Page 5 of Secrets and Seashells at Rainbow Bay
I hate myself for thinking it, but how I miss our old three-bedroomed house with its built-in washing machine and tumble dryer. When we lived there I’d totally taken it all for granted – the fancy appliances, the central heating, our little garden at the back where Charlie had taken his first steps across the grass on a warm spring day not unlike this one.
But that had all been taken away from us when Charlie’s dad abandoned us. He’d simply left for work one day and never come back. I’d been beside myself with worry, and about to call the police, when I found his note. It had fallen down from our kitchen table on to the floor, and in my panic I hadn’t seen it until the following day.
I know the words on that note will be etched in my head for ever.
Amelia,
I’m so sorry but I just can’t live this lie any more.
I need to get away for a while to get my head together.
Tell Charlie I love him.
G x
I shake my head to rid my mind of the words that have poisoned my thoughts for too long.I just can’t live this lie any more . . .No, I refuse to let you come back to haunt me. Charlie and I have moved on from you now.
We’ve moved on several times, actually. From our original family home when I defaulted on the mortgage, to several different flats when the council kept moving us around between temporary accommodation, before they could house us more permanently. Finally, we settled at the small flat we’re in now, which compared to some of the places we’ve found ourselves living in is a virtual palace. Is it ideal? No. Perfect? Far from it. But it is warm – most of the time – our neighbours are friendly, and most importantly, until yesterday I’d had no doubt that Charlie is getting on okay at school.
A little more money would come in handy, of course; I still struggle to pay all our bills on the part-time wage I bring home and the benefits I receive, so yesterday I’d desperately hoped that this Alexander chap was going to tell me that’s what I’d inherited when we’d got cut off. Just a small amount of extra cash would be incredibly helpful right now, and could tide me over until I got a full-time job again.
But on the bright side, my benefit money should come through in a couple of days, so until then, when I’ll be able to top up my phone with the minimum credit and phone him back, I’ll simply have to wait and hope.
I walk up the stairs so deep in thought about what the contents of this inheritance could be that I barely notice a man standing on my landing leaning out over the top of the railings.
‘Ms Chesterford?’ a deep, curiously familiar voice asks.
I jump. ‘Who wants to know?’ I ask automatically, even though I know within two seconds the voice belongs to the same person I’d been talking to on the phone last night.
The man looks surprised. ‘Alexander Benjamin. I spoke with you yesterday evening?’
I look at the man no longer leaning on the railings, but standing upright in front of me. He’s tall and impeccably dressed in a pair of smart grey trousers, a blue open-necked shirt and shiny tan brogues. He carries a matching suit jacket over one arm, and a tan briefcase to complement his shoes in the other.
‘Oh yes, hello again. But what are you doing here on my landing?’
‘We got cut off – at a most untimely moment, if I may say – and I hoped we might continue our conversation in person?’
‘Er . . . ’ I think about the inside of the flat. Charlie and I were late getting up this morning because I overslept, after lying awake into the early hours thinking about the letter. The flat really isn’t looking its best on the other side of the door right now. ‘Yes, of course; perhaps we could go and get a coffee somewhere?’ The minute I say this I regret it. The cost of a cappuccino at the nearest coffee shop will take the contents of my purse down to approximately £4.64, and that’s if I only have to pay for my own.
Alexander glances at my door and then at my anxious face and quickly says, ‘Why not? The coffee is on me, of course.’
Although I hate myself for doing so, I don’t contradict him. I just smile and say thank you. Then I lead him back down the stairs – apologising for the faulty lift, and then we’re back out into the sunshine, where everything immediately seems better.
‘There’s quite a nice coffee shop over on the high street, if that’s all right with you?’ I ask.
‘Perfect.’
Alexander has long legs to match his height and I have to hurry along to keep up with him as we walk together towards the coffee shop.
‘After you,’ he says, holding the door open for me as we arrive.
‘Thank you,’ I say, touched by his polite gesture. Manners are always important to me.
We order two cups of coffee, which Alexander pays for, and then we sit at a quiet table by the window.
‘Now,’ Alexander says, ‘firstly you told me last night you would prefer it if I called you Amelia, is that still correct?’
‘Yes,’ I say, taking another sip of my coffee. It’s such a treat to taste good coffee again. My daily cup has come from a jar for so long now I’ve almost forgotten what freshly brewed coffee tastes like.
