Page 7 of Will You Stay Another Day?
‘You’re only going to tie yourself in knots, petal. Delete those messages. Throw away the list. Oh, I wish it wasn’t true, sweetheart, but believe us, our Em isn’t coming back.’
‘Not everything in life has an explanation,’ said Colin, the bags under his eyes looking even heavier than usual. ‘I realised that when Em died, and it makes things a little easier. Technology gets bugs and faults. That’s all those texts are. Or someone with a warped sense of humour, so don’t feed their nastiness by trying to find out their identity. Don’t go to that hopeless place and try to locate the phone. We’ve closed all of Em’s accounts. It’s only got the photos on and you reckon you’ve probably got copies of a lot of them. Shirl’s right. Give it up.’
‘I did request a call but got no reply.’
‘There’s your answer,’ said Shirl in a gentle tone. ‘If it was Em, she’d have dialled back straight away, probably have called in the first place…’
Would she? What if she was scared of a backlash for putting her loved ones through the last twelve months?
‘…whereas if it’s a prankster and not some kind of technical fault, they’re probably too much of a coward to actually speak to you.’
Lili gave them each a big hug. Apologised if she’d upset them. They both said not to be silly and that they’d arrange another pizza night again soon. When the front door closed, Lili took the list out of her pocket. She walked over to the public bin, on the pavement where she’d parked her car, and was about to throw it in when a leaflet caught her eye. It lay on top of a squashed Coke bottle, almost as if someone had put it there just for her. She picked it up and the words jumped out.
Wellness and Craft fair, Jubilee Hall, Mevagissey. Psychic readings.
5
Lili yawned, exhausted even though it was only Wednesday. Thank goodness it was almost time to close. She’d decided not to text Em’s number again until she’d completed her investigations and found out exactly who – or what – she was dealing with. Lili had a plan in place that would kick off as soon as she cashed up and could get to that wellness and craft fair that ran from two until seven. At lunchtime, needing fresh air, she’d popped into the She Sells café, right on the harbour front – such a pretty setting, with pastel houses dotted across the surrounding hillside. The other café she frequented, Crystoffees, wasn’t quite as big. Its name was a fusion of the words ‘crystal’ and ‘coffee’ because half of its floor space was given over to the crystal-selling side that Em had once managed, always carrying a lump of citrine in her pocket on work days, saying it gave her energy, not that Em needed extra.
At least not until the months before her death. Sean, her long-term boyfriend – well, long for her at six months – had been hiding a secret. His parting gift, on their last night together, had been to give her whiplash from a car accident. He’d been driving and inadvertently let slip his betrayal after Em questioned him about why he hadn’t returned her call the evening before. He’d mounted the pavement and crashed into a lamppost. Despite having physiotherapy, it left her with backache for months. For the first time in her life, dynamo Em couldn’t rush around, go clubbing, swim in the sea, or do a little dance every time something pleased her, from a half-price cocktail to getting her wages.
Ohhhh.
Lili’s breath caught as a memory came back from when Em’s back was bad. She was on painkillers and dwelling on Sean’s lies. The two of them had been sitting in the back garden, chuckling at a seagull stomping on the lawn to draw out worms. There’d been a right hullabaloo at the front of the house. A canoe had fallen off the top of a passing car.
‘Remember the canoe man, John Darwin, who went missing and faked his death, Lili? He was all over the news when we were little.’
‘We made up stories about the fantastical lands we would disappear to.’
‘Wouldn’t it be great to disappear for a while?’ she’d muttered. ‘No social media. No responsibilities. No stupid ex-boyfriends or useless physio appointments.’
A burst of joy made Lili glow from head to toe. She’d not taken Em seriously at the time, but what if that had been the beginning of her friend making a plan? What if Colin and Shirl were wrong?
Tommo came downstairs from the stockroom of the shop, his loud footsteps bringing her back to the present, those footsteps also quicker than normal. He looked like a fisherman with his wispy white hair and beard, the baggy corduroy trousers and his trademark colourful braces. Countless villagers seemed to have cleared out their lofts last weekend. Black dustbin bags had been left in the car park out the back, full of musty-smelling books, clothes, ornaments and toys. Retired Tommo had only just finished sorting through them. He volunteered frequently since losing his husband. He’d never forgotten a period in his life when he’d been homeless and had had to couch-surf. He was in today, and he’d heaved the bags upstairs on his back, one by one, like a diligent Santa. Only difference was he rode a motorbike and not a sleigh and would never have delivered presents in time due to his frequent cigarette breaks.
Eagerly, Tommo held out a worn-looking green book with a duck on the front. He gave a raspy cough, not due to smoking, he’d insist, but supposed pollution from the nearby harbour. ‘A Beatrix Potter first edition! I’d bet my last stick of rock that this is worth something.’
Lili examined the inside. ‘Wow, you could be right!’ They pored over the dates inside and Lili looked it up on her phone. ‘Let’s get it properly priced.’ Rare finds, by the staff, never landed on the shelf, but were sold off by Ware & Care to raise as much money as possible.
‘Joe would have wanted to see it, being such an avid reader,’ said Tommo. He sighed and rubbed his hip. ‘I still haven’t thrown away all his books, even though it’s been two years. He threatened to haunt me if I ever gave away his Lee Child collection and tried to make me promise to read them when he’d gone, during his last chemo session.’
‘Have you?’
‘What do you think?’ he said gruffly, and she laughed. ‘More of a movie man, myself. As a compromise I’ve watched the Jack Reacher films and Joe’s not made the lights flicker or blown cold air down my neck yet.’
She went to speak but changed her mind.
‘What?’
‘Oh, nothing…’ She pointed at the clock. ‘We’d better get going. I want to visit the fair in Jubilee Hall. It’s running for another hour or so.’
Tommo gave her a fierce look. ‘Spit it out. I may be getting on but you can’t pull any wool over my eyes – not with these glasses on.’ He adjusted his spectacles, the frame ocean blue like his eyes.
She leant against the till counter. ‘How did you… accept, you know, what happened to Joe?’
His face flushed. ‘It’s one year since Em, isn’t it?’
It was so much worse hearing it out loud.
