The Last Thing She Told Me Read online

  James pulled a face at me. ‘I’m just trying to—’

  ‘Protect me. I know. Only it’s like you think the main person I need protecting from is myself.’

  James sat down at the kitchen table and did his serious look. ‘The police have just dug up two sets of bones in your grandma’s back garden. And now you’ve invited around some long-lost relative to quiz him about it over afternoon tea with the girls.’

  ‘I won’t talk to him about it while they’re in the room. I want them to meet him. He’s one of the few relatives they’ve got left.’

  James looked at me. An awkward silence descended on the kitchen. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘but don’t get your hopes up. He probably knows less than you do.’

  ‘Olive said the statues had always been there. The babies might not be anything to do with Grandma.’

  ‘So why did she call them her babies?’

  ‘I don’t know. That’s what I’m hoping John can help me with.’

  ‘I bet the poor sod had no idea what he’s letting himself in for. Sounds more like an interrogation than afternoon tea.’

  ‘It won’t be like that. Anyway, I’m sure he’ll enjoy meeting the girls. I felt sorry for him – Olive’s all he’s got and she won’t be around for much longer.’

  ‘Have you told your mum?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘She is his cousin.’

  ‘And I’m her daughter – she doesn’t even want to know me any more.’

  Ruby came into the kitchen. I wondered how much she’d heard.

  ‘We’ve got a visitor for tea tonight,’ I said quickly.

  ‘Grandma?’

  I tried not to be hurt by the note of excitement in her voice. ‘No. It’s her, erm, cousin, actually. A man called John.’

  Ruby frowned at me. ‘Have I met him before?’

  ‘No. I’ve only just met him myself. Great-grandma and his mum lost touch years ago.’

  Ruby shook her head. ‘Why is everyone in this family always falling out?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m not stupid. How come we haven’t seen Grandma since the funeral?’

  ‘We’ve been busy, love, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s not true. It’s because of this stuff with the bones, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s been a difficult time for her.’

  ‘So why isn’t she coming for tea this evening if her cousin is?’

  ‘They lost touch too.’

  ‘There you go. You all fall out with each other. We’re not a proper family at all.’

  ‘Come on, Ruby. That’s not fair.’

  ‘Yes, it is. Not only have I never met my father, I don’t even know his name.’

  The words stung as they slapped me around the face.

  ‘Ruby, that was out of order.’ James’s tone was not one that any of us was used to hearing.

  ‘So is not knowing who your father is.’

  I looked down, unable and unwilling to see the hurt in her eyes. I heard the door bang and footsteps up the stairs. James came over and put his arms around me. ‘Hey, come on. She didn’t mean it. You know that.’

  I let him hold me and tried to tell myself that he was right, while knowing she had meant every word.

  *

  ‘So, is he my real uncle?’ asked Maisie, still clearly confused as she stared at the photo.

  ‘No, love. It’s all very complicated. I think he’s my first cousin once removed so that probably makes him your second cousin, or first cousin twice removed or something. Which is why I said it’s probably easier just to call him Uncle John.’

  Maisie looked even more confused than when I had started. ‘Why haven’t I met him before?’

  ‘Because I didn’t know he existed. He’s a long-lost relative.’

  ‘Who lost him?’

  I sighed. After a particularly stressful Monday at work, I was rapidly losing the will to continue the conversation. ‘Like I said, it’s complicated. But why don’t you help me put some biscuits out and we can get the tea things ready?’

  ‘Have we got cakes too?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is Uncle John coming every Monday?’

  I smiled at Maisie as I handed her the plate. Ruby was still upstairs in her room. She had at least promised to come down when John arrived, though I suspected her welcome would be far from warm. We needed to talk about what she’d said this morning. We needed to talk about a lot of things. But now was not the time.

  At five past four I heard a shout from Maisie, who had gone to look out of the front-room window. ‘A bald man’s got out of a blue car outside.’

  ‘That’s probably him. I’m on my way.’

  ‘Ruby,’ I called, as I passed the stairs. ‘Can you come down, please?’

  There was a polite knock on the door. Maisie flew to open it before I had the chance. John was standing there smiling, a bunch of flowers in his hand.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, looking at Maisie. ‘I know I’ve got right house because you’re so much like your grandmother.’

  ‘But I haven’t got grey hair,’ cried Maisie, aghast. John laughed.

  ‘He means when Grandma was little,’ I said, ruffling her hair. ‘Maisie, this is John. John, Maisie, my youngest.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said John.

  ‘Can I call you Uncle John?’ asked Maisie. ‘Because Mummy said you’re like an uncle even if you’re not my real uncle.’

  He seemed a bit uncertain and looked at me for reassurance. I nodded. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said, with a smile. ‘And these are for you,’ he added, holding out the flowers to me. ‘Thanks for inviting me. It’s right kind of you.’

  ‘Thank you. They’re lovely,’ I said, feeling better about his visit with every moment. ‘Come in out of the cold.’

  He stepped inside, wiped his feet and immediately took his shoes off without being asked. Ruby appeared at the top of the stairs. Her long mousy hair covered one side of her face. She peered out from the other.

  ‘This is Ruby, my eldest,’ I said. ‘Ruby, this is John.’

  Ruby mumbled, ‘Hello,’ as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Hello, Ruby,’ John said. ‘My, you’re tall like your mother, aren’t you? Is your daddy tall too?’

  Ruby looked at me, then straight down at the floor.

  ‘Ruby hasn’t got a daddy but she shares mine,’ said Maisie.

  Something twisted in my stomach as she said it. It would never go away, the feeling that I’d left her unprotected from innocent questions like that.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said John, shuffling. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said, showing him through to the living room. ‘Have a seat. Tea or coffee?’

  ‘Tea would be grand,’ he said. ‘Yorkshire if you’ve got it.’

  ‘Daddy drinks Yorkshire tea too,’ said Maisie, as she plonked herself on to the sofa next to John.

  ‘All the best people do,’ John replied. ‘I remember your great-grandma would drink nowt else.’

  ‘You used to play in her garden, didn’t you?’ said Maisie. ‘Mummy showed me the photo.’

  ‘Aye, I did. I used to look after your grandma when she were playing out there when she were little.’

  ‘Did she used to play with the fairy statues?’ Maisie asked.

  John frowned, then nodded. ‘You’re right, she did.’

  Ruby was still hovering in the doorway. I gestured to her to come in. She perched on the armchair opposite him.

  ‘Right there, Ruby. You must be at high school,’ said John. ‘Tell me what your least favourite subject is and let’s see if we both hate maths.’

  Ruby smiled. It was the first time I’d seen her smile that day. I went through to the kitche
n and made up a tea tray. By the time I arrived back, John had both of them laughing.

  ‘What am I missing?’ I asked, as I put the tray on the coffee-table.

  ‘Oh, just some of my tales from being a postie, most of them involving me getting chased by dogs.’

  ‘How long did you do that for?’ I asked, handing him his mug of tea.

  ‘All my life, straight from school. It’s what’s kept me so fit. Never been to gym in my life but used to walk ten miles before most people were up of a morning.’

  ‘Good for you,’ I said. ‘I could never have hacked the early starts.’

  ‘Best time of day,’ said John. ‘Right beautiful it is before folk come along and mess it up.’

  I smiled at him and offered him the biscuits.

  *

  I was loading the tea things into the dishwasher later when John brought the empty biscuit plate out. ‘They’re lovely lasses,’ he said, handing me the plate. ‘You must be right proud.’

  ‘I am, thanks. You’re very good with them.’

  John shrugged. ‘It’s nice being around kids again. They make you feel young.’

  ‘Well, come as often as you like. I mean it. It’s nice for them to have you around too.’

  ‘Do they not see your mum at all now?’

  I shook my head. ‘Not since . . . you know.’

  John walked towards the window and looked out at the backyard.

  ‘I didn’t recognise her,’ I continued, ‘from the stories you were telling the girls about Mum when she was little. I can’t imagine her ever being that naughty.’

  ‘It were a long time ago,’ he said. ‘None of us had a care in world.’

  ‘Why did you lose touch?’ I asked. ‘Did my mum and yours fall out over something?’

  ‘I think so,’ said John, quietly. ‘Mam never spoke about it, though. And in those days you didn’t ask questions.’

  ‘So I gather,’ I said, shutting the door of the dishwasher. ‘The fairy statues Maisie was talking about. Do you always remember them being in the garden?’

  John nodded.

  I wasn’t sure whether to go on. I didn’t want to grill him too much on his first visit. But I had to find out as much as I could. ‘Your mum said she thought they were there when Betty moved in.’

  John frowned. ‘She told you that on Saturday?’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry if I upset her, turning up like that. It’s just that she’s the only link with Grandma’s past. I’m not going to bother her again, I don’t want her getting in a state, but would you be able to ask her for me?’

  John fixed me with what Maisie would have called a Paddington stare. ‘Ask her what exactly?’

  ‘If she knows any more about the statues. She’s the only person alive who might be able to help.’

  ‘I’ll ask,’ said John, ‘but I’m not sure I’ll get an answer. You saw how confused she gets.’

  ‘Thanks. I just wonder if there’s something I’ve been missing. Something that might help us solve what happened there.’

  John came over and patted my hand. ‘She were a good woman, your grandmother. I’m sure that, whatever happened, she didn’t mean anyone any harm.’

  I smiled at him, grateful for the reassurance. ‘I’m so glad I found you,’ I said.

  ‘Me too,’ he replied. ‘Now, let me go and say goodbye to those two girls of yours before I get off.’

  I lay in bed gripping the sheets and praying there wasn’t a knock on the door. I wasn’t going to meet him. I’d decided that straight after what happened last week. But I was terrified that if I didn’t turn up he would come and knock on the door.

  I watched as the hands on the clock edged their way to half past four, then headed up towards five. He would know by now that I wasn’t coming. Somehow I didn’t think he’d be in the mood to go and watch the sunrise by himself. He’d head straight back down the lane. I thought I heard his footsteps outside countless times. It was only when the hands made it to half past five that I decided he wasn’t coming.

  In a way, it was worse, though. It was simply prolonging the agony. Because he would come, I knew that. But maybe he was being clever, biding his time, waiting for his moment.

  He waited until that afternoon. Till I was back in the house on my own. He would know that, of course. He knew all the comings and goings here. It was a couple of taps I heard at the back door. A cheery little rat-a-tat-tat that I hadn’t been expecting. Maybe he wasn’t annoyed at all. Maybe he’d come to apologise for what had happened the previous week. He must have realised that it was wrong. That it hadn’t been what I’d wanted.

  I crept downstairs and craned my neck to try to get a look through the kitchen window. It was him, all right. Only he had a bunch of flowers in his hand. He had come to apologise after all. I hesitated for a second before he knocked again. I hurried through to the kitchen to open the door. He was smiling at me. Smiling as if nothing had happened and this was all perfectly normal.

  ‘I missed you this morning,’ he said. ‘Thought you might not be well, which is why I got you these.’

  He handed the flowers to me. They were sweet peas. He’d obviously picked them himself and tied them with a piece of string, but it was still nice. No one had ever given me flowers before.

  ‘Thanks,’ I muttered. He stepped forward and put his foot in the way of the door. I knew as soon as he did it that he’d planned this. Got me the flowers so I would think he was simply being friendly. But I also knew there was nothing I could do about it now, so it was better to play along with his game.

  ‘I had a stomach ache, a bad one.’

  ‘You look right enough now, mind.’

  ‘It went after a while.’

  ‘Had a nice hot-water bottle, did you?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Me mam always swears by her hot-water bottle.’

  He stepped inside and shut the door.

  ‘Are you going to find summat for them?’ he asked.

  I nodded and picked up an empty jam-jar from the windowsill, filled it with water and popped them in. They smelt nice. I would say I picked them myself. No one need know the truth.

  ‘May as well put the kettle on, while you’re at it,’ he said.

  I did as I was told. The sound of the water hitting metal was cold and harsh. I took a match to light the hob, feeling his eyes watching my every move. It was like we were playing cat and mouse. He was going to pounce in a minute, I was sure of it. And when he did, I was aware that there was nowhere I could run to because I was already at home.

  When the kettle started to whistle, I warmed the pot, as Mum had taught me to, then put in the tea leaves and poured the boiling water over them, feeling the steam bathe my face. It was the moment I put the cosy on that he chose. Almost as if he needed something to pass the time while the tea brewed. He came up behind me and rubbed himself against me.

  ‘The thing is with you,’ he said, breathing into my left ear, ‘you want to be a big girl but when things get a bit steamy, you don’t like it, do you? Go running home to Mummy. Only Mummy’s not here now. It’s just you and me. And you invited me in. I even brought you flowers. So, whatever you say, no one will believe you. They wouldn’t believe you anyway, would they? Why would a good-looking fella like me want to knock around with a kid like you, eh? They’ll know you were making it all up. They’ll say you were being a silly little girl, telling stories.’

  He reached his arms around me and slid one hand inside the waistband of my trousers. It went down inside my knickers. I froze. I could feel his breath hot against my neck. A moment later his finger was inside me. I screwed my eyes shut, wanting to make it go away. It didn’t, though. He kept on.

  ‘You’re enjoying this,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t be wet if you weren’t enjoying it. Not such a good little girl now, are you?’

  H
e took his hand out with no warning and turned me round to face him, only I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye.

  ‘It won’t be my finger, next time,’ he said. ‘I were trying you out for size. Reckon you’re ripe for the picking, I do. The cherries taste best when they’re straight off the tree, you see. Before anyone else has touched them. I’ll be back the same time next week. Make sure you’re here, mind. Because you wouldn’t want people knowing what you’ve just done. And if you don’t let me in, they’ll find out, see? I’ll tell them you were begging for it. Couldn’t get your drawers off quick enough.’

  He let go of me. Poured himself a cup of tea and sat down at the kitchen table to drink it. He took his time. And all the while I stood there, rooted to the spot. Unable to speak or move or think of anything, apart from how stupid I had been ever to want to go and see the sunrise with him.

  11

  We left for school on Wednesday morning in the usual rush, having been late to start off with, even before having to go back twice for things (reading book and PE kit) Maisie had forgotten. Ruby ran on ahead to make sure she caught her bus. I broke into what Maisie called my ‘quick march’, with her trotting alongside me to keep up. She was talking incessantly as usual and it was a wonder I noticed the piece of paper on my windscreen, especially as my car was parked three doors down from our house. But something registered in the corner of my eye, and when I looked, I knew what it was straight away. I attempted to reach over and take it off without Maisie noticing but I was stopped in my tracks by the scratches down the side of my car. Big, gouged-out lines, running the full length of both doors. Maisie saw them at the same time as I did.

  ‘Mummy, what’s happened to your car?’ she said.

  I tried to keep my voice calm. ‘Looks like something’s scraped against it,’ I said.

  ‘But they’ve spoilt it. They’ve ruined your car.’

  I could tell by her voice that she was close to tears. And even though it was a battered ten-year-old Fiesta, I felt pretty much the same way. ‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘I can take it to the garage and get it fixed.’

  ‘But won’t that cost a lot of money?’

  ‘It’s insured,’ I said. ‘That means I’ll get the money back.’