Page 2 of Secrets and Seashells at Rainbow Bay
‘Perhaps,’ I say diplomatically.Or perhaps we shouldn’t have had to move here in the first place. ‘Anyway, this is the situation we find ourselves in now your dad’s gone, so we have to make the best of what we’ve got. And,’ I remind him, ‘we must remember that just because other people think and do things differently to us, it doesn’t meanwehave to, does it? Does it?’ I ask again, ruffling Charlie’s sandy hair. ‘You’re your own person, Charlie, with your own thoughts and opinions; don’t let anyone tell you differently.’
Charlie nods.
‘And remember, everyone is equal in this world. Just because some people are lucky enough to have comfortable lives and plenty of money, doesn’t make them any better than those that don’t.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘Good boy. Now, as long as these new friends don’t get you into any trouble,’ I warn him, ‘or affect your school work, then I’m happy for you to continue hanging out with them – okay?’
Charlie smiles.
‘Just don’t tell Mrs Greening, all right?’ I wink at him.
He winks back. ‘You’re the best, Mum!’
‘I know.’ I grin. ‘Now, what would you like for tea? I got some pizza in earlier, how about that?’
Charlie’s smile broadens. Pizza is his favourite.
We walk the rest of the way back to the Spencer estate, the place we’ve called home for the last six months. It’s not ideal, and probably not where I’d have chosen to bring up my son, but currently it is all we can afford.
We both look hopefully at the lift as we enter the building where our fourth-floor flat is, but it still has an out-of-order sign hanging from its doors.
‘Looks like it’s the stairs again,’ I say brightly. ‘At least it keeps us fit!’
We race each other up the staircase – a game we’ve played far too often since we moved in here, with Charlie as always getting there first. Then I unlock our door, and let us into our flat. While I carefully lock and bolt the three locks on the back of the door behind us, Charlie heads off to wash his hands, knowing he won’t be allowed any snacks until he’s done just that.
There’s a pile of letters on the floor by the door.Bills, no doubt, I think, barely glancing at them. Instead, I toss them on the little wooden table by the door, planning to look at them later when Charlie isn’t around. At least two of them will have bright red writing somewhere on the envelope, and I don’t want Charlie to worry. He’s a smart kid for ten, but he already knows far too much about the adult world for my liking.
There’s another pile of envelopes on the table that I didn’t deal with yesterday, so my new bundle simply slides off the top of them and on to the floor.
Damn, I think, bending down to pick them up. I begin to stack them into a neat pile, but one envelope stands out from the others – instead of having a clear window with my name and address typed neatly into it, this one is handwritten in black ink, and the envelope is made out of a thick, cream paper.
I turn it over in case there’s a return address, but it’s blank.
‘Mum, can I have a biscuit?’ Charlie calls from the kitchen. ‘I’ve washed my hands.’
‘Sure,’ I call back absent-mindedly, still looking at the envelope. ‘Only one, mind; we’ll probably have dinner early.’
I tear open the envelope, still having no idea who it might be from. Inside is a piece of equally thick paper, and the text covering it is also handwritten.
Dear Ms Chesterford,
Wait, that’s what’s unusual about the envelope – I knew there was something other than the writing. It’s addressed to my maiden name of Chesterford.
I haven’t been known as Amelia Chesterford for eleven years. How strange?I continue to read:
I write to you today with what I hope will be good news.
My name is Alexander Benjamin, and I am a genealogist. I was recently hired by the law firm Davies & Davies to find the beneficiary of an estate that came into their possession some months ago.
I am delighted to inform you that after much research, I now believe that the beneficiaries of this estate may be yourself and your son, Charles.
So I write today to ask if you would initially confirm that you are indeed Amelia Jane Chesterford, your date of birth is 1 November 1980, and you were born in St Mildred’s Hospital, Southampton. We may then proceed further with the application for you and your son to inherit the estate known currently as Article C.
You may contact me in any of the ways listed at the top of this letter. But I ask that you do so, please, at your earliest convenience.
Yours sincerely,
