Never Say Goodbye (5 page)

‘Sssh, ssh,’ Bel soothed. ‘We’ll get this sorted out, don’t worry. You just wait here . . . Tell you what, why don’t you finish off your notes to Santa?’

Feeling terrible for abandoning them when they were understandably distressed and confused, she went back to the front door where Lisa Peters had now apparently finished her call.

‘Is this about my brother-in-law?’ Bel asked, terrified, but needing to know. ‘Is he all right?’

Lisa Peters raised a hand, palm forward. ‘I don’t know anything about your brother-in-law,’ she told her, ‘but I do need to speak to your sister.’

Finding it hard to think straight through so much confusion and relief, Bel said, ‘I’ve just told you, she died fifteen months ago – and the children inside are hers, so I’d appreciate it if you don’t do any more to upset them.’

Lisa Peters had the grace to flush. ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised. She glanced at her fellow officer. ‘I guess that’s that then,’ she said, and to Bel’s amazement she started back to the car.

‘Just a minute,’ Bel called after them. ‘I need to know what this is about.’

Turning round, Lisa Peters said, ‘You might have heard on the news that a girl was found dead in the early hours of yesterday morning.’

Certain the world was going slightly mad, Bel asked, ‘What does that have to do with my sister?’

Peters held out a crumpled card. ‘We found this in the victim’s coat pocket.’

Taking it, Bel’s mouth dried as she recognised Talia’s writing, her own name and Bel’s address. ‘Who is the girl?’ she asked hoarsely.

‘We haven’t been able to identify her yet,’ Lisa Peters told her. ‘We were hoping your sister might be able to help.’

Bel could only look at her. ‘Where . . . How did she die?’ she finally managed.

‘She was found under the viaduct out past Temple Fields,’ Peters replied. ‘We’ll know more about the cause after the autopsy.’

Imagining the rat-infested, syringe-littered netherworld of Kesterly’s down and outs, Bel said, ‘Have you tried talking to anyone at the Wayfarer Centre?’

Peters seemed interested. ‘One of my colleagues is there now,’ she informed her. ‘Do you have a connection with the place?’

‘My sister used to help out on occasion. It could be that this girl was one of the homeless and Talia told her to be in touch if she needed to.’

‘But you say your sister’s been dead for fifteen months.’

‘Do you know how long the girl had the card?’ Bel countered.

Peters’s face tightened, showing she didn’t. ‘Out of interest,’ she said, ‘how did your sister die?’

Thrown by the insinuation that it might in some way be linked to these enquiries, Bel said, ‘She had cancer.’

‘I see. I’m sorry. Well, thanks for your help, Mrs . . .?’

‘Miss,’ Bel corrected. ‘Monkton.’

‘We’ll be in touch if we need to speak to you again.’

Suddenly stupidly wanting to cry, Bel closed the door and stood against it, listening as the police car drove away. For a few wildly insane moments she’d actually found herself wondering if Talia was still alive, if the nightmare of her illness, the heartbreak of her death had been some cruel figment of her imagination.

Tensing as the bell at the gates sounded again, she pulled open the door, expecting to find the police had come back. It turned out to be the Christmas tree. A godsend, since it would help to distract the children from the shock of wondering if their mother was still alive.

Half an hour later, with no repeat visit from the police and the deliverymen gone, the tree was proudly positioned next to the hearth, and Bel was pouring herself a large glass of wine.

‘Once it’s lit,’ she told the children, who were gazing up at it in awe, ‘it’s going to be the loveliest tree in Kesterly.’

‘No, in England,’ Oscar cried.

‘The whole wide world,’ Nell insisted.

‘The universe,’ Oscar one-upped.

‘Whatever, we’re going to love it,’ Bel assured them, ‘and that’s all that matters. So, who’s ready to help me bring down the other ornaments?’

‘They’re already here, silly,’ Nell reminded her. ‘We did it this morning. Can I be the first one to hang something up?’

‘You’re always first,’ Oscar argued.

‘I’m not, am I, Auntie Bel? You are, because you’re the oldest, but I think I should be this time, or it’s not fair.’

‘Tell you what, why don’t we toss a coin?’ Bel suggested. ‘Winner hangs the first ornament; loser switches on the lights.’

Seeming happy with that they set about unpacking the old ornaments, while Bel, still inwardly shocked and shaken by the police visit, began removing labels and price tags from their day’s purchases. She could think of a dozen questions she wanted to ask now, and only wished she’d had the wit to at the time, but it had all happened so quickly.

Maybe she should contact Lisa Peters tomorrow to find out more. Or maybe she should try getting hold of Nick in Peru. But what could he do, apart from share in her shock? And would he really want to be bothered with it while on honeymoon?

Whatever she decided, she wasn’t going to let anything spoil this day for the children. They were so happy and excited, and ready now to start filling up on the shepherd’s pie they’d helped her to prepare this morning. After that, they were going to cosy into one of the sofas to watch
The Polar Express.

This evening had to be about them, at least until they went to bed. After that, well, perhaps by then she’d be able to think more clearly about what, if anything, she should do.

‘Bel! Can you hear me?’

‘Yes, I can hear you,’ Bel answered, struggling awake. ‘What time is it, for heaven’s sake?’

‘Uh, it’s just after midnight with me, so it must be . . . Eight in the morning with you?’

‘Five,’ she corrected, glancing at the clock. Wasn’t it just like Nick to get the time difference wrong?

‘Oh no, sorry. Go back to sleep. I’ll call again . . .’

‘It’s OK, I’m awake now. How are you?’

‘Yeah, we’re great. Fascinating place. How about you? Are the kids behaving themselves?’

Picturing them snuggled up in their own rooms across the landing, Bel smiled as she said, ‘Of course. We got a Christmas tree yesterday.’

‘A tree! I bet they loved that. We’ll have to get another as soon as I’m back.’

Of course, it mattered much more that they should have one at their own home than it did having one here. ‘We can arrange for it to be delivered,’ she offered, ‘to make sure you don’t miss out. Anyway, let me go and get them . . .’

‘No, no. Leave them to sleep. I’ll catch up with them later. Tell me about you. What’s been happening over there?’

‘Actually,’ she said, more awake now the memory of the police visit had kicked in, ‘you’re not going to believe this. The police were here yesterday looking for Talia.’

‘What!’ he exclaimed. ‘How can that be?’

After explaining about Talia’s name and Bel’s address being found on a dead girl, she said, ‘They don’t know who she is yet, but I’m sure she must be someone Talia met at the homeless shelter. It would explain why she had Talia’s name but my address. Do you remember how Talia used to do that to prevent anyone turning up at your place in case the children were there?’

‘Yeah, I guess that makes sense,’ he concurred, ‘but for the girl to still have Talia’s details after all this time . . . It could be as long as two years or more since Talia last saw her.’

‘True, but if Talia was kind to her at a time when she was at her lowest, it’s likely she’d hold on to the details like some sort of lifeline.’

‘Indeed, though it still doesn’t help explain who she is. How did she die?’

‘I don’t know, but she was found under the viaduct.’

‘Mm, so probably drug-related, and now they’re trying to trace her family?’

‘I guess so. I’m going to get in touch with the police again later, see if there’s any more news. Anyway, tell me about you. How’s it going over there?’

He gave an ecstatic-sounding sigh. ‘Where to begin?’ he responded. ‘Actually, I ought to put Kristina on, she’s better with the words than I am and I know she’d love to talk to you.’

Wishing he wouldn’t, but unable to stop him without causing offence, Bel waited for his new wife to come on the line.

‘Bel!’ Kristina cried, as though she was Bel’s best friend. ‘How are you? Have you seen any of the wedding photos yet?’

‘Yes, they’re lovely,’ Bel assured her, because they were. ‘Did you get the link? Have you seen them yourself?’

‘Yes, we’re so happy with them. Aren’t they gorgeous of the kids? And there are some beautiful shots of you.’

Nick suddenly came back on the line. ‘I promise you, I’ll never . . .’ he called out laughingly, but whatever he went on to say was lost as the connection failed.

Putting the phone back on the nightstand, Bel lay in the darkness listening to the rain beating the windows, while trying to imagine where Nick and Kristina were now. It wasn’t easy to picture their surroundings, since the Sacred Valley of the Incas didn’t feature amongst the many places in the world Bel had visited. Nick and Kristina, archaeologists both, had joined a dig for their honeymoon. This was how they’d met, on a project somewhere in Israel, where Nick had gone in an effort to escape his grief after Natalia’s death.

Try as Bel might, she simply couldn’t understand how Nick had found himself able to marry again so soon. It didn’t make any sense to her, when he’d always been so crazy about Talia. How had he got over the loss so quickly, when so much of Talia was still all around them? He hadn’t even emptied her wardrobes or cleared away the photographs by the time he’d brought Kristina home to meet Oscar and Nell.

Five months after that, he and Kristina had tied the knot, and now there they were, in the depths of Peru, probably not thinking about Talia at all, while Bel hardly ever stopped. How on earth was she going to accept Kristina into the family when everything about her presence felt wrong? It wasn’t that she disliked the woman – under any other circumstances she was sure they’d get along well. Kristina had apparently been good friends with Talia when they’d spent time in Egypt together during their uni days, though Bel had no recollection of Talia ever mentioning anyone of that name back then.

It didn’t mean anything; she and Talia had made plenty of friends and acquaintances over the years that the other knew nothing about. They hadn’t gone to the same uni, or chosen the same subjects, nor had they shared a home after graduating and moving to London. By then Talia had been with Nick, so they had found a place together, while she, Bel, all fired up about winning an internship at Tate Modern, had splashed out on a studio close to the river at Limehouse.

Though she and Talia had inherited a small fortune from their beloved mother after her untimely death while they were still in their teens, their father had tried to pay for everything back then, because that was what their father did, try to throw money at his daughters. Or, put more accurately, at his guilt. Presumably he thought he was buying off his conscience, or perhaps buying their silence, and Bel supposed that in a way he’d acquired the latter. They never talked about him to anyone; as far as they were concerned, it was as if he was dead. The tragedy of it, at least to Bel and Talia, was that their mother had seemed to love him in spite of his violence. She’d even considered him a doting father, or as doting as he could be given his own torturous past. Bel didn’t know too much about that, nor did she want to. She only felt relieved that after their mother’s death their father, a prolific and highly regarded artist, had taken himself off to some Pacific island where he could, presumably, indulge his passions more freely without ever having contact with his daughters again.

He hadn’t even returned for Talia’s funeral, and Bel was profoundly glad of that, since she knew he was the last person on earth Talia would have wanted there.

Her eyes closed as the pain of her sister’s loss surged through her in a relentless wave of longing.

Was a day ever going to dawn when she didn’t wish for Talia to be alive again, when she wouldn’t imagine how happy she’d feel if she could go downstairs and find her preparing breakfast in her usual way?

‘Morning Bel,’ she’d say, her tousled blonde hair flattened in a whorl at the crown of her head, her blue eyes sparkling with both mischief and empathy. ‘Are you OK? Did you sleep well?’

‘I think so,’ Bel would answer, ‘apart from a terrible dream in which one of us had to die and it ended up being you.
’

Knowing Talia she’d find that funny, or accuse her of having drunk too much wine the night before, and minutes later it would be forgotten. The past three and a half years would be compressed into nothing; the shock, the fear, the loss of everything that mattered would never have happened.

Why had death reached out for someone so young and passionate as Natalia? What possible good could ever come out of using cancer to take a mother from her small children? No more good than had been achieved by giving her and Talia the father they’d had.

Talia had always been the quieter of the twins, the most thoughtful and probably the easiest to love. Their mother would have denied that, of course, but by the time it had occurred to Bel that Talia possessed qualities she didn’t have, their mother had no longer been with them. And she, Bel, was to blame for that.

Since losing them both Bel had become a shadow, an inwardly tormented version of the woman she used to be, unless the children were with her. She loved it when they were around. Life felt worth living then, since they gave her a sense of purpose, a hope and desperately needed feeling that Talia was still close. She knew how selfish that was, that she shouldn’t put such a burden on their tender shoulders, but she was careful never to talk about their mother unless they asked her to, nor to let them know how wretched she felt every time their father came to take them home.

Thankfully they only lived ten minutes away by car, and of course she was welcome to visit at any time. Even Kristina was at pains to assure her that the door was always open. Bel couldn’t help but admire her for that, since she wasn’t sure she’d be quite as generous in Kristina’s shoes. On the other hand, it clearly suited Kristina – and Nick – to have a devoted aunt on tap. It allowed them to travel at the drop of a hat, as Nick had done with Talia before the children came along. Bel would always be there, the children were safe and happy with her, so they could focus on raking up the past in far-flung corners of the globe while Bel tried to deal with today, and tomorrow.