“So, Joely,” Freda said, her voice hoarse and seeming almost to float from her throat as it carried words into the warm air as if they were fledgling butterflies, “we are coming to the denouement—you know that means ending, I’m sure—and I imagine you have leapt to many conclusions by now.” She smiled to herself, as though enjoying the unraveling of her thoughts, or secrets, or games, it was never possible to know exactly what was going on with her.
They were seated on the kitchen patio, enjoying the earthy scents of the meadow following a short burst of rain, and listening to the birds shrieking and twittering about the tor and soaring down to the sea. Several months had passed since Freda had sent the text summoning Joely back to Dimmett House because she had more to tell; spring had flowed and bloomed into summer, and her home had become a regular weekend retreat for most of her family, as she now termed them. True to character, she’d kept Joely waiting for details, toying with her, testing her, and occasionally, when the pain was at its worst, berating her for impatience and presumptions when none had been made.
Often she was too exhausted by her treatments to talk, or even to get out of bed to enjoy her visitors, but in between times she’d do her best to join in whatever was going on. If Jamie was around, and he and his family usually were, she spent many nostalgic hours showing him photographs of his father as a young boy. She didn’t have a natural way with the children, often regarding them as if she’d forgotten who they were, but for some reason they found her fascinating and she certainly seemed to enjoy watching them romping through the meadow down to the beach. She liked to watch them wrestling with their father too, and when her gift for grim and ghoulish stories was discovered her rapt audience of two begged her to take over the bedtime routine. If she was well enough she usually obliged, but only if she wasn’t in the tower writing, though exactly what she was writing nobody knew.
“I’m not going to get better,” she croaked, gazing out toward the sea and cliffs dazzled into a blur by the afternoon sunshine, “so it’s time for you all to stop pretending I will. I’ve already refused further treatment—it’s doing no good so I received no resistance from the doctors. Marianne knows this, and now I’m telling you because I have a final request to make of you.”
Joely inwardly balked at the use of final; of course she knew Freda was dying, but she hadn’t been prepared for her to bring it up like this.
She waited, certain the request was going to be in some way related to the memoir—or perhaps it was connected to whatever Freda had been writing these past few months. They could be one and the same thing.
Freda’s profile remained turned away, sharp-boned and papery thin skin against a backdrop of the gray granite rocks rising up behind her. “I want you to help me on my way should it be necessary,” she said, the words coming out as simply as if she were asking for a lift into town.
Joely told herself she hadn’t heard right.
Freda turned and eyed her darkly. “You didn’t see that coming?” she challenged as if she’d just bowled an LBW.
Joely really hadn’t.
Appearing pleased with herself, Freda nodded an urge to respond further.
“But I can’t,” Joely protested. “I’m not even a relative . . .”
“You’re my ghost, I think that makes us even closer than relatives.”
Not at all sure how she’d worked that out, actually not really wanting to know, Joely said, “I ghosted a story that wasn’t even yours.”
Freda clearly found that amusing. “You had no idea, did you, that it was your mother’s?”
“You know I didn’t.”
“Have you read it yet with your mother, aged fifteen, in mind?”
“I don’t need to. I can picture her in all the scenarios you described, and since she’s admitted that most of them are true . . . What are you going to do with it now? Is that what you’ve been working on in the writing room?”
Freda raised a shaky hand and fluttered it through the air like a broken wing, following it with a small puff that had no sound. “The memoir is my gift to you and your mother,” she said. “My only interest in it was to clear my brother’s name, but as we know it didn’t work out quite the way I’d expected.” She gave a small sigh. “Life’s like that, isn’t it?” she said. “I believe it happens to you when you’re busy making other plans.”
“John Lennon,” Joely stated.
Freda nodded. “‘Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy).’ It was written for his son, Sean, but I expect you know that.”
Joely did. “I think the memoir,” she said boldly, “was as much about punishing my mother as it was about clearing your brother’s name.”
Freda nodded slowly, absorbing the accusation and not disputing it. “That didn’t really work out either, did it?” she admitted. She dabbed a tissue to her lips and let her veiny hand fall back to her lap. “I wanted to meet her,” she said, her voice staging a ragged break through the hoarseness into clarity. “I hated her for what had happened to my family, but was fascinated by her as well. I wanted to find out what was so special about her, what it is that draws people to her, what she has that I don’t, and look what’s happened. She’s drawn me in too. I can’t manage without her now, and I wouldn’t want to try. I look forward to seeing her when I wake up in the morning, and I think about her with fondness and gratitude as I fall asleep at night. You could say that she has become the light at the center of my world, and you would be right to, because she is. She has a luminosity about her nature, her heart, her soul that is irresistible.”
Joely couldn’t help feeling pleased to hear her mother described this way, but she was more concerned about Freda right now, frail and shadowed by the disease she was no longer fighting, a small shell of humanity with a livewire brain.
“How fortunate I am,” Freda said, “that I didn’t succeed with my desire to destroy her. Yes, destruction was in my mind when I left here, although I wasn’t clear on how I was going to achieve it.” She shook her head as though considering the actions of a child and finding them lamentable and naïve. “I was too foolish to realize that all I needed to do was talk to her, she is very easy to talk to, but if I’d done that I might not have met you, Joely—and of all the blessings that have come my way these past months you are the one I’m most thankful for.”
Joely blinked, taking a moment to absorb this for it was something else she really hadn’t seen coming, especially as she and Freda had spent little time together these last few months. But then she knew only too well how capable Freda was of turning everything on its head so all she said was, “I’m surprised to hear that. I felt sure it would have been Mum you’d feel that way about.”
Freda replied with enthusiasm. “Oh, certainly she is a blessing too, there’s no doubt about that, and Holly—what a credit she is to you, so refreshing in her honesty and self-confidence, and if it weren’t for her I’d never have known the therapeutic value of binge-watching Game of Thrones.”
Joely had to smile at that, for she knew the box-set absorption had done as much to bond Freda and Holly as it had to help distract Freda from the awful side effects of her treatments.
“But it is you, Joely,” Freda continued, “whom I hold most dear.” She glanced over again, briefly but with the acutely assessing eyes that always made Joely feel as though she’d been seen through even when she had nothing to hide. “I can see that you’re puzzled by this, and perhaps disbelieving; I find that I am too, because I certainly hadn’t expected when you came here to end up seeing you as the daughter I wish I’d had, but that’s who you are. I like you, Joely. You are the kind of person I’d want to be if I were able to have my time over. You’re strong and loyal, intelligent, funny, caring, and you’ve brought gaiety into this house that hasn’t had any in far too long.”
Moved by this praise, Joely said, “We enjoy being here, all of us, you know that. You have a beautiful home and you’re a very easygoing and generous host—when you want to be, which we have to admit isn’t all of the time.” She knew Freda would appreciate the teasing criticism and was glad to see the light that came into her eyes.
“You know how I value unpredictability,” she responded with humor. “Now let me tell you this—I’ve most enjoyed the Pink Martini parties,” and just as she’d expected Joely broke into a surprised smile.
There had been a few of them by now with everyone drinking cocktails by the same name while shimmying outrageously and inexpertly to the Latin and jazz sounds that Freda hadn’t heard before. At the beginning she’d joined in the dancing, throwing herself into it with an abandon that had surprised them all, including her, but she no longer had the energy to let go of her inhibitions so she watched from the sidelines tapping her foot to the beat and clapping her hands.
Freda continued. “I like hearing your voice about the house when I’m in my room trying to recover from those ghastly sessions; it makes me feel less alone, if I’m allowed to say that. I enjoy our two-person book club in spite of how often we disagree—or maybe because of how often we disagree, and of course you’re always wrong. During the week while you’re in London there’s always a feeling of something, someone, missing, your mother feels it too, which is why we look forward to seeing you so much at the weekends.”
Feeling a rush of loyalty toward her brother, Joely said, “And Jamie? You must look forward to seeing him too.”
Without hesitation, Freda said, “He has become very special to me and not simply for being David’s son, although, I confess it’s hard to separate the two—and I think this is why he makes me feel sad in a way you don’t.” She picked up a glass of water and sipped from it. “He’s made me feel closer to my brother than I have in many years; he’s brought him back to life for me in a way even our memoir didn’t, but I’m starting to feel close to them all now, David, Christopher, Doddoe, Mummy, Daddy . . .” She seemed to reflect a moment on the accuracy of this, and clearly decided she was describing it the way she wanted to, because she said, “I suppose that’s only to be expected when I’ll be with them soon.” She turned her paling eyes back to Joely. “Do you believe in the afterlife?” she asked.
Remembering how she’d wrestled with it after her father’s death, Joely said, “I’m not sure, but it seems that you do.”
Freda let her head fall against the chair back and closed her eyes. After a while Joely realized she was dozing, so letting her be she took out her phone to check for messages. The WiFi worked perfectly these days.
There was a message from Edward confirming he’d be coming that weekend, but Amanda wouldn’t be with him. She couldn’t help feeling relieved about that, for Amanda wasn’t the easiest company and Edward was always more relaxed when she wasn’t around. There was also a message from Callum asking her to call and she wondered if he was going to delay his planned arrival for a few days. It had happened a couple of times before, work holding him up he’d explain, and unable to stop them her thoughts often turned into suspicions. It saddened her a lot, for he’d never given her any reason to mistrust him since they’d admitted to their indiscretions. Except that was too mild a label for what had happened with Martha. He’d slept with her several times knowing exactly what he was doing and he’d moved out of their home to go and live with her. Now she often asked herself if he could do it again.
A text arrived making the phone vibrate in her hand and seeing it was from him she felt a tightening in her heart, a sense of dread that she was about to be proved right that something had delayed him. Can get away earlier than expected so will drive down tomorrow. Missing you. Xxx
Freda came awake and continued seamlessly with their discussion about the afterlife. “For me it’s easy,” she said. “If it exists the people I love will be waiting and I will go to them, but what happens to someone like your mother? Will she go to David or to your father? Will she have to decide who she loved the most? I’m sure your father will win because of how long she was with him, but where does that leave my brother?” She flicked a hand impatiently. “You can’t answer that, nobody can, I’m simply pointing out that it’s more complicated for some than for others.”
Since there was no arguing with that, Joely said, daringly, “If you’re so certain that you’re going to join your family soon, perhaps you’d like to give your nephews some guidance regarding your last wishes.”
Freda stifled a small yawn as she said, “Don’t worry, it’s all taken care of. I haven’t discussed anything with them yet, but you’ll find my instructions in the top right-hand drawer of my desk. A copy of my will is there too.” Her eyes slid toward Joely as if challenging her to ask what was in it, but Joely didn’t rise to it.
Freda told her anyway. “Edward and Jamie are the main beneficiaries,” she said, “but the jewelry is for your mother and Holly to share between them. There are quite a few heirlooms, and I think they’ll appreciate them. For you . . .” She paused to take a breath and Joely knew how likely it was that she was about to say something completely unexpected, even shocking. It wouldn’t be Freda if she didn’t.
“Can you guess what there is for you?” she asked.
“I’m not expecting anything,” Joely assured her.
Freda’s bony brows lifted, apparently not believing it. “I will be your ghost,” she stated as if awarding the greatest prize of all.
Joely frowned. “OK, you’re starting to sound even weirder than usual now. Spooky even.”
Freda seemed to take this as a compliment.
“I thought you were heading off to the great beyond to join your family,” Joely reminded her. “I really don’t want you hanging around here haunting me, thanks all the same.”
Freda chuckled with evident delight. “It’s tempting,” she told her, “because I enjoy your company so much, but in typical fashion you’ve jumped to the wrong conclusion again. I shall be your ghost, and you will be the writer. A kind of role reversal if you like. My part is already complete. I have drafted a novel based on our short friendship, but there is a twist. Can you guess what it might be?”
Joely was regarding her warily. “I’m not sure I want to,” she replied.
Freda’s smile widened, showing her chemo-stained teeth. “Go on, try,” she urged.
Realizing they were probably about to come full circle to the euthanasia request, Joely said, “OK, it’s that I end up killing you.”
Freda’s laugh tripped her into a bout of coughing, and Joely got up to give her some water.
“An excellent suggestion,” Freda declared when she was steady again. “How would you do it?”
Joely was shaking her head. “I’m not playing this game,” she replied. “And I’m not going to help put you out of your misery either, but I must admit sometimes it’s tempting.”
Freda was gleeful. “It would be an outstanding way to do your research, and we could plan it together.”
“It’s not going to happen,” Joely told her firmly.
“Think about the inquiry, investigation, arrest . . . You’d experience it all first-hand . . .”
“Freda,” Joely interrupted darkly. “If you seriously think I’m going to risk going to prison . . .”
“Imagine if that happens! You’d have a ringside seat, admittedly from a cell . . . You’d be embedded, the way reporters are when they follow a war. The draft is on my desk, you’re welcome to go and take a look at it now if you like. I’ll be very interested to hear what you think.”
“Thanks, but no,” and Joely waved out to her mother and Holly as they appeared at the end of the meadow making their way back from a yoga session on the beach.
As Freda watched them approach, wading through the long grass, both carrying rolled-up mats under one arm and their honeyed skin glowing from their exertions, she gave a satisfied sigh of pleasure. “She really is beautiful, isn’t she?” she murmured. “Such an aura of loveliness.”
Joely would have asked who, her mother or Holly, had she not already known the answer.
“Can you believe it was fifty summers ago,” Freda said softly, as Joely reached out to straighten the blanket that was sliding from her knees, “that she became the great love of my brother’s life, and seeing her walking toward us like this with Holly is almost like seeing her with her younger self—the girl David couldn’t resist.” She was clearly sinking deeply into the moment and its connection with the past, marveling at the way time seemed to be playing tricks on her. “So beautiful,” she murmured, and her eyes remained dreamy as she sighed and added, “I suppose you take after your father.”
Joely tossed the blanket over her head and stifling a laugh went inside to make some tea.
Moments later her mother joined her, leaving Holly outside to help disentangle Freda from the blanket.
“Everything OK?” Marianne asked, taking four mugs from their hooks.
“Everything’s fine,” Joely assured her, “but I can tell you this much, she isn’t going to go quietly.”
Except she did.
In true Freda fashion, after setting everyone up for a dramatic exit from the world, one that would involve an assisted suicide at the very least, and a prison sentence for Joely at best, she drifted away peacefully in her sleep one night with no one helping her on her way, or even holding her hand.
“You’ve done it again,” Joely whispered to her when she went into the room to say goodbye before the coroner arrived. “You got me thinking one thing while all the time you were planning another.” She sat down on the edge of the bed and brushed a hand gently over Freda’s sparse wisps of hair. “I’m going to miss you,” she said, tears filling her eyes as she gazed at the gauzy thin eyelids untroubled by lashes, the unlikely barrier that would never open again to allow a connection between them. “I’m probably going to miss you a lot more than I can imagine, but please, please don’t haunt me.”
Ten days later Joely linked Andee’s arm as they walked from the cemetery between Lynton and the Valley of Rocks to the parked cars on the grass and gravel area outside. Everyone on Freda’s list of invitees had come to bid farewell to the eccentric aunt, friend, author, client, employer, and neighbor, and Joely felt sure Freda would have been startled by the tears that had been shed. She might even have been pleased by them. According to her she wasn’t the kind of person to stir deep emotion in another, so she’d have been surprised to hear her agent speak with passion about their friendship and the loyalty of her following. She probably wouldn’t have expected Edward’s voice to shake as he’d delivered the eulogy, but it had, and when he’d finished and retaken his seat next to Joely she’d held his hand between both of hers.
Freda’s chosen entry music had been Brahms Violin Sonata No. 3 played by her father with her uncle at the piano; the feature music for the ceremony was Henry Purcell’s “Evening Hymn” performed by her mother, and the final choice “to uplift everyone as they left,” was “Slippin’ and Slidin” by Little Richard, because she used to perform it with her brothers when they were young.
I haven’t selected any of Doddoe’s music, she’d written in her final instructions, because I’d like his dance pieces to be played at the party after, but to open proceedings we should have “Amado mio” by Pink Martini especially for Joely.
She’d planned everything, from the flowers, to the hymns, to the notices, not because she was a control freak, she’d insisted, but because she didn’t want anyone else to have to go to the trouble. She’d even decided on the food Brenda was to serve back at the house, although she’d left the wine choice to Edward. She’d also, just as she’d told Joely she would, left him a half share of Dimmett House and its contents, with the other half going to Jamie. The thinking at the moment was that they’d keep it for the family to use for weekends and holidays, but they were all aware that could change over time. Jamie was also now the proud owner of a small cottage in Hampshire that used to belong to his great-uncle, and had been the setting for most of his parents’ romance.
There were many other bequests detailed in the will she’d left in her desk—the official reading was due to take place the following week—a generous recognition of Brenda’s loyalty, a painting for Jamie’s wife, Clare, trust funds for Jamie’s children to help them through university, an ISA for Holly to mature when she was twenty-one, and David’s original collection of vinyl records for Marianne. As she’d promised, there was the opening draft of a novel for Joely, about a reclusive older woman and her end-of-life relationship with a ghostwriter.
In her accompanying notes Freda had written:
It’s time for you to take on a project that is completely yours. I’ve started this off for you simply to get you into the flow, but of course you are free to ignore it. You don’t even have to become a writer, but I feel it would be a great shame if you didn’t as you seem to enjoy the process and your talent is no worse than any of the popular authors being published today.
Should you go ahead with this one I have left you to decide on how the peculiar relationship could develop which will no doubt take you into fiction—we’ve already dealt with the reality. I told you I’d included a twist in the tale, and here it is—I have bequeathed you my library of books and have hidden within certain volumes a number of clues. When each one is solved it will lead you on to the next until eventually the conundrum will be solved and you will have a real shocker of an ending.
I’m sure you’re already trying to guess what it might be, and as each clue is revealed you’ll be leaping to more and more conclusions, most of which you’ll find to be wrong. I think you’ll enjoy the exercise—I have certainly enjoyed putting it together.
Thank you, dear Joely, for all that you brought to my life during my final year on this planet. You cured my loneliness, understood and soothed my grief, and helped my frozen heart to thaw.
Be brave and be happy,
Freda
As they approached the parked cars Joely was watching her mother walking between Jamie and Edward. She said to Andee, “It’s fascinating watching Mum now, isn’t it? Or it is to me, because back then, when she was only sixteen, she’d never have dreamt that all these years later she’d be here at the heart of David’s family in the way she is now.”
Andee said softly, “Does that make you feel bad for your father?”
Joely didn’t have to consider it. “No, because he was never in any doubt about how much he was loved, and he seemed to have a better understanding than most of how not to try to compete with the past.” With a smile she turned to embrace her friend. “Thanks for coming today,” she said. “It means a lot. And you’re coming back to the house now?”
“Of course,” Andee assured her, and letting go of her arm she went to join her mother and Graeme at their car.
As Joely reached Callum’s car he was already opening the back door for her mother and Holly to get in. She noticed Edward standing with Jamie, heads together as they talked, and apparently sensing her watching them Edward looked up and smiled as their eyes met. She wasn’t sure if she felt sad that he was on his own today, or glad that his relationship with Amanda was now over. A man like him would have no trouble finding someone else when he was ready to and not for the first time she imagined herself being that person. It wasn’t going to happen, she felt sure of it, but the fantasy was as pleasing as the chemistry was real.
Feeling Callum’s arm go around her she leaned into him for a moment. She loved him, maybe even more now than she had before, but that didn’t mean the trust was repaired, or that he felt the same way about her. It seemed that he did in so many ways, however she wasn’t going to presume her marriage would last, or that she was heading toward an affair with Edward. She was simply going to work at one and try to avoid the other while the future kept its secrets until it was ready to reveal them.
Freda would be proud of her.
Taking her phone from her pocket as it buzzed with a text, she read it and felt a ripple of shock go through her heart.
It was from her agent. Hi, I have a great new assignment for you. Give me a call asap so we can discuss. Client says he’s met you before at Soho House.