The Full Legacy (17 page)

The phone was a modern enough model from British Telecom as well. It didn’t look as if I’d have to crank any strange knobs or shout too loud to get through.

I tried Mum first, but she still wasn’t in.

I tried home, hoping to speak to Kay but she wasn’t in either.

Then I dialled Suzanne’s number, guiltily pre-fixing it with 141 so she wouldn’t know where I was phoning from.

‘Hi,’ said a weary voice, miles away in London.

‘Su?’

‘Oh, hi – Is that you Gill? Where are you?’

‘I’m just out of town.... got a rush job on....’ The lie came out so easily. I guess I’d prepared myself for it when I made a secret of my location. ‘How’re you doing?’

‘I feel a bit weird. I think it’s the sleeping tablets. I’m okay though... well, you know... as okay as I
can
be, considering...’ I heard her voice tremble. ‘I thought you might be with Turner.’

‘No.’

‘Oh.’ The relief in her voice was tangible. ‘How was she last night though? Is she mad at me?’

‘God no! Of course she isn’t! How could she be, after everything you’ve been through?’

I don’t think Su believed me, and I wasn’t actually sure I believed myself.

‘Please, next time you see her, tell her I’m sorry about that answerphone stuff... I’m sure now that I must have imagined it, and I never meant to imply anything... Tell her I never said anything to the police, please... will you?’

She sounded panicky, as if she was scared of Turner – a realistic fear maybe – if she thought her job was at stake.

‘Of course, I’ll tell her if you want me to,’ I said. ‘But I’m sure she’s not angry – truly.’

Suddenly I was distracted. One of the numbers scribbled on the desk blotter was the one I’d just dialled. For a second I felt disorientated. I half wondered if I’d written it myself. In the twilight world I now inhabited, it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility. But I knew deep down that I hadn’t.

‘And anyway...’ I said, thinking on my feet. ‘Surely she’s phoned you today to see how you’re doing?’

‘No.’

Maybe she’d meant to and got distracted.

Or, more likely, she’d phoned Suzanne from here before, when she knew that Mary was out – as people do, when they’re conducting an affair.

I stared at the number until it blurred and swam in front of my eyes.

Suzanne was still talking. ‘If you see her... tell her...’ she said. ‘Tell her I’d love to hear from her, if she gets the chance.’

‘Sure. Yes, of course I will. You might see her before I do though.’ More bloody, pernicious lies. It just gets easier and easier the more you do it.

But I’d never heard Suzanne sounding so anxious. All her super cool act was blown to ribbons. I felt very sorry for her.

‘Look love,’ I said. ‘See you on Monday, eh? We’ll talk then, okay?... Is Kay there?’

‘Yeah – I’ll put her on. Bye Gill – Thanks for ringing.’

I heard her say ‘It’s Gill,’ as she handed the phone to Kay. Then I heard the sitting room door closing.

Kay was furious with me. As I’d known she would be. The minute Su was out of earshot, she let me have it.

‘Where the fuck are you really?’ she demanded in a strange cross between a whisper and a shout.

‘In Suffolk, but please don’t tell Suzanne, I don’t want to upset her any more than she already is.’

‘Huh!’ she snorted. ‘And I suppose you’re with Turner?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right, well just forget all about your mates Gill, why don’t you? You just have a good time with your fancy woman while we get on with the grieving here, eh?’

I don’t know why it still hurt when it was exactly what I was expecting. Criticism seemed to be all I’d heard from Kay ever since Turner came into my life.

I felt guilty and angry in just about equal measures. It was an explosive combination.

‘Look Kay,’ I snapped. ‘Me being there wouldn’t bring Mary back, would it?’

‘No, but it might help people to know that you
gave
a shit.’

I took a deep breath.

‘Look, Kay, what
is
it with you these days?’

‘If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.’

My patience was waning fast. ‘Oh, don’t be so bloody ridiculous,’ I snapped.

‘I’m serious Gill. If you can’t see what’s wrong with going off on a dirty weekend with that woman while Mary’s lying here in some mortuary, then you’re not the person you used to be.’

Maybe I wasn’t – and maybe I was glad.

‘Not so much of a mug as I used to be, you mean,’ I retorted.

‘Yeah, well I’m not sure I like the new you very much.’

I felt all emotion draining out of me. I couldn’t believe that we were tearing at each other like this. I felt totally numb... Then the anger began to creep back in.

And I lashed back. ‘Look,’ I snapped. ‘I know you feel fucking guilty for not being there when Mary needed you. But the truth is you were too busy with your own life... And
that
isn’t my fault, is it? So don’t take it out on me! I’ll deal with my conscience and you deal with yours! And in the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you’d just get off my back!’ I didn’t like the nasty way my voice sounded as I said it. I wanted to apologise instantly, but something stopped me. I let the silence hang like a chasm between us.

Finally Kay spoke, and she sounded wrecked. ‘I have to go,’ she said.

I couldn’t think of anything to say. My knee-jerk need to say I was sorry was sapping all of the strength out of me. But for once, on a point of principle I felt I couldn’t give in to it.

‘Bye then,’ she was saying.

‘Yeah – ‘bye.’

I felt sick as Kay put the phone down, and I stared at the purring receiver for a long time before I replaced it at my end. I knew what she meant about not liking the new me. If I’m perfectly honest with myself, I didn’t like the new me very much either. But then, as Turner had pointed out to me, people tend not to get all that many Brownie points for being nice.

I stood up, rubbing my hands together, chilly despite the thick, black sweatshirt Turner had lent me. I had some sort of idea of making a coffee. It seemed like a comforting thing to do for myself, though I didn’t fancy going down to that big, lonely old kitchen alone.

I wondered about getting a book to read before venturing down there, scanning the shelves and noticing that one slim paperback was sticking out at an angle, as if it had been hastily returned to the shelf and not yet straightened by the cleaner. Feeling it tugging at my interest, I pulled it out from its neighbours... It was ‘Bonjour Tristesse’ by Françoise Sagan - A 1959 British edition bearing the iconic orange and white cover of a traditional Penguin soft back. I turned it over in my hands, curious to know who had read it last and wondering if the Birthday card slipped between the cover and the yellowing rough paper pages of the text would give me a clue.

The card, with a Picasso Guitarist and ‘To My Sister’ on the front, looked so old it didn’t occur to me to think that I might be invading anyone’s privacy by reading it, though I guess, in retrospect, I was.

I backed into the fireside armchair, put the book down on top of ‘The Flora and Fauna’, and opened the card. Two sheets of blue Basildon Bond writing paper were folded inside. I held onto them while I read the bold handwriting on the left inner-face of the card.

‘My Dear Big Sis,’

‘I found this at a bookshop on the Charing Cross Rd and remembered all those wonderful French writers you loved so much when you were going through your ‘European’ phase back in High School.

It seems funny now how naughty we thought they all were back then.

I hope that you mayn’t have read this already. I expect you read much more traditional books now that you’ve become an English Lady.

Have a Perfect Birthday my Darling Joyce. And give my love to your sweet, shy, adorable Stephen.

All my love, Sylvia xxx’

I knew immediately that this must be from Turner’s dead aunt. I was struck by how young and bubbly she sounded and sadness flooded through me at the tragedy to come.

I unfolded the first sheet of writing paper. I think it pre-dated the card, though there was no actual date on it.

‘Dearest Joyce,

How wonderful it all is here! So grey and dreary in such a quaint, HISTORICAL kind of way.

I’ve been making like a tourist all week and my feet are like raw burger, but now I know all about Jack the Ripper and The Queen and The Tower of London and all of the GRUESOME things they did there (remember you must never cross Stephen or he’ll have your head chopped off, quick as a flash!)

The college is wonderful. Such a buzz here! Everyone’s talking about Warhol and this new English guy called David Hockney. He talks with this quaint Yorkshire accent. I guess you’ll know him.

My digs are VERY grim but there’s so much to paint hereabouts. The girl next door’s a hooker, she comes round for cigarettes and she seems sweet and knows all the good cheap eating places.

Why don’t you come see me soon? You could ask Stephen to book you into the Savoy or somewhere swanky like that if you can’t bear to rough it at the flat. I’m sure he could spare you for a night or two. You could take me out somewhere nice to eat and we can catch up on all the goss.

I love you Big Sis

Write soon.

All my love, Sylvia xxx’

The second sheet came later:

‘My Darling Big Sis.

Do you remember, you told me that when I met the right man I’d know?

Well, hallelujah, you were so right!

I met him last week at a party where they played this really COOL jazz... you would have hated it... no tune at all.... And I fell in love the moment I saw him.

His name is Per, which is Swedish, and he is BEAUTIFUL... Oh Joyce, I’m hugging myself as I write about him now!

After the party, we went back to his place and drank Bourbon and smoked m.... and he read Allen Ginsberg to me... My God Joyce, those poems would blow your mind! I’d send you a copy but you’d need to hide it from Stephen and I know you hate to have secrets from him.

Then we kissed and fell into each other’s arms and made love all night.

I know you’ll think I’m foolish, giving myself to a man when I’m not married to him, but everyone does it now and anyway, Per doesn’t believe in marriage and all those old outmoded institutions. He tells me that he’s mine though, ‘Mind, Body and Soul’. He says it to me all the time.

Oh my darling Joyce, I can’t even BEGIN to tell you how in love I am.

Please come to see us soon.

Your ever loving sister, Sylvia xxxxxxxxxxx

‘Oh shit!’
I stared at the letter, even as I swore about it, remembering the beggar on the Underground and his muttered verses... Ginsberg’s ‘Howl’, I remembered it now. Could picture it on that almost-girlfriend’s coffee table the night I fell asleep so rudely after dessert. The black and white City Lights signed first edition. How reverently she held it as she showed it to me.... read the snippet about CCNY and Dadaism.

I noticed that my hands were shaking as I put the letters back inside the book. The room seemed to be growing darker by the minute and it was scaring me. I shook myself. ‘Just the sun, passing over the house,’ I said. ‘Just the direction of the light.’

There was always a rational reason for everything, wasn’t there? Even the things I didn’t understand? Even the things that seemed crazy?

I’d almost convinced myself. And when I heard the front door opening I felt a rush of relief, thinking that Turner was home already and I wouldn’t have to go on feeling like this.

I quelled the urge to run out to greet her, my fear of looking uncool winning out as my earlier fears died away. I took a deep breath and walked slowly to the study door, stopping in my tracks as I heard voices in the hallway outside.

‘How can you do this to me..? You’re breaking my heart.’ It was a woman’s voice, in an urgent whisper, followed by a sharper, indistinct murmur in reply.

The floorboards creaked as they passed the study door.

I waited, holding my breath, for them to get further down the hallway, then very quietly, I turned the door handle and peeped out.

There was no-one there.

My heart leapt into my mouth. I forgot to breathe. My ears buzzed and I thought I might pass out.

Then the phone rang.

I spun round and stared wildly at it for a moment before lurching back across the room and snatching up the receiver, desperate for someone, anyone, to save me from myself and my bloody over-active imagination.

It was Turner – sounding so formal I guessed she must be phoning directly under the nose of the estate manager. ‘Hi,’ she said breezily. ‘It’s me. I’m sorry. This is taking longer than I expected. I’ll be home about one, okay?’

‘Okay.’

I must have been a mistress of disguise. She didn’t seem to hear my terror at all.

There was a click as the phone went down, then nothing... deadness throughout the house. I wiped my hands on my jeans and listened, my head on one side, trying to quieten down my breathing. Then I went warily to the door and looked out again.

Still nothing - which, right now, felt like the most frightening thing in the world.

I sucked in a desperate lungful of air as if I were about to dive under water. Then I bolted for the front door and grabbed the keys that were hanging there beside it, just in case I needed to get back inside before Turner returned home.

She found me in the walled garden at the back of the house. I was huddled on a wooden seat, cold without a jacket, shaking inside and trying in vain to get some peace from my surroundings.