Page 5 of The Sisters at the Last House Before the Sea

‘Reasons that you’re aware of?’ asked Caitlin, raising an eyebrow.

‘Reasons that Jessie insisted were kept quiet until you’d both worked things out,’ said the solicitor, even more enigmatically. She was starting to get on Maisie’s nerves. ‘Anyway, read it when you get home. That’s probably best,’ she urged, as Isla pushed her fingers into the envelope, which had already been cut open at the top. ‘There’s nothing inside that affects the rest of the will. It’s a last…request, if you like, from your grandmother.’

Isla hesitated but tucked the envelope into the open handbag at her feet.

And that was that. The solicitor rose to signal that the will reading was over, and Maisie stood up, feeling relieved. No one had dissolved into tears, no one had kicked off about the old lady’s final wishes, and she and Caitlin were one step closer to being back in London.

* * *

Everyone was quiet on the journey back to the house, as they drove along narrow lanes lined by sodden hedgerows, and through hamlets of houses that were so old they looked ready to fall down. As they drove into Heaven’s Cove, the grey sea looked freezing, and Maisie was glad to get back to Rose Cottage, which was warm at least.

She stomped upstairs while Caitlin and Isla put the kettle on. They did nothing but drink tea these days, or make excruciatingly polite conversation when they’d probably rather tear each other’s hair out.

Maisie stopped on the landing and took a deep breath before pushing open Jessie’s bedroom door. She’d never been in here before and was expecting floral wallpaper and clutter – china ornaments, old postcards, lace doilies. But the room was painted a restful cream and had only a single bed, a small wardrobe, a clutter-free chest of drawers and a dressing table.

When Maisie stepped into the room, she noticed there was a faint smell of talcum powder and lavender in here: an old lady smell which made her feel equally comforted and sad.

Tiptoeing across the worn carpet, she went to the dressing table that sat next to the window. There were two photographs on top, in simple, silver frames, and she picked up the one of two girls about her age. It was Caitlin and Isla – Caitlin with long, brown hair, and Isla, her fairer hair pulled into her trademark ponytail.

They both looked different – younger, obviously, but also less worn down by life. Getting older was the pits, Maisie decided, putting the photo down and peering at the second black and white picture. This was of a young man in a dark suit, staring into the camera with the hint of a smile on his lips. Beside him stood a young woman, her arm hooked through his and her head resting against his shoulder. It was Jessie, Maisie realised with a start, taking in the shape of the woman’s nose and her direct gaze. She’d never thought of Caitlin’s grandmother once being young like her.

It was probably best not to think about it or the realisation would properly hit her that one day she would get old and die, just like Jessie. Maisie shook her head and pulled open the bottom drawer of the dressing table. It felt as if she was snooping, but Jessie had told her where to find whatever she’d left for her.

Maisie began to push her fingers through the scarves and thick woollen socks in the drawer, until her fingers closed around something hard. It was a small white box.

Maisie sat on the bed, opened it and winced when a plastic ballerina popped up and began to turn while the box played a plinky-plonk tune. There was a piece of paper inside the box which said in spidery writing: For Maisie.

Beneath it sat a large diamanté brooch, a gold cross and chain, and a small piece of wood. Maisie picked up the wood, which fitted into the palm of her hand, and inspected it closely. It was lighter than she’d expected and was pale like the driftwood she’d seen washed up on Heaven’s Cove beach.

Lines and grooves were carved into its surface, and she suddenly realised that someone had carved an angel. The angel’s wings were unfurled in flight and there was a smile on its face. The carving was rough, but it had been done with care. It had been done with love, Maisie thought, before placing the figure back into the box, feeling foolish. Done with love, indeed. She knew nothing about this peculiar angel that Jessie had left her so there was no point in making up stories about it.

Maisie closed the lid of the box, desperate to stop its tinny tune that seemed to be on repeat, and sat for a while, wondering why Jessie had left her these objects. There was nothing else in the box: no note of explanation. It was a real puzzle, which felt appropriate seeing as the old lady had always seemed to have a half-completed crossword in her hand.

‘Thanks, anyway,’ said Maisie out loud,brushing the top of the box with her fingertips. ‘Thanks…’ She hesitated because saying this felt very strange and so very sad. But it felt right, somehow, to say it, here and now. She swallowed. ‘Thank you very much, Great-Gran.’ She shivered, feeling as if she was being watched, even though the room was empty.

4

ISLA

Isla noticed her hand was shaking as she poured the tea. It was the emotion of the afternoon, she decided. The finality of it all as their grandmother’s possessions, including this house, were distributed.

She put the teapot down and clasped her hands together to stop them from trembling. Paul had suggested she cancel this evening’s yoga class and spend time with him instead, but she was glad now that she’d stood her ground. The class would do her good – moving her body and getting into the flow would make her feel better and might stop her brain from pinging about all over the place.

It was funny how life turned out, she mused, going back to pouring the tea from Jessie’s favourite teapot. Once upon a time, she’d seen herself living a very different life from the one she had now. She’d harboured dreams of being a film director or a travel writer, exploring the world. But instead, she’d ended up as her grandmother’s carer in a tiny village that she was now too nervous to leave – even, it seemed, to move in with her boyfriend.

And now she had to make a stand with Caitlin and she was nervous about that too. But it had to be done. Losing Gran had made her braver, in a way, even though it felt as if a layer of her skin had been scraped off. She no longer had Jessie to look out for her, so she would have to look out for herself. Though there was always Paul, of course, who looked after her so carefully.

Isla carried the tea into the sitting room where Caitlin sat, her ankles crossed, staring out of the window. Isla followed her gaze, across the garden and over cottage roofs to the shimmering sea in the distance. There had just been a hail storm and the garden was scattered with spheres of ice.

Isla put down the tray and wiped a hand down her dress. Caitlin was chic, as ever, in a navy jumpsuit and chunky cream cardigan which looked as if it cost a bomb. Isla had put on a simple dress made of brown jersey for the will reading, and was very aware that it was inexpensive and dated. She looked like a local yokel whereas Caitlin looked like a fashionable visitor from the big city. Which, in fact, summed up the two of them very accurately.

Isla sighed and sat down in the comfy armchair that had once been Jessie’s favourite.

Caitlin glanced across at her. ‘That was very kind of Gran to leave a few bits and bobs to Maisie.’

‘I thought so too, but I’m not surprised. Gran really liked Maisie, even though…’ Isla stopped speaking because she didn’t want to bring up how difficult it had been at Easter. ‘What I mean is, she was fond of Maisie because of her link to you and she wanted her to feel a part of the family.’

‘Mmm.’ When Caitlin swallowed, Isla wondered if her sister was about to cry. But she gave her head a shake instead and said: ‘What’s in that letter, then? The one she left for you and me? Trust Gran to add a touch of mystery to the proceedings.’

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