Caroline stepped out of the bathroom. She felt exhausted. The food poisoning she had overnight was abating, albeit slowly. For a moment she wondered if it had anything to do with the mushrooms she had eaten the other day. Then she shook the deadly thought from her mind. She had never made a mistake before. It was quite simply a bug or something. And it wasn’t like she could use it as an excuse. She couldn’t not attend. It was her father’s funeral. She rummaged around the cupboards for a probiotic tablet. She took it with water and then headed towards the front door. A cramp stopped her before she could leave.
‘I’ve not seen you like this before,’ Jack said. ‘Are you sure you want to go?’
Caroline stared at her husband. He didn’t say anything else but took her hand and helped her to the car. Her boys were waiting in the back seat of the Range Rover. Jacob, impatient as usual, was scrolling through his phone, sighing intermittently as they made their way to the crematorium. Monty, the quiet, contemplative one, looked through the window as if searching for something. This last year at university had been difficult for him. His long-time girlfriend had dumped him for someone else and his grades had been suffering. He wasn’t the most studious and perhaps he should have taken a course in art as opposed to economics. He had always been interested in painting and as a teenager painted some beautiful landscapes. These days the work that she had glimpsed when she visited his university accommodation was furious – violent splashes of reds and blacks. Caroline figured that his work represented his feelings, and right now he was in turmoil. Sometimes that’s all it was with kids. They were on the wrong path and they just didn’t know it yet. She had tried to tell him as such, but he was past the age of listening, and she knew you had to make your own mistakes in life.
Caroline retrieved a bottle of sparkling water that Jack had thought to put in the car for her. She opened the bottle, careful not to spill any, and took a swig.
When her boys had been little, their grandmother was keen to point out how similar Jacob was to Roy and Monty to Martin. ‘He’s just like Martin,’ her mother would say and Caroline would grit her teeth and smile. Martin was so weak; she didn’t want a weak son. She would fume about it when she was back at home. Poor Jack had to listen to all her ranting back then. Caroline couldn’t see the resemblance. Just because Jacob was loud and sociable like his grandfather, people automatically looked for someone in the family to liken her other son to. At the time there was only Martin.
She looked at Jack’s profile as he drove. Loyal, reliable Jack. She had hardly any contact with his family, and talking about his father was a taboo. She supposed people likening Monty to Martin was better than comparing him to Jack’s father; a man who suffered from depression, alcoholism and from what she had heard had a violent personality. The poor man ended up taking his own life. She did not wish for Monty to be anything like him.
She looked back at her boys in the mirror of her sunshield. Jacob had recently done a skydive on a trip to Australia. She had watched the video and been shocked speechless at the time because he hadn’t warned her of what he was going to do. Jacob was the spitting image of his grandfather. They were similar, Caroline had to admit that, but unlike her father, Jacob wasn’t afraid of heights.
‘Blasted cat,’ Jack said as he swerved the car to avoid the animal. He banged his hand on the steering wheel.
Caroline put her hand on his forearm. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked. ‘You’re not normally so tense.’
‘I’m fine,’ was Jack’s standard response.
‘This doesn’t have anything to do with the call you received this morning, does it?’
Jack frowned at her. He didn’t know she had been listening then.
‘Just the police doing some routine calls,’ he said, and Caroline nodded. But she knew that they had asked him about that night again, the night her father fell to his death. They wanted him to confirm where he was at the time of the fall.
Caroline closed her eyes as she tried to get through the pain of another stomach cramp. Why were the police questioning Jack about that day again? The coroner had ruled the death an accident, and the police hadn’t been in touch to say there was reason to believe otherwise. Would they tell her if they had uncovered fresh evidence pointing to foul play? She had every right to know. Would they ask her again where she had been when her father fell to his death? Caroline thought back to that fateful night and the part she had played in what had happened. Her father was so obstinate sitting on that bench that night, trying to overcome his fears even at his age. She knew his weaknesses and she had exploited them, thinking of her own revenge on the man who claimed to love his grandchildren. Her father had sat on the cliff above Mermaid Rock like a king greeting his subjects. It had played right into Caroline’s hands, but she regretted what she had done. She hadn’t thought it through. She only wanted to frighten him. He deserved that after what he had done.
Still, it was no excuse. No wonder she felt so sick. This was her punishment. She braced herself as another cramp took hold.
‘You’re sweating,’ Jack said. ‘Are you okay?’
Caroline managed a nod. Maybe she should have told someone what she had suspected. Maybe she should tell someone what she had recently found out about the baby. Her father’s baby. No. There was no time for that. She was Caroline Arden-Harris. She was a survivor. She was going to get through today. She was going to be okay. She had to be okay.
Shilpa had delivered the Earl Grey-and-lemon cake to Arden Copse. Terry had let her in and showed her where the cake needed to be placed. ‘Right there,’ she said. ‘Near those pastry things.’
The Ardens had gone to town on the funeral ‘nibbles’ as Caroline had put it, but what else was to be expected from them? Shilpa had been surprised that they had wanted all the guests back at their home, but then it made sense. They had the space and the staff. A couple of waiters were polishing cutlery.
‘It isn’t the same without him,’ Terry said, fiddling with her apron as Shilpa laid the cake out on the table. ‘I know there’s a lot being said about him, but he was kind as well. Helped me out when my boy needed an operation.’
Shilpa stopped what she was doing and turned to Terry. It was the first nice thing that she had heard anyone say about Roy Arden.
‘He needn’t have helped me, but he did. I asked him why,’ Terry said, her eyes focused in the distance.
‘And?’ Shilpa asked.
‘Said he needed to make amends, to give a little boy a chance at life.’
Shilpa folded her arms across her chest. ‘Amends for what, do you think?’
Terry shrugged. ‘I didn’t care. Still don’t. My boy got the best treatment in a private hospital thanks to him. I won’t forget that.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘A couple of years now. He wrote me a cheque and never mentioned it again. I kept thanking him, but one day he told me to stop. Said he didn’t want to hear another word about it. At first I thought he was joking, but he wasn’t; he had that serious look about him. I never did mention it again.’ Terry smiled. ‘He was better than her as well.’
‘Annabel?’ Shilpa asked.
Terry nodded. ‘But at least with her in charge, Caroline’s stopped coming around. Roy’s daughter never knew when to leave things alone around here.’
‘What do you mean?’ Shilpa asked.
Terry shrugged. ‘She had a family of her own. She needed to let go of this place. Maybe her old man could see it too, which is why he didn’t leave any part of the house to her.’
Shilpa smiled.
‘Not sure what Annabel is doing around here though. I don’t have much taste, but even I know this colour don’t match the house.’ Terry looked around the sitting room and Shilpa followed her eyes. The walls had been painted a light brown colour. It wasn’t out of place, just different. Perhaps just more contemporary and in keeping with Annabel’s style. ‘They call it mouse’s ear or summat. The painters told me. She didn’t waste any time, did she? Are you going to the crematorium?’ Terry asked.
Shilpa looked at her watch. She had time to get there, if only to support Caroline. Caroline may not have been a true friend, but she had lost her father and her family home. From what she had previously said, it was quite possible she believed that her uncle Martin had something to do with her father’s death. And Shilpa could never resist being there for the underdog. Who was she kidding? Shilpa knew the funeral would be the best place to watch her suspects.