It seemed a shame to miss the good weather, so we got more boxes down from the loft and each carried one out to the garden.
There was a Discman in one of the boxes that miraculously still worked once we’d located a fresh pair of batteries, and we spent the whole afternoon taking turns to listen to songs while looking through Amy’s things, sorting out hidden treasures from trash.
Amy had kept most of the toys we’d had as kids, and I experienced flashes of recognition as the kids found a Barbie, an art class clay vase, and a pirate hat Amy had once worn for fancy dress.
Most of the objects had a story behind them, and the kids were keen to hear where everything came from. They were hungry for details of the life their mum had lived before them. I dug deep, trying to remember as much as possible, feeding them with memories.
‘What’s this?’ Betsy pulled a yellow plastic folder from her box.
I took it from her, turning it over. No label, and it was conspicuous by its newness. Everything else in these boxes had been packed away for years, and had the dust to show for it. This folder looked to have been put away far more recently. The edges were sealed with Sellotape. I fingered it, trying to gauge the contents. Just a few sheets of paper.
‘It looks like paperwork,’ I said. ‘I’ll pop it in the office.’
I climbed the stairs to Mike’s office, thumbing the folder. Just a few pages, hidden among Amy’s things and too new to be anything old. I tried to prise a corner open, but couldn’t get my thumbnail under the tape. I scanned the office for something sharper and found some scissors in the desk drawer. I was about to cut the folder open when the front door opened downstairs.
‘Hello!’ Mike called out. I froze.
‘Out here!’ one of the kids called from the garden.
I stood very still, until I heard Mike’s footsteps passing down the hall and into the kitchen. I tiptoed back downstairs, carrying the folder under my arm, and went into the front room where I’d left my things. I buried it at the bottom of my bag, carefully draping my jacket over the top so that it wouldn’t be seen.
The sound of footsteps came back up the hall and Mike stuck his head around the door.
‘There you are. Everything all right?’
‘Just wanted to check my messages.’ I held up my phone.
He nodded in the direction of the back garden. ‘Find anything interesting?’
I smiled and shrugged. ‘I’ve introduced your kids to CD technology, blown their minds with Game Boy, and even taught them how to play dominoes.’
Mike laughed. ‘She never could get rid of stuff. I don’t suppose you could clear it all up again before dinner?’
With the house returned to normal and the kids’ curiosity sated, I left them to a Sunday night of homework and Chinese takeaway. I walked back to Puffin Cottage at a brisk trot, the folder burning under my arm.
I sliced the tape with a knife and sat down at the kitchen table to examine the contents of the folder.
It was only six pages. Six pages of Mike’s credit card statements.
I shuddered, a chill running down my spine. I hadn’t noticed any pages were missing when I searched the paperwork in his office, but I hadn’t been looking closely enough to spot a detail like that. The dates ranged over a period of a few months last year. I scanned the first couple of pages, looking for large amounts that would tell me more about Mike’s financial problems. Nothing jumped out. What had Amy seen here that caused her so much concern?
The phone rang, pulling away my attention. It was Rachel.
She didn’t bother with hellos.
‘They were having an affair!’
I gasped, the wind knocked out of me.
‘My best friend and my husband.’ She sobbed. ‘How could she do that to me?’ Her cries were of pure anguish.
‘Rachel, I’m so sorry—’
‘And that’s why he killed her.’
The word was a blow, a stabbing pain, the piercing agony of toothache. I shuddered.
I wanted to run to Rachel, to scoop her up and soothe her. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m at your mum’s. Upstairs.’
‘I’ll be right there.’ I hesitated. ‘And please, don’t say anything to them. Not just yet.’
She sniffed a wordless goodbye and I was already shrugging on my coat, ready to run to her side.
Mum was out of bed and seemed to be back to normal – as normal as she ever was, which was worrying in the circumstances. How long would it last once she found out about Amy and Phil? She was doing a cleansing ritual on Rachel, wafting the smoke from a smouldering bowl towards her with a small feather fan. The air was thick with the scent of sage and rosemary. Rachel sat in a chair in the middle of the room with her eyes closed as Mum moved around her, humming deep in her throat.
‘A smudging ceremony,’ murmured Auntie Sue. ‘Rids the mind and body of negative energy.’ She raised one eyebrow at me and went back to Good Housekeeping.
Rachel was shell-shocked, a fragile baby bird of her former self, and the burning herbs didn’t seem to be doing much for her. She anxiously gnawed at the inside of her bottom lip, her mouth pinched into a tight line. Dark shadows under her eyes betraying the enormity of the weight on her shoulders. As soon as Mum was done, I pulled Rachel into the privacy of the kitchen, her hand trembling in mine.
‘Did you know?’ she said, immediately.
Rachel glared at me, waiting for an answer, anger burning brightly behind her sadness.
Tears pricked my eyes. ‘I found out a couple of days ago. I swear, I had no idea
