Miriam's Talisman (3 page)

‘Miriam was furious, as you'd expect, and she swore at me all the way in the ambulance. And then they took her away and wrapped her in a white gown. The next time I saw her she was in a high metal bed with machines and tubes and flashing lights. She looked so small and fragile. I hadn't realised until then that she was an old woman. I think that frightened me more than anything—that she could have grown old without me noticing. I insisted on being with her, but I knew I was in the way. Thank God, Paul was there.'

‘Paul? Do I know Paul?'

‘Oh, no, of course you don't. It's so long since I've seen you, Uncle Greg—such a lot to catch up on. Paul's my boyfriend. Well, we're engaged actually.' I felt uncomfortable as I said it, like a child pretending to be an adult.

‘Ah yes, Hannah did tell me. Quite a surprise, our young
Chloe planning to get married. I keep forgetting you're not a teenager any more. And how did Hannah take the news?'

‘Oh, she's very pleased. She and Paul are great friends.' ‘Are they, indeed? And what about Miriam? She didn't mention it when we last talked.'

‘Well, I don't think she took it very seriously.' ‘So, Paul's the reason you're not living at home with Hannah?'

‘Oh, no, I'd moved out before I met him. I'm sharing with some friends in town. Paul's a junior doctor at Addenbrooke's Hospital. He works impossible hours, so there's not much point in us living together at this stage. Besides, he needs to be close to the hospital.' Greg raised his eyebrows, but allowed me to continue. ‘We won't be getting married until he's fully qualified.' ‘Of course not. Very sensible.'

‘Fortunately he was on duty when they admitted Miriam, so I got the nurse to contact him and he came and talked to the consultant with me. Pneumonia, they said. And her heart was already weakened from attacks of angina. Something she'd neglected to mention, naturally. I'd wondered what the little white tablets were for. She said she had indigestion. Paul called Hannah and she came straight away, although I thought at first she might not. But you know Hannah. She would always do the right thing regardless of how she felt about Miriam.'

‘I gather she was surprised to find you there already.' ‘Miriam and I had grown very close recently. I didn't think there was any point in discussing it with my mother. Actually, I'm being unfair. Hannah's been great through all this. A tower of strength, as they say.'

‘Yes. I can imagine.'

‘But I think it was more for me than for Miriam. I refused to leave her, so Hannah ran around and organised things, made all the phone calls and tried to look after me. Paul was on duty most of the time, of course, but he did what he could. I just tried to hold on to Miriam as long as possible. She kept drifting in and out of consciousness. She tried to talk a little, but it made no sense. Then late last night she just…stopped. They tried to resuscitate her. I think that was the worst part.'

As I talked, I became aware of my hand moving to my throat and my fingers following the line of the chain as they sought to touch the pendant. A talisman, the man had called it. Wasn't that some kind of good-luck charm? My fingers traced its outlines and I became aware that Greg was watching me.

‘I noticed you were wearing it when you came in,' he said. ‘I've never seen her without it.'

‘She gave it to me. It was the last thing she did.'

‘It's an unusual ornament. It has a strange sheen about it. Even in a dull light it seems to glow. I often meant to ask her about it, but somehow I never did.' As he said that, I realised that I'd never asked her about it either, even though it had fascinated me for as long as I could remember.

‘Uncle Greg, did Miriam ever mention a young man to you?' I described him briefly. ‘His name is Iolair.'

‘What was the name again?'

‘Iolair. It's odd, isn't it? Celtic, apparently.'

‘Yes, that figures. No, I don't recall the name. Who is he?'

‘Just someone I came across recently. He seems to have
known Miriam, but I'd never seen him before and I don't remember her ever mentioning him.'

‘She had a lot of friends. We couldn't know them all.'

‘No, of course not. I was just curious about him, that's all.' Strange, it was Iolair who had sent me to Greg. Perhaps there was some reason Miriam had wanted their association kept quiet. Anxious now to avoid unnecessary explanations, I pretended to change the subject.

‘What I really came to see you about was the funeral. I insisted that I would arrange everything. I suppose I needed to feel I was doing something, and that was the only thing left to do. Hannah tried to take over, of course, but I managed to stand my ground. Only now I realise I don't have a clue how to go about it. I wondered if you had any idea what Miriam would have wanted.'

‘But of course. That's why I was trying to contact you earlier. There's no need for you to worry. It's all arranged. Miriam saw to everything.'

‘
Miriam
did?'

Uncle Greg rose and crossed the room to one of the old wooden filing cabinets, returning with an armful of folders and envelopes, which he spilled onto the desk. ‘Now of course we can leave all this other stuff until another time—there's nothing that needs urgent attention. However, I do have…somewhere among this lot…Ah, here it is. Funeral arrangements.' He handed me a large envelope and I studied the lettering, written in Miriam's ornate script:

I stared at it for a long time, until Greg whispered, ‘I think you're supposed to open it.'

‘Yes, of course.' The flap was secured with old-fashioned red sealing wax, the sort of dramatic touch that could only have been Miriam's doing. I levered the wax off with a paperknife, then up-ended the package. Out slid a sheaf of papers, some handwritten and some printed on various headed notepapers, along with several cassette tapes and a book of poetry.

‘What's all this?'

Greg sorted through the papers, then handed me a page in Miriam's handwriting. ‘I suggest you start with this one.'

‘Good God, it's instructions for the service. And a list of who to invite. What are all these notes in the margin? Oh, I see, that's people who should be invited to speak. Look, there are even some suggestions for readings—that must be what the poetry book's for. Yes, look, Yeats and Tennyson. She says something about her doing a reading from
Beowulf
.'

‘Yes, it's on one of those tapes. She wants that played back as part of the proceedings.'

‘Good God. Look, she's even given us a list of who
not
to invite. Hey, listen to this: “Don't let Hannah recruit her local vicar, I don't want some Christian upstart chanting over my bones.” That's Miriam all right.'

‘These other tapes are music: Mozart and Rachmaninov and some traditional Irish harp tunes.'

‘Yes, there's a list of music here. And it says, “I don't want anyone singing. Nothing worse than a room full of people singing hymns they don't believe to a tune they don't know in a key their voices were never designed to
reach.” ' We were both laughing by then.

I shuffled through the other pages. ‘Where is this event supposed to be held?'

‘Ah, that's this one,' he said, handing me a letter embossed with the crest of King's College, Cambridge. It confirmed the use of their Great Hall for the pre-burial service.

‘This is amazing, Uncle Greg. I called in at an undertaker's this morning—you know, the one on Station Road—but it all made no sense, so I just left it.'

‘That's OK. An undertaker's already been appointed and has received full instructions. They only need a phone call to move into action. Here's their number. And these are the deed papers proving ownership of a cemetery plot. There should be a list of pall-bearers there, as well as the address of a florist and a choice of flowers.'

‘Oh, you're joking. This is incredible. What about a reception after? I suppose she's already made the sandwiches.'

‘Not quite. Here's an estimate from a caterer for a small gathering at the cottage.'

‘And look what she's written on the bottom. “I don't want any of this piddling sherry nonsense. Make sure they serve a full-bodied red wine in large glasses as befits a warrior.” '

I continued to search through the documents, hoping there would be a personal note for me, but I found nothing.

‘She seems to have thought of everything. It's like she knew.'

‘She came to me six months ago and told me she needed my help to make plans.'

‘But that's awful, morbid. Fancy making plans for your own burial.'

‘Not at all,' he said. ‘She was like a kid plotting a surprise party. She really enjoyed stage-managing it all.'

‘I wish she could have seen the end of the year. She talked a lot about living in two centuries, but she never made it that far. What a party that would have been.'

‘And,' he added quietly, ‘she didn't want you to have to deal with any more conflict.'

I touched the talisman and whispered a silent thank-you. Greg waited patiently while I continued to read and sip my brandy.

‘Would you like a top-up?' He waved the bottle towards my glass and I was shocked to find that it was empty.

‘Oh, God, no thank you. I'm supposed to be driving.'

‘OK. So is everything you need there? You know if there's anything else I can do, you only have to let me know. I can take it all off your shoulders if you'd rather.'

‘No, no. It's what she wanted and I want to do it. It's just so hard to imagine Miriam being so organised and practical. She seemed to live in a dream most of the time, hardly aware of what the rest of the world was doing.'

‘And most of the time that was true. All that eccentric, mystical stuff. But underneath lurked a hard-nosed and very astute businesswoman. She was very wealthy, you know. She made a lot of money from her books, of course, both here and in the States. And she managed to invest it very wisely, though her methods may have been a bit off the wall.' He smiled and shook his head. ‘Sometimes she'd buy shares because she liked the design on the company's notepaper. But they always came through. And of course the cottage was an excellent investment, and she was
forever buying things at auctions. All in all, the estate amounts to quite a sizeable sum. But of course we can deal with all that another time. Perhaps after the funeral you could come in and I'll go over everything with you.'

‘Why me? Surely Hannah would be the best person to talk to?'

‘Oh, my God, you don't know, do you? Do you mean she didn't explain it to you?'

‘Explain what? Uncle Greg?' I tensed: something bad was coming and I didn't know if I could cope with any more.

‘It's yours, my dear. All of it. Apart from a few token gifts to friends, she left everything to you.'

I had been betrayed. I stumbled out of Uncle Greg's office and onto the pavement, desperately clutching the brown envelope and trembling with rage. Little more than an hour had passed since I had arrived. The sunlight washing the midday street had barely shifted its shadows. But for me, for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, the world had jolted on its axis and nothing would ever be the same. I suppose it's laughable really, but at the time I was furious. There I was, stomping along the road, telling her all about it.

‘Why? Why me? I thought we were special? I didn't want this. I don't need your bloody money. I don't need anything from you.' I'm sure I was muttering out loud and completely oblivious of passers-by. ‘And what am I supposed to do with it all? Why didn't you give it to Hannah?' I fumbled with the car keys, dropped them. ‘Oh, my God. Hannah. What the hell is she going to say? She'll
hit the roof. How could you do this to me? No, Miriam, I'm not having this!'

And it couldn't wait. I'd have to have it out with her immediately. I scrambled into the driving seat, wrenched the engine into life and swerved off in the direction of Miriam's cottage.

I
WILLED THE CAR
forward, foot down hard to the floor, knuckles straining white on the steering wheel.

‘Quitter!' I muttered. ‘Deserter!' Anger rolled and coiled inside me. How dare she land me with all her worldly goods and then just run out on me?

‘I never wanted this,' I told the dashboard. ‘I can't do it on my own.'

But, strangely, some small part of my mind looked on, observing with detached interest, as if I were playing out some pre-determined role. But then I was used to playing a part.

Fortunately, by the second set of lights a steady stream of traffic had forced the car below the legal speed limit and my fury had subsided into self-pity. And by then, of course, common sense had kicked in and I had realised that the cottage would be empty. But I went there anyway; there was nowhere else I could run to.