair likes to come in on the same day, every year, for a small bouquet, Carrie
.’ Carrie pursed her lips compassionately. ‘Mal must’ve been taking the flowers for his mother, because his dad can’t any more. Bless, isn’t that sweet? Mal carrying on the tradition for his dad? It’s so sad really. Did you know the mayor had died?’

‘Here, you know my PIN. I’ll wait in the truck,’ Jem said, slapping down her card on the countertop.

Carrie scowled at Jem’s abruptness. Alex watched Jem trounce out to the truck and try angrily to get in without the keys. Carrie was already feeding Jem’s bank card into her card reader.

‘That’s twenty-two then for the peonies.’

Carrie turned back to her garish arrangement. Alex punched in Jem’s year of birth.

PIN Incorrect.

Alex could hear movement coming from the back.
Agh.
Get a move on, Alex. Had she just typed her own PIN by mistake? She tried again …

PIN Incorrect.

Finn was whistling, he was coming through to the shop. Bugger it. What was the limit before the card was stopped? Three attempts?

Concentrate!

Alex eyed the card machine. Jem always used that number. No, hang on. She changed it to a word when she’d got all security savvy about people hacking into other people’s private stuff,
what was it?
The whistling was getting closer. Alex vaguely remembered Jem’s reasoning, she’d chosen something no-one would associate with her, in case she was ever mugged by someone she knew, presumably.
What was it?
Alex’s mind had gone completely blank. Ahah!
Of course!
It was a colour. A colour Jem had detested since childhood, a colour that had spoiled her lunchbox and ballet
costumes, and party dresses, because
not all little girls liked having it forced down their conformist little throats, Jem had argued.

Alex looked at the number pad and found the letters. P-I-N-K.

PIN ACCEPTED.

Finn didn’t see Alex when he walked through the far door. He rubbed a few flakes of sawdust from his hair while he spoke to Carrie. Alex saw most of them settle on the soft rise of his chest and felt a small, silly thrill. ‘I’m just going to make a run to the timber merchant’s up in Kerring. I need a few more lengths before the framework’s finished,’ Finn said.

Carrie cocked her hip, almost imperceptibly. Her shoulders fell out of skew and she repositioned herself in that subtle way waif-like beautiful film stars turned their chins to camera. Alex fought an urge to cock her hip too, then cock the other one and waddle as discreetly as possible from the shop.

Carrie had left the flowers beside the card reader. Alex gently set a hand on them and slipped them quietly towards her. Carrie was listening intently to Finn’s talk of ways to keep costs down. ‘Oh, don’t worry about the money, Finn, just do what you feel’s necessary,’ Carrie crooned.

Alex was going to go for it. She was going to slip out before either of them noticed. She eased Jem’s card from the machine. That would be embarrassing, having to go back in for it. She turned and saw Jem leaning against the bonnet
of the truck. Alex began walking softly towards the door, flowers in hand,
nearly there.
Jem looked up and watched her come, Alex sped up a little in that way she would speed up on Sports Days at St Cuthbert’s when the finish line was near,
one last burst
! And then something went wrong.