‘Where’s Dad going with Mia?’ Hannah asked her sister after spotting their father heading out through the front door with his granddaughter in tow, both wrapped up warm.
‘He’s taking her out for a walk along the beach,’ Diane replied. ‘It was my suggestion. He clearly didn’t want to be around for this and Mia was getting bored, so it seemed like the ideal solution.’
‘He really doesn’t want to be involved?’ Hannah asked. They were about to go through Mum’s stuff for the first time since her death. She’d expected Frank to be an active part of the process, but apparently Diane knew otherwise.
‘No, he thinks it’ll be too traumatic.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since he told me so earlier.’
‘What if we get rid of things he wants to keep?’ Hannah asked her sister.
‘He says it’s up to us. Besides, he won’t be gone that long. Anything we’re not sure about, we can put to one side and ask him when he gets back.’
Hannah sat down on the bed. ‘Do you think it’s too soon, Di?’ Their mum had passed away at the end of March and it was now early October: a chilly but bright and crisp day. The sunlight streaming through the large window of their parents’ bedroom – now just her father’s – at least helped brighten the mood a little.
‘No, it was Dad’s idea, remember?’ Diane sat down next to her, placing a hand on her knee and giving it a reassuring squeeze. ‘He might not like the nitty-gritty of actually doing it, but he knows it needs to be done. What’s the point in him keeping these cupboards and drawers full of Mum’s things? It’s not like he’s ever going to use any of them, is it? He won’t be able to move on otherwise.’
‘I don’t know,’ Hannah replied. ‘He seems to be doing all right. That neighbour of his, Joan, is certainly around here a lot. He mentions her all the time.’
Diane nodded. ‘Oh, you’ve noticed that too. I really don’t like her. Dad talks about her like she’s a really caring, kind person, but she’s clearly trying to get her claws into him. It’s one of the reasons I think we need to do this now, to make sure she doesn’t try to get her grubby mitts on any of Mum’s lovely jewellery. I’m sure she’s a bloody gold-digger.’
Ah, the jewellery. Hannah had wondered how long it would take for that to come up. The two of them hadn’t properly discussed this yet, but in her mind that was always going to be the most contentious part of this exercise.
Neither of them was likely to be too bothered about having any of their mum’s clothes. She was of another era, at the end of the day, and a different size to them. But her jewellery, of which there was a fair bit, mainly accumulated as gifts from Frank over the years, was a different matter. Some of it was probably worth quite a bit, although for Hannah it was about the sentimental value. Maggie’s wishes had been that it should be split between the twins, with them deciding how between themselves. So far they’d skirted the issue: in Hannah’s case, because she feared it would prove contentious and she hadn’t wanted to rush to take anything away before her dad was ready. Now, however, there was no more avoiding it.
There were her mum’s wedding and engagement rings, for one thing, plus a vintage engagement ring that had belonged to their grandmother. None of these items were first and foremost in Hannah’s mind, though. There was one piece in particular she really wanted above everything else: a pearl-and-gold bracelet that had a wonderful story behind its creation.
The bracelet was modelled on a piece of costume jewellery Maggie had loved and regularly worn, but which had broken as she was about to head out one evening, spilling all over the bedroom floor and making her cry. Frank had picked up the pieces and, unbeknown to his wife, taken them to a jeweller together with a photo he’d found of her wearing the original bracelet. He’d secretly had a new version made with real pearls and gold, which he’d presented to her as a gift on their next wedding anniversary. Maggie had treasured it ever since and Hannah could still picture her proudly telling the story to anyone who happened to compliment her on the bracelet. Her father hadn’t been known for his romantic gestures, which made this particular one really stand out, and was testament to his devotion to her mother.
Diane suggested they start the clear-out by going through the clothes. As expected, this didn’t prove too difficult. Neither of them wanted much, other than the odd scarf or shawl, so there were no rows and most of it went into bags destined for charity shops. That wasn’t to say the process wasn’t emotionally draining. Hannah found that certain outfits reminded her of her mum in particular situations, from tending to the borders of her garden on a kneeler dressed in cords and a T-shirt, to attending a function in one of her many glamorous dresses.
‘Oh my God! She wore this to my wedding,’ Hannah said about one particular sky-blue frock, promptly bursting into tears. And Diane had a similar reaction when they came across the floral skirt and top she’d worn to Mia’s christening.
As for Maggie’s shoes, there were some lovely designer pairs. But since they weren’t the right size for the twins, and neither had the heart to try to sell them, these were also earmarked to go to charity shops.
Eventually, they were done. The only things remaining were Maggie’s wedding dress, which had previously been cleaned and boxed up, plus a few random bits and bobs Diane thought might be perfect for Mia’s dressing-up basket.
‘The cupboard looks so empty,’ Diane said. ‘We’ll have to take Dad out shopping for some new clothes of his own now before Joan gets any ideas about moving her stuff in.’
‘Don’t even joke about that, Di. A lot of widowers do find a new partner pretty quickly, you know. They don’t seem to be able to manage as well on their own as widows do – particularly the ones of Dad’s age with little experience of cooking and cleaning for themselves.’
‘Oh, come on, Han. Dad’s not bad at all that. He’s been managing for a while now – ever since Mum got sick.’
Hannah flopped down on to an armchair at the foot of the bed and let out a tired sigh. ‘Maybe, but he’s not exactly Rick Stein. And I think we both know he’d rather be waited on than do everything himself. Do you think he’ll stay here in Southport, actually, or that he might return to Manchester? He could always move in with you and Mia; kill two birds with one stone.’
Hannah had meant this to be funny, but it was clear from the furious look on her sister’s face that she’d taken it a whole different way.
‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’ Diane snapped.
‘It was a joke, that’s all.’
‘No, I don’t accept that, Hannah. You must have meant something by the whole “kill two birds with one stone” thing. What were you suggesting: that I can’t manage by myself? Just because I don’t have two salaries coming in, like you and Mark, doesn’t mean Mia and I are on the breadline.’
Hannah wished she’d kept her mouth shut. ‘I never said that you were, Diane.’ She couldn’t stop herself from adding: ‘But the way you’re reacting, I’m starting to wonder. It sounds like I hit a raw nerve.’
As Hannah remained seated, Diane stood in front of her, gesticulating wildly. ‘What the hell do you know about it? Life’s different when you have a child to consider, Hannah. It’s not all about fancy holidays and swanky meals out.’
This comment made Hannah see red. ‘What drivel are you spouting? If you don’t have enough money, maybe you should try sticking a job out long enough to actually get a permanent contract, rather than going from one temp gig to the next. Where is it you even work at the moment? I’ve lost track. The reason I mentioned Dad moving in with you is because he’s probably paying most of your bills already. How long is it that he’s been helping you out now? Ever since you’ve had Mia, or even before she was born? Surely it would make more sense to get money from Mia’s father, whoever he is, rather than pretending he doesn’t exist. Call yourself a mother! You’re nothing but a big child dressed in a parent’s clothes.’
Diane’s jaw hit the bedroom carpet. ‘What? How dare you! And how do you even know about the money? Who told you? Was it Dad?’
‘What the hell does that matter, Diane? Don’t you think you ought to be standing on your own two feet by now, rather than relying on handouts?’
Diane snarled at her sister, lunging towards her like she was about to start a fistfight. ‘You’ve always thought you’re better than me. It makes me sick. You think your little life is so perfect, so much better than mine; that you know so much. Well, you don’t know anything – especially not about having children. It’s as well your precious Mark has never given you any kids, because you’d be a bloody awful mum.’
‘How dare you!’ Hannah shouted, jumping to her feet and standing toe to toe with Diane, so their noses were almost touching. She was itching to slap her or grab her by the hair, but somehow she managed to hold herself back, even as her sister’s face broke into a spiteful, taunting grin.
‘Oh, that’s nothing,’ Diane spat. ‘I’m just getting started.’
At that moment, the front door of the bungalow opened. They both turned to look in the direction of the noise, which was swiftly followed by the sound of a child crying, overlaid by their father’s voice: ‘We’re back! I’m afraid I’ve got a wounded soldier with me, though.’
Diane raced to the door to find out what was the matter with Mia. By the time Hannah had followed her into the hallway, she was already holding her daughter in her arms. Meanwhile Frank, who’d been joined somewhere along the way by Joan, was busy explaining: ‘She tripped and grazed her knee. She did cry for a while at the time, but luckily Joan’s house was nearby, so I took her there and she cleaned it up and popped on a plaster. Mia seemed fine after that. Then as soon as we arrived here, she got upset again.’
While Diane was busy calming Mia down, Hannah spoke for a few minutes with her dad, who clearly felt bad about the whole thing. She ignored Joan as much as possible, hoping she’d get the message and leave, although she kept chipping in to the conversation regardless. Diane insisted on removing the plaster and cleaning Mia’s wound herself before applying another, much to Joan’s obvious irritation, although even this didn’t diminish Hannah’s anger towards her sister.
Frank offered to make everyone a cup of tea, plus a juice for Mia. Thankfully Joan declined, saying she had a Pilates class to attend. As she was leaving, Hannah excused herself and headed back to the bedroom to get a private look at her mum’s jewellery. She was feeling so annoyed with Diane that she was ready to lay claim to her favourite bracelet without her. The problem was that, despite rummaging through every jewellery box she could find, there was no sign of it whatsoever.
Eventually she went through to the lounge, where there was a cup of tea waiting, to ask her father. He had his feet up, reading the paper, while Diane was sitting with Mia on her knee, the pair of them staring at the TV, which was showing something loud and colourful on the CBeebies channel.
Avoiding her sister’s eye, she knelt down next to Frank and spoke in a low voice. ‘Dad, I was starting to look through Mum’s jewellery and there’s something I’m struggling to find.’
He lowered the broadsheet and peered at her over the top of his reading glasses. ‘Oh? What’s that then?’
‘Do you remember the pearl-and-gold bracelet: the one you had made?’
‘Yes, of course. Diane has it.’ He looked over at his other daughter. ‘That was the one you took a while ago, wasn’t it? Didn’t you want to wear it with some dress at a party or something? I thought you said you’d discussed it with Hannah beforehand.’
‘She did not!’ Hannah replied. ‘When was this – and where is it now?’ She turned and threw Diane an accusatory stare. ‘Do you even know why that bracelet was so special? I bet you don’t. You’ve never cared about that kind of thing.’
‘Sure I do,’ Diane replied. Her face twitched as she shifted awkwardly on the couch before lifting Mia off her knee and placing her next to her, so glued to the television she barely seemed to notice. ‘Dad had it made for her.’
‘I just said that,’ Hannah snapped. ‘Why did he have it made? What was the significance? Come on, spit it out.’
Diane rolled her eyes. ‘You’re such a goody two-shoes, aren’t you? Fine, I don’t know. I liked the look of it, that’s all.’
Hannah stamped her feet on the lounge carpet, only managing to stop herself from shouting and swearing because of Mia’s presence. ‘You’re unbelievable! Mum loved that bracelet precisely because of the story behind it. And she told it so often. Only someone as self-centred as you wouldn’t remember it. You’ve always been too wrapped up in your own concerns to listen to anyone else.’
‘Oh, get lost,’ Diane replied. ‘You self-righteous bitch.’
This stopped Hannah in her tracks, as she couldn’t believe what her sister had said out loud in front of her young daughter. Clearly Frank thought the same, as a moment later he stood up and turned off the television – despite Mia’s complaints – telling her he needed her help with something. Leading her away, helped with the promise of a piece of chocolate, he scowled at the sisters before closing the lounge door and mouthed: ‘Sort this out!’
Then they were alone again.
‘So where is it?’ Hannah demanded, still standing while Diane remained on the sofa, arms folded across her chest.
‘What?’
‘You know what: the bracelet, of course.’
‘Um, it’s at home somewhere, I guess.’
Hannah knew her sister well enough to be able to recognise she wasn’t telling the truth. Her body language was way more defensive than it ought to have been.
‘Where is it?’ she demanded again. ‘It means so much to me. That bracelet is the one item of Mum’s jewellery I really had my heart set on.’
‘You never mentioned it to me before.’
‘No, because I know what you’re like, Diane; if I’d told you I wanted it, you’d have wanted it too. Where is it?’
Diane kneaded her hands into the fabric of the sofa on either side of her legs, refusing to meet Hannah’s eye, even though she was now standing right in front of her. It was a weird physical reversal of how their last confrontation in the bedroom had begun.
‘What have you done?’ Hannah asked. ‘Look at me and tell me. And while you’re at it, you said you were just getting started when we were arguing earlier. You know, before we got interrupted and after your bitchy comment about me not having children, which is ironic considering you’ve asked me to look after your daughter if anything happens to you. So please, do carry on. I’d love to hear what you really think.’
‘Oh, here we go again,’ Diane said, standing up. ‘You love to paint me as the villain, don’t you? As I recall, you were giving as good as you got, accusing me of stealing all Dad’s money and being a crap mum.’
Things carried on like this for a while, the insults and language getting progressively worse and the volume creeping louder and louder. Years of unresolved, bottled-up conflict spilled over as the pair faced off against each other – toe to toe and nose to nose, insults and accusations flying fast in both directions – the row teetering once again on the brink of a punch-up.
‘I’m going to ask you one more time: where the hell is Mum’s bracelet?’ Hannah bawled.
‘I don’t know, okay? I lost it.’
‘You what?’
In a suddenly quiet voice, Diane explained: ‘I wore it on a rare night out. It was that summer ball I told you about at the Midland Hotel. The bracelet must have slipped off at some point. I didn’t realise until the next day.’
‘Bloody hell, Diane! Did you even bother to try to find it?’
‘Of course. I phoned them a couple of times, but no one had handed anything in like that.’
‘You phoned them? You didn’t even bother to go back?’
‘What difference would that have made?’
‘And you never thought to mention to Dad, or to me, that you’d lost it?’
Diane shrugged. ‘I didn’t know what to say.’
‘Oh, that’s all right, then. I guess you hoped no one would notice, didn’t you? You stupid, careless cow! You don’t have a clue what that meant to Mum, Dad and me.’ Feeling herself start to cry, Hannah fought off the tears by channelling her emotion into more angry words. ‘You really don’t give a toss about anyone or anything apart from yourself, do you? I pity Mia growing up with you as her mother. I really do.’
‘Screw you, Hannah! God, I hate you.’ As Diane said this, her hand swept up and slapped her sister hard on her left cheek. It caught Hannah unawares, stunning her and causing her to step backwards, stumbling on a discarded doll belonging to Mia and landing on her bum. ‘You’re going to regret that,’ she growled, still catching her breath on the floor. ‘And trust me, I hate you more. I wish it was you that had died, instead of Mum. The world would be a better place without you.’
She was about to get back up and throw herself full force at Diane when the door swung open and Frank bellowed: ‘What in God’s name is going on here?’
‘I’m leaving, that’s what,’ Hannah replied, jumping to her feet and bustling past her father into the hallway. ‘I can’t spend another minute here with her. Ask her what happened to Mum’s bracelet, Dad. Ask her.’
And with that she stormed out of the house. Her whole body was buzzing with adrenaline as she slammed the front door behind her. And then, through the glass panel next to the door, she glimpsed Mia’s scared eyes, wide like CDs, silently watching her from further down the hall. And she felt awful for her. But still she left, not realising she wouldn’t see those eyes again in person – the beautiful light-green eyes of her beloved niece – for more than a decade.