The Last Thing She Told Me

by Linda Green

Genres: Psychological Thrillers; Suspense; Domestic Thrillers

Synopsis

Even the deepest buried secrets can find their way to the surface...

Moments before she dies, Nicola's grandmother, Betty whispers to here that there are babies buried in the garden.

Nicola's mother claims she was talking nonsense. However, when Nicola's daughter find a bone while playing in Betty's garden, it's clear that something sinister has taken place.

But will unearthing painful family secrets end up tearing Nicola's family apart?

The emotionally-charged suspense novel from Linda Green, the bestselling author of While My Eyes Were Closed and After I am Gone.

Release date: July 26, 2018

Publisher: Quercus Publishing

Print pages: 400

Sample

1

The house appeared to know that its owner was about to die, shrouded, as it was, in early-morning mist, the downstairs curtains closed in respect, the gate squeaking mournfully as I opened it.

If there was such a thing as a nice house in which to end your days, this certainly wasn’t it. It was cold, dark and draughty, perched high on the edge of the village, as if it didn’t really want to be part of it but was too polite to say so. Behind it, the fields – criss-crossed by dry-stone walls – stretched out into the distance. Beyond them, the unrelenting bleakness of the moors.

I shivered as I hurried up the path and let myself in.

‘Grandma, it’s me.’ The first thing I thought when I didn’t hear a response was that maybe I was too late. She’d been weak, drifting in and out of sleep when I’d left the previous night. Perhaps she hadn’t made it through till morning.

But when I entered the front room – in which she’d lived, eaten and slept for the past year – she turned her face to give me the faintest of smiles.

‘Morning,’ I said. ‘Did you manage to get some sleep?’

She nodded.

‘It’s not too late to change your mind, you know. We could get you to hospital, or the hospice said we could call them at any time.’

She shook her head. She’d remained adamant she would leave the house only in a coffin. She’d also refused medication to relieve the pain. It was as if she thought she somehow had a duty to suffer.

‘Well, at least let me stay over tonight. I hate the thought of you being on your own.’

‘I won’t be here tonight.’ Her words were faint and difficult to understand. She’d taken her teeth out several weeks previously and refused to put them back in since.

‘Come on. You’ve been saying that for weeks.’

‘I’m tired. It’s time to go now.’

There was something about the look in her eye as she said it that told me she meant it. I sat down on the end of her bed and took her hand. Her skin was paper-thin, revealing the bones and blue veins beneath it. She’d once said she liked me coming to visit because I was the only one who let her talk about death without getting upset or pretending it wasn’t going to happen.

‘Is there anything I can get to make you more comfortable?’

She shook her head again. We sat there for a while saying nothing, listening to the ticking of the clock and her shallow breaths. I tried to imagine what it must be like knowing you are about to die. I would want my family around me, I knew that.

‘Do you want me to give Mum a call?’ I asked. She managed to raise her eyebrows at me. It was as near as I’d get to a telling off at this point. She had always been very accepting of their distant relationship. It was me who struggled with it.

‘I could ask James to bring the girls over.’

She shook her head again and whispered, ‘I don’t want to upset them. They’re good girls. Anyway, I’ve got them with me.’

She gestured towards the mantelpiece. Every school photo they’d ever had – Ruby on her own at first, all toothy grin and straggly hair, then, a few years later, with Maisie’s elfin face of delicate features and porcelain skin, next to hers – until last year, when Ruby had started secondary school and they’d had separate photos. Ruby’s grin was now replaced with a self-conscious upturn of closed lips. It was as if someone had adjusted her brightness control. The contrast with Maisie’s confidence and burgeoning beauty was obvious to see and unspoken by all. Except Grandma, who had said it was a shame you couldn’t show the size of someone’s heart in a photo. And had remarked how much Ruby looked like me in her uniform.

My own school photos were still up there on the cabinet. And Justin’s, poking out from behind them. I suspected I had arranged them like that myself years ago, without her ever realising it. Rows of little frames covered with dust. In a way, she was surrounded by her family, a cardboard cut-out version.

‘Justin sends his love,’ I said. That was a lie. I’d texted yesterday to tell him she didn’t have much longer, and his response had been to ask me to give him as much notice as possible about the funeral so he could book a flight to come over.

I wondered if it bothered Grandma and she was good at hiding it, or if she’d simply never had high expectations of her loved ones. Maybe coming of age in the war had something to do with it. Perhaps it taught you not to take anything for granted.

I passed her the glass of water and she managed to take a tiny sip through the straw. I put it back on the bedside table, glancing at the wedding photo of her and Grandad, as I did so. ‘Does it help to think he’ll be there for you?’ I asked.

‘He’ll have given up waiting and gone off down pub,’ she replied.

I smiled. Grandad had never been big on patience. He’d never been big on shows of emotion, either. The wedding photo was the only time I’d ever seen them holding hands. I wondered if Grandma had minded, but concluded that now wasn’t the time to ask. She was quiet again, her breaths shallower still. I squeezed her hand. ‘I’ll be here with you until the end,’ I said. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

She looked up at me. ‘I’m leaving you the house.’

I frowned at her. ‘But what about Mum?’

‘She doesn’t want it.’

‘Has she told you that?’

‘She doesn’t have to.’

I felt somewhat unworthy of such a huge bequest. ‘Well, Justin, then.’

‘He doesn’t need it.’

It was true, though it felt wrong to acknowledge it.

‘Thank you,’ I said, barely able to speak. ‘It’ll make such a difference.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘The girls can have their own rooms. And you always wanted a garden.’

It suddenly occurred to me that she thought we were going to live here. That this would be our home. I didn’t want that. It was such a bleak house. The obvious thing was to sell it, so we could afford somewhere bigger than our little two-bedroom terrace in town. Maybe even with a garden. But I didn’t want to tell her that. I didn’t want to say anything to worry or upset her at this late stage. I smiled and nodded, patting her hand.

‘Leave it to Ruby when you go,’ she added. ‘It belongs in the family.’

I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out. I couldn’t start arguing with her. It wasn’t right to pick a fight with someone on their deathbed. If those were her final wishes, I owed it to her to listen graciously and go along with everything she said.

She shut her eyes. I wondered if this was it. I’d never been with a person when they’d died. I didn’t know what to expect. I wasn’t even sure what to do or who to call afterwards. I swallowed, glad at least that I was with her. That she hadn’t died on her own. Ninety was a good age. That was what people would say. And she’d lived a good life, been free from any major health problems until the last couple of years. But it still seemed empty somehow, her slipping away in this house with only me for company.

I looked down. Her eyes remained shut, but I could see her chest rising and falling ever so slightly. She was still with me, but surely not for much longer. I slid my hand away, tiptoed out of the room and shut the door behind me, then took out my mobile. I didn’t think she could hear me, but it still seemed wrong to speak within earshot. I went through to the kitchen. It was a strange collection of assorted relics from past decades. An old-fashioned kettle on the hob, which she’d refused to get rid of. A seventies breakfast-bar stool, which was now positively retro. None of it matched, none of it fitted but, as with the rest of the house, it was all unmistakably Grandma’s.

I called Mum. She took her time to answer. When she did, it seemed from her tone that she was expecting the worst. She didn’t say anything more than hello, waiting instead for me to break the news.

‘I don’t think she’s got long.’

‘Right. Is she in pain?’

‘She’s doing a good job of covering it up if she is. She said it was time to go.’

There was a pause at the other end. I thought for a moment that Mum might change her mind and say she was on her way. She didn’t though.

‘OK. Well, let me know any news.’

‘That’s it?’

‘Come on, Nicola, don’t make this any harder than it already is.’

‘She’s about to die without her only child being there.’

‘We’ve gone through all this. It’s not that simple.’

‘Well, whatever it is between you two that needs saying, now’s your last chance to say it.’

‘I’m not about to upset her on her deathbed.’

‘Maybe she’s waiting for you to say something. Maybe that’s why she’s hung on so long. And you’ll regret it if you don’t. It’ll be like that bloody Mike and the Mechanics song.’

‘I don’t think so. It’s best this way. I know you don’t believe me, but it is.’

‘Best for who?’

‘Look, I’m thinking of you, all right? And I’m grateful you’re there with her but I can’t come over.’ Her voice broke and she hung up. I put my phone back in my pocket and blew out slowly. At least Justin had the excuse of being in Ireland. Mum was only a few miles up the road in Halifax. All I could think was how I’d feel if Ruby and Maisie weren’t with me at the end. If they couldn’t be bothered to bury the hatchet with me and come to me on my deathbed.

I went back into the front room. For a second, I thought she’d gone while I’d been on the phone, but her chest was still rising and falling. I sat down next to her and put my head in my hands. I had been sitting there for quite some time, maybe twenty minutes or so, before I heard her voice.

‘There are babies.’

I looked up. I hadn’t expected to hear another word out of her. I took her hand again. Her eyelids flickered open.

‘Babies? Where?’ I asked.

‘At bottom of garden.’

I frowned at her. She’d been coherent all the way through. Maybe this was a sign that she was at the end now. Then something clicked, and I realised what she was talking about.

‘No, Grandma. Fairies,’ I said. ‘You’ve got fairy statues at the bottom of the garden. The ones I used to dance around when I was little.’

There wasn’t a pause on her part.

‘Not fairies, babies,’ she said firmly. ‘Look after my babies for me.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked. ‘What babies?’ It was too late. Her eyes shut again and a second later she was gone. It was as if those words had taken the last breath out of her. I felt for her pulse, just to make sure, but there was nothing. I screwed up my eyes and let my head drop, feeling the tears coming but wanting to stave them off and gather myself. Aware that I was the responsible adult in the house now, no longer the little girl dancing around the fairy statues in the garden while Grandma cooked tea for me. I gulped as the tears arrived in a rush. A life snuffed out. The memories, experiences and stories gone with her. Our family reduced to three generations, not four. And all I could think of as I sat there and sobbed was the last thing she told me. I had no idea what she meant. Maybe she hadn’t been with it. Perhaps she’d even been dreaming. She might not have been talking to me at all. But she had sounded so certain of what she had said. what she had asked me to do.

I realised I should call someone. Her GP to start with. Presumably they’d be able to tell me what I needed to do. I stood up, my legs a little shaky. I’d always thought that when someone died they’d look different in some way. But Grandma seemed pretty much the same. Though maybe there was something about her face. Maybe something had lifted. Because she finally did seem at peace.

*

A few hours later I stood on the front step of Mum’s house, waiting for her to come to the door. The freshly signed death certificate was in my bag, the image of Grandma’s body being taken away still fresh in my mind. I wanted to go home to James and the girls, but I also knew that, despite everything, it was right to tell Mum in person. Maybe I was hoping to see an emotional reaction, one I might have missed on the phone. But when she opened the door and saw me there, she just nodded, her face expressionless. I stepped inside and shut the door behind me.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

‘Did she go peacefully?’ Mum asked.

‘Yeah. She was talking, on and off, and then she was gone.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘The undertaker’s. Dr Atkinson came over, signed the death certificate and got it all sorted.’

‘She’s a nice doctor, I’ve always said that.’

I shook my head.

‘What?’ asked Mum.

‘Are you not even in the slightest bit upset?’

‘We all knew it were coming.’

‘Yeah. I’ve still bawled my eyes out, though.’

Mum shrugged. ‘It’ll probably hit me later. When I’m on my own.’

‘Or maybe you’re not that bothered.’

‘Nicola, please don’t start.’

‘It’s not me who’s starting, though, is it? It’s you not behaving like a normal daughter.’

‘Come on. That’s not fair. Everyone has their own way of dealing with these things.’

‘These things? You mean the death of your mother?’

Mum looked away. ‘It’s more complicated than you realise.’

‘So you keep saying. What would be more helpful is if you actually explained what went on between you.’

Mum started to walk away down the hall.

‘I take it that’s a no.’

‘You should get back to your girls,’ she said, stopping and turning to face me. ‘Give them a hug from me.’

Mum’s eyes were glistening. Sometimes the wall she’d built came perilously close to falling down. If I pushed at a brick, it might topple.

‘She said something just before she died. Something I didn’t understand.’

‘What?’

‘She said there were babies at the bottom of the garden. She asked me to look after her babies.’

For the first time I saw Mum’s face crack. Her eyes widened, and her bottom lip trembled. ‘I wouldn’t take any notice of her. She were probably losing her mind by then.’

‘She wasn’t, though. I asked her if she meant her fairy statues, but she was adamant they were babies.’

‘She were probably thinking about angels. She used to believe in angels, you know. She told me once her angels would be waiting for her at the end.’

I stepped outside. Maybe Mum was right. It made more sense than anything I could come up with. It was only after I’d shut the door behind me and heard the anguished sob from the other side that I wondered if she might not be able to tell me the truth, even if she wanted to.

2

When I got home, James greeted me at the door with a hug. There was nothing more guaranteed to get my tears started again.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I know how special she was to you.’

‘It hasn’t really sunk in yet. I can’t believe she’s actually gone. I kind of thought she’d hang on forever.’

James hugged me harder and brushed the tears from my eyes.

‘What have you said to the girls?’ I asked.

‘Just that you’d be gone for a long time because Great-grandma was very poorly.’

I nodded. I’d wanted to tell them myself. I still remembered Mum making such a pig’s ear of telling me that Grandad had died when I was thirteen that I’d thought it was Grandma who’d gone. Not that I imagined James would make a hash of it – he’d probably do a better job than me – but I suspected Ruby would take it badly and I wanted to be there for her.

‘Where are they?’ I asked.

‘In the front room. Maisie’s watching The Worst Witch again. Do you want me to come in with you?’

‘Just give us a few minutes,’ I said. He nodded and kissed my forehead.

I think Ruby guessed the second I walked into the room. She clocked my red-rimmed eyes, then started fiddling with the zip on her hoody. Maisie carried on staring at the screen, seemingly oblivious to my arrival and what it might mean. I had to reach over for the TV remote control and turn it off.

‘Mummy, I was watching that,’ Maisie protested. I resisted the temptation to point out that she’d already watched the episode at least four times and it would still be there whenever she wanted to carry on.

‘I know,’ I said, adopting my best breaking-news-of-a-death voice as I sat down on the sofa next to them, ‘but I need to talk to you. As you know, Great-grandma was very old and poorly and I’m afraid she died this morning, while I was with her.’

Ruby burst into tears. I put my arm around her. ‘It was very peaceful,’ I went on. ‘One minute she was talking and the next she was gone.’

‘What was she talking about?’ asked Maisie. I hesitated. Telling them the truth wasn’t such a good idea just now.

‘One of the last things she said was how much she loved you two. She pointed to the photos of you, said it was like having you there with her.’

‘Why didn’t you let us go with you?’ asked Ruby.

‘I did ask but she didn’t want to upset you.’

‘But I’m upset anyway,’ sobbed Ruby.

‘I know, love. But it’s extra sad being with a person when they die.’

‘Did she go blue?’ asked Maisie.

‘No. People don’t go blue when they die.’

‘Not even a little bit?’ I shook my head. Maisie seemed disappointed. ‘Where is she now?’

‘The undertaker came to take her to a funeral parlour.’

‘Is it like an ice-cream parlour but with dead people and no sprinkles?’

‘Sort of,’ I said, managing a smile for the first time since Grandma had died.

‘It’s not funny, Mum. Tell her it’s not funny,’ said Ruby.

I sighed and stroked Ruby’s hair. It was at times like this that I wished I could split myself in half to be the two different mums my girls needed.

‘It’s OK, love. Great-grandma would still want us to smile. It’s fine to cry but it’s OK to smile too.’

‘What will happen to her body now?’ asked Maisie, unperturbed.

‘Well, it will stay in a special cold-storage place until the funeral.’

‘Will she be frozen like an ice pop?’

‘No, just kept nice and cool.’

‘When’s the funeral?’ asked Ruby.

‘I don’t know yet. About a week or so, I expect.’

‘Will I get a day off school?’ asked Maisie.

Ruby shot her a look before I had the chance to say anything.

‘We’ll talk about whether you want to go to the funeral when it’s all arranged. You don’t have to. It’s completely up to you. Sometimes children like to come and say goodbye and sometimes they’d rather not. We can take you to visit the grave afterwards, if you’d prefer.’

‘I want to come,’ said Ruby.

‘I do too,’ said Maisie.

‘Well, like I said, let’s talk about it more in a couple of days.’

James came in carrying a tray of mugs. ‘I thought it might be a hot-chocolate moment,’ he said, putting them down on the coffee-table.

Maisie’s eyes lit up. ‘Do you always get hot chocolate when someone dies?’ she asked.

‘Maisie,’ said Ruby, sharply. ‘Mum, tell her.’

‘It’s OK,’ I replied, brushing a damp strand of Ruby’s hair from her face. ‘We’re still allowed hot chocolate, you know.’

‘Yeah, but she’s being disrespectful.’

‘She doesn’t mean to be,’ I said quietly. ‘It’s because she’s young.’

‘Why does she always get away with stuff because of her age?’ asked Ruby.

‘She doesn’t. You just forget what it’s like to be eight.’

‘I was never like that when I was eight,’ said Ruby.

That was true. Ruby had always seemed much more mature than other girls her age. She had recently turned thirteen but it felt as if we’d had a teenager in the house for some time. She didn’t look like one yet, though, for which I was grateful.

James squeezed onto the sofa between Maisie and Ruby and kissed each in turn on the top of their heads. Ruby burst into a fresh round of tears.

‘I know it’s sad she died,’ said James, stroking her hair. ‘But it might help if you try to remember all the happy times you had with her. You were her first great-grandchild, you know. That’s pretty special.’

‘Yes, but she’s gone now, so I don’t have any great-grandparents left.’

‘Do I have any great-grandparents left?’ asked Maisie.

‘No, love,’ I said. ‘But you’ve both got Grandma, haven’t you? And, er, Grandad.’

‘But he’s in pain,’ said Maisie.

‘Who told you that?’ I asked, wondering if Mum had said something to the girls, not that she had anything to do with Dad, either, but she heard things second-hand via Facebook.

‘No, Maisie,’ said Ruby, ‘I told you Grandad’s in Spain.’

James started laughing before I did.

‘Stop it,’ said Ruby, scowling at us, ‘stop laughing.’

‘We can’t help it,’ I said. ‘She does say funny things sometimes.’

‘Yeah, well, she shouldn’t. Not when someone’s just died.’

I picked up Ruby’s mug and handed it to her, hoping the hot chocolate might have a more soothing effect on her than I did.

‘And I’ve still got Nanna and Grandpa in Scotland too,’ piped up Maisie.

I rolled my eyes. I was quite sure she didn’t intend to be so insensitive, but she really did pick her moments. ‘You both have,’ I said. We’d always told Ruby she could call them Nanna and Grandpa too, but she’d refused. She was a stickler for the truth, Ruby. Always had been.

‘Maybe we could get up to see them soon,’ said James. ‘Or they might come down at Christmas to visit.’ We knew that was unlikely. They’d moved to Scotland to be near James’s sister and her three young children, presumably having given up on James ever providing them with a grandchild. They weren’t to know he was about to meet a woman with a ready-made one.

‘Was Grandma there when Great-grandma died?’ asked Ruby, having taken a few sips of her hot chocolate.

‘No,’ I said.

‘Why not?’

‘She didn’t want to be. Some people find these things difficult.’

‘But she was her daughter. I’d be there if you were going to die.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, ruffling her hair. ‘That’s good to know.’

‘Will I get hot chocolate when you die too?’ asked Maisie, looking up at me.

*

After I’d turned out the light, I sat on Ruby’s bed for a long time. Maisie had fallen asleep within minutes. She had breezed through Grandma’s death the way she breezed through everything in life, a casual observer, giving a cursory glance and nod in that direction, then moving on to wherever she was heading next.

Ruby clearly wasn’t finding it so easy. She lay there, her eyes still moist with tears, staring at the ceiling. I held her hand, not wanting her to cry herself to sleep without me.

‘Why wasn’t Grandma there, really?’ she whispered.

‘I told you, love. Some people don’t like the thought of being with someone when they die.’

‘But she hardly ever went to Great-grandma’s house when she was alive.’

Nothing got past Ruby. I leant over and stroked her head. ‘They just weren’t that close. Not all mothers and daughters are like us.’

‘Had they had an argument?’

‘Well, we all have arguments, don’t we?’

‘I mean a big one.’

‘I don’t know. They were like that for as long as I can remember.’

‘But I loved Great-grandma and I love Grandma. I don’t understand why they didn’t love each other.’

‘Oh, I’m sure they loved each other. But you can still find it difficult to get on with someone you love.’

‘Will Grandma go to the funeral?’

It was a fair question, one I’d been pondering myself, but, unfortunately, I didn’t know the answer.

‘I don’t know. I hope so.’

‘So do I,’ said Ruby.

*

‘How is she?’ asked James, when I finally made it downstairs to the kitchen.

‘Troubled, as ever.’

‘She’ll be fine,’ he said, putting his arms around me. ‘Although she’ll find the funeral tough. It’s a tricky one at her age.’

‘I know, but I don’t think we’ve got much choice – you know what she’s like. She’s just been asking whether Mum will go.’

‘What did you say?’

‘That I hoped so.’

‘Do you think she will?’

‘I honestly don’t know. I rang her when it was clear Grandma didn’t have long left. She still wouldn’t come.’

‘How was she when you told her?’

‘Pretty detached. She didn’t cry or anything. Well, not until I’d shut the door.’

‘What do you mean?’

I sighed and sat down at the kitchen table. James sat opposite and pushed the mug of tea he’d made towards me. I picked it up and warmed my hands around it. ‘Just before Grandma died, she said a weird thing. She said there were babies at the bottom of her garden.’

James frowned. ‘Sounds like she’d lost the plot.’

‘She hadn’t, though, that’s the thing. I told her she was getting confused with the fairy statues, but she was adamant there were babies there. She asked me to look after her babies and that was the last thing she ever said.’

‘Maybe she was talking about the girls.’

‘When I told Mum she said Grandma believed in angels, that she was probably talking about angels, but after she shut the door, I heard her start crying.’

‘She doesn’t like getting upset in front of people, you know that,’ said James.

‘None of it makes sense. But it was obviously important to Grandma. She wouldn’t have said it otherwise.’ I wiped my nose on my sleeve. ‘Grandma said something else before she died too. She said she had left the house to us.’

James looked at me. ‘Really? Wow, that’s incredible.’

‘I know.’

‘It must be worth a fair whack. I mean, we could get somewhere really decent in Hebden with the money it’ll make.’

I pulled a face.

‘Sorry,’ . . .