Page 19 of The Love Letter
Joanna bit her lip, feeling genuine grief for the old lady, and waited for Muriel to continue.
‘I didn’t bother her for a few days, thought I’d let her settle in before I made myself known to her as her neighbour. But she never seemed to leave the house, so one day I knocked on the door. I was worried, see, with her being so frail and no one coming in or out of that awful, damp old place, but I got no reply. It must have been the middle of December when I heard a cry from the passage. Like a kitten it was, so weak and small. And there she was, on the floor of the passageway, in her coat an’ all. She’d stumbled over her doorstep and couldn’t get up. Naturally, I helped her, brought her in here, sat her down and made her a strong cup of tea, just like I’ve made you today.’
‘If only I’d known just how frail she was,’ Joanna said, the lie slipping uneasily from her lips. ‘She always sounded so bright in her letters to me.’
‘If it’s any comfort, we all say that after the event, dear. I had a bloomin’ great big row with my Stanley and he went and dropped down dead of a heart attack the next day. Anyway, I asked your aunt where she’d moved from. She said she’d been abroad for many, many years and had only come back recently. I asked if she had relatives here and she shook her head, saying most of them were still abroad. She must have meant you, dear. Then I told her if she wanted bits of shopping done or medicines fetching for her, she only had to ask. I remember her thanking me very polite like for my offer and asking if I’d get her some tins of soup. That’s where she’d been going when she fell, see.’ Muriel shook her head. ‘I asked her whether she wanted me to call the doctor to see about her fall, but she refused. When it was time to take her back to her flat, the poor old girl could hardly stand. I had to help her every inch of the way. Well, when I saw that miserable, miserable room that she lived in, with all them tea chests and that awful pong, I tell you, I was shocked.’
‘Auntie always was eccentric,’ Joanna threw in lamely.
‘Yeah, well, excuse me for saying, but I’d reckon unhygienic too, poor old biddy. Of course, I suggested I call social services, see if they could send someone in, get meals on wheels and a district nurse to bathe her, but she got so upset I thought she’d peg out then and there. So I left it at that, but I insisted I should have a key to her front door. I said to her, what if you was to fall again and the door was locked and I couldn’t get in to help you? So she finally agreed. I promised that all I’d do was to pop in once in a while and check on her. She went on an’ on about the key and keeping it safe and telling no one I had a spare.’ Muriel sighed and shook her head. ‘She was a funny old buzzard all round. More tea?’
‘Yes please. Auntie always did value her independence.’ Joanna gave in and reached for a chocolate digestive.
‘Yeah, and look where it left her.’ Muriel sniffed as she topped up Joanna’s cup. ‘Well now, I did pop in to check on her once a day from then on in. She was usually in bed, propped up with cushions, writing letters that I’d pop in the postbox for her, or sometimes dozing. I got into the habit of taking her some tea, or a cup-a-soup and a piece of toast. I didn’t stay very long, I admit. The smell made me queasy. And then Christmas arrived. I went to see my daughter down in Southend, but I came back on Boxing Day. And sitting on the table in the passage was a card. I took it inside to open it.’
Joanna leant forward. ‘Was it from Auntie?’
‘Yes. A beautiful Christmas card it was, you know, one of them expensive ones you buy separately and not in a pack. She’d written inside in ink, in that beautiful old-fashioned style of hers. “Muriel, thank you for your friendship. I will treasure it always, Rose.”’ Muriel wiped a tear away from her eye. ‘Made me cry, that card did. Your auntie must have been a lady – well educated. And to see her brought to that . . .’ Muriel shook her head. ‘I went to knock on her door to say thank you for the card and persuaded her to come in to warm up by the fire with a mince pie.’
‘Thank you. You’ve been so kind to her.’
‘Least I could do. She was no bother. We had a nice chat, actually. I asked her about her family again, if she’d had kids. She turned dead pale, then shook her head and changed the subject. I didn’t press her. I could see that over Christmas she’d got even weaker. There was nothing of her, just skin and bone. An’ that terrible cough had got worse. Then, just after Christmas, my sister in Epping took ill and asked me if I could go and stay with her for a week to look after her. I went, of course, and got back only a couple of days before the poor old thing died.’
‘And she gave you the letter to post?’
‘Yes. I went in to check on her the evening I arrived back. In a shocking state she was, shaking, jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof. And her eyes . . . they had this look . . . I dunno.’ Muriel shivered. ‘Anyway, she handed me the letter, begged me to post it for her urgently. I said of course I would. Then she grabbed my hand and squeezed it, really tight, and handed me a small box. She asked me to open it, and there inside was a beautiful gold locket. Not my style, of course, too delicate for me, but you could see the workmanship was good and the gold was solid. Obviously, I said immediately I couldn’t accept such an expensive gift, but she insisted I keep the locket, got really upset when I tried to give it back to her. Quite affected me it did. I went back to my own place and decided then and there that I was getting a doctor to her the next day, whatever she said. But the next day, it was too late.’
‘Oh Muriel, if only I’d known . . .’
‘Don’t go blaming yourself. It’s me that should have posted the letter immediately like she’d asked me to. But if it’s any comfort to you, she passed away before it would have arrived. I found her at ten the next morning, lying at the bottom of her stairs, like I told you. Do you want a brandy? I could do with one, I tell you.’
‘No thanks, but you go ahead.’ Whilst Muriel went into the kitchen to fix herself the drink, Joanna pondered what she had learnt so far.
‘I wonder what Auntie was doing at the foot of the stairs?’ mused Joanna as Muriel came back. ‘If she was that frail, there was surely no way she could have climbed them alone?’
‘That’s what I told the ambulance man when he arrived,’ Muriel said. ‘He reckoned she’d broken her neck, and the big bruises on her head and her arms and legs said to him that she had fallen right the way down. I said then and there that Rose could never have got up the stairs alone. Besides –’ Muriel shrugged – ‘why would she want to? The upstairs was deserted.’ She blushed slightly. ‘I went and had a dekko once, just out of curiosity, like.’
Joanna frowned. ‘That really is very odd.’
‘Isn’t it just! Of course, the police had to be called and they all trooped in and started asking me lots of questions, like who she was and how long she’d lived there and stuff. The whole thing really upset me, it did. When they’d taken her away, I packed a case, called my daughter and went to stay with her for a couple of days . . .’ Muriel reached for her brandy. ‘I was only trying to do my best.’
‘Of course. Do you know where they took her?’
‘To the morgue, I s’pose, to wait for someone to claim her, poor old thing.’
The two women sat silently, gazing into the fire. Joanna was tempted to ask more, but could see how upset Muriel was. Eventually, she said, ‘I suppose I’d better go and see the flat, decide what to do with Auntie’s things.’
‘They’ve gone,’ said Muriel abruptly.
‘What? Where?’
‘I dunno. I told you I stayed down at my daughter’s for a couple of days afterwards. When I came back I let myself into her flat, to lay the ghost as much as anything else, and the whole place had been emptied. There’s nothing in there now, nothing at all.’
‘But . . . who would have taken everything? All those tea chests!’
‘I thought that mebbe the family had been notified and come over to clear the place out. Have you got any family here that might have done it?’
‘Er . . . no, I haven’t. They’re all abroad, like Rose said. There’s only me here in England . . .’ Joanna’s voice trailed off. ‘Why has everything gone?’
