Page 73 of A Summer Scandal

‘The yellow roses,’ she said, too fast. ‘Where did they come from?’

Charlie frowned. ‘What roses?’

Lucy only just made it to the bathroom before she threw up.

Vi couldn’t face Barty yet. She hadn’t got a clue what to say to him when she saw him next, so she’d slipped through the building quietly and let herself into her apartment, closing the door and breathing a sigh of relief to finally be alone. Going through the motions, she made a sandwich and barely touched it, and the cup of coffee she made turned her stomach so she tipped it down the sink.

Crawling into bed not much after seven, she pulled Monica’s diary from the bedside drawer and opened it at the last entry she’d read. She’d almost decided not to read any more of it, but knowing who T was changed everything. She needed to know what had happened, what had been so terrible that Monica’s only option had been to step off the end of the pier. Her mouth dry with the knowledge that she was drawing close to the final entries, she began to read.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. My period’s late. I’m forty next week, Henry and I haven’t slept together for three months, and I think I might be bloody pregnant. This can’t be happening, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Help me. Someone please help me.

Vi closed the diary abruptly, shocked. Had Monica fallen pregnant with Barty’s child? Was that what had driven her to such desperate measures? It was heartbreaking to imagine Monica’s turmoil, it erupted from the stark words on the page, her handwriting less polished than previous entries, no doubt a direct result of her panicked, scattered thoughts.

Swallow Beach had killed her grandmother. Oh, she knew that Monica could have made different choices, been faithful, put the brakes on before things went too far. But Violet had learned the hard way over the last few months that it wasn’t always easy to do the right thing, or to even know what the right thing was sometimes. She’d got in over her head with Cal without even seeing it coming. Who was she to judge her grandmother for doing the same thing? Monica’s every diary entry showed her conflict and turmoil; she hadn’t been proud of herself, and that was a difficult way to feel about yourself over a sustained amount of time without something having to give.

‘Okay, Gran,’ she whispered. ‘I know what I need to do now.’

The mermaids around the walls gazed at her, impassive, and Violet closed her eyes and slept, exhausted. Had she been less tired, she might have taken the time to realise that Monica wasn’t the only one whose period was late.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Stuart recognised her when she returned to Garland and Sons funeral directors the following morning.

‘Miss Spencer,’ he said.

She pulled the paperwork her mother had supplied her with from her bag.

‘I’d like to collect my grandmother’s ashes please,’ she said. ‘Monica Spencer.’

Stuart looked down at the certificates and reached for his ledger. ‘I think these are all in order,’ he said, reaching for his pen.

She watched as he inscribed the ledger with the details from Monica’s death certificate. Back at home, her mother had pressed it into her shaking hands, tearful as she explained that, although there had been a small ceremony for her mother in the family church, Henry had chosen to leave Monica’s actual ashes in Swallow Beach because it was the place she’d loved most in the world.

Vi watched Stuart scrutinise the paperwork and then complete a detailed entry in his book, pulling out a red stamp to annotate the ashes as collected. She held her breath as he pressed the stamp into the ink and then stamped it firmly in the box, feeling a sense of relief that Monica wasn’t going to spend even one more night unclaimed.

‘Will you require any assistance to arrange an internment ceremony, Miss Spencer?’

Vi paused, then realised he was referring to a burial of the ashes. ‘Oh, no thank you. No. I’ve got all of that in hand already, thank you.’

Clutching the ashes to her chest like precious cargo, she turned and left the undertakers.

When Violet arrived back at the pier half an hour later, Lucy asked if everyone on site could gather in her studio as soon as possible.

‘I’m leaving,’ she said. ‘This morning. Now. I’m sorry to drop this on you all like this, and Vi, I’ll pay three months’ rent or something to give you time to re-let this place, but I have to go right now.’

‘What’s happened?’ Violet said, frightened because it was clear from Lucy’s face and demeanour that something was seriously wrong. Her usually made-up face was makeup free, and her dark curls had been hurriedly dragged back into a ponytail.

Lucy looked towards the door. ‘My ex-husband has found us.’ She glanced around the room from face to confused face. ‘For those of you who don’t know, and why would you, Ian’s a violent bastard of a man, and the only reason he’s come for me is to cause trouble.’

‘Oh shit,’ Vi murmured, worried for Lucy and Charlie.

‘What do you mean, he’s found you?’ Keris asked, urgent. ‘Has he hurt you, Luce? Because the police …’

‘No, he hasn’t. I haven’t seen him, but he’s made sure I know he’s here.’ Lucy shuddered. ‘He was in my house yesterday while I was out. He left yellow roses in my kitchen as a calling card, the only flowers he ever bought me, usually to say sorry for the last beating.’

‘Christ,’ Keris said.

‘So what, you’re just going to run away?’ Beau said, clearly furious. ‘Wait for him to catch up with you in the next place, then run again?’

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