Elm Tree Road (11 page)

He needn’t have worried. If she died, there would be no one left to remember her child. That was the main
thing that kept her going at the moment; someone had to remember Sarah.

At last Nell braced herself and emptied the contents of the box onto an old blanket spread on the garden path. She got down on her knees beside the papers, some of which had been slightly damaged at one corner by the axe.

Cliff had kept their birth certificates and marriage certificate in this box, she knew. Well, that was what he’d told her, anyway, though she’d never understood why he had to lock them away from her. She’d not seen any of them since the wedding.

She found other papers saying he’d completed his apprenticeship. She tossed those to one side, starting a pile for burning. What use were they to anyone now? After a moment’s thought, she added his birth certificate to them. She kept her own, which was badly stained with water from their first rainy day in Lancashire, and of course, she kept Sarah’s, which was clean and crisp still. The wedding certificate she hesitated over, then put it in the pile of papers to be kept.

Underneath these, she found a large sealed envelope, with ‘WILL’ scrawled on it. So there had been one. It was another thing he hadn’t told her about. Why so much secrecy?

She opened it to find that he’d written it himself. No mistaking that spindly handwriting. The first sentence was full of long words and sounded very official. He must have bought a book to help him; there were self-help books for all sorts of things.

When she read the second paragraph, she gasped in shock and outrage and scanned the rest quickly. Then
she took a deep breath and reread the whole thing more slowly. She couldn’t believe what she’d found. He’d left everything he owned to his parents, to whom he’d also left the guardianship of any children he might have. He said he trusted his parents to look after the money, but feared his wife wasn’t good with it.

Was he allowed to do such a thing? Cut her right out of the will? She didn’t know.

And how dare he tell such lies? She was good with money, always made the housekeeping stretch, never got into debt.

She dashed away a tear that came as much from anger as from pain. She’d stopped loving Cliff even before Sarah had been born, and gradually started to dislike him for his mean penny-pinching ways, always at her expense, never at his own.

The dislike had turned to outright hatred after the explosion, because she believed
he
was responsible for their daughter’s death. Now, this unfairness towards herself only added to the flaming bonfire of hatred he’d created in her.

She studied the will again. She didn’t think it’d been drawn up by a solicitor, because apart from the beginning and ending, every word sounded just like Cliff speaking. Anyway, he was too tight-fisted to pay a lawyer if he could manage without.

She’d never thought she’d be grateful for that meanness, but she was. Because it meant no one else knew about it.

She studied the other signatures. It had been witnessed by two men whose names were printed beneath black squiggles. No one she recognised. Who were they? Whoever they were, just let them try to have this will found.

She admitted to herself then that she was going to burn it.

It was still a while before she could control her anger enough to continue looking through the papers.

She found a bank book and opened it, looking first at the final total. She felt literally sick when she found that he’d saved nearly three hundred pounds over the years since he’d finished his apprenticeship. She’d gone hungry sometimes so that her daughter would eat well. And there’d been no need. No need at all!

He
had never gone hungry. Not once.

Picking up the book she looked at it again. He’d recently deposited twenty-five pounds – the money he’d stolen from their joint account. There was enough to
buy
a decent terraced house, let alone rent one. They needn’t have continued to live in a slum like Willow Court.

Why did he want so much money? What had he been planning to do with it? Run away and leave them penniless?

A well-worn notebook with hard covers gave her the answer – and a further surprise. It must have been written at work because she’d never seen it before. Maybe he hadn’t always been doing overtime for Mr Rayner, but working for himself in the peace of the cluttered workroom.

The book contained details of upholstery and furniture repair businesses for sale. Advertisements cut from the
Rochdale Observer
, the
Manchester Guardian
and the
Manchester Evening News
were pasted to its pages. There were lists of supplies needed to set up as an upholsterer, carefully costed, wages that would have to be paid to an apprentice or a qualified man. Then there were addresses
of manufacturers of upholstery fabrics, webbing and other supplies, with comments on what they were like to deal with and the quality of their goods.

Cliff had been planning to open his own business, but he hadn’t said a word to her about it. Not – one – word.

She realised something else. That was why he’d waited to contact his family. He wanted to present himself to them as a success, not a failure.

For a moment sadness swept through her, sadness for the dreams that would never now come true for him.

But why hadn’t he let her help him? Why keep it such a close-guarded secret?

She didn’t need to think about the answer to that for more than a few seconds. Because he blamed her for his ‘fall’ as he’d called it sometimes. Yet it was he who had forced her and got her pregnant, he who had caused their ‘fall’. He’d never once admitted that, always set it at her door, saying she’d led him on.

She wrapped her arms round herself, feeling both angry and sad, then bent to her task again. What was she going to do with all this stuff? It seemed a shame to just throw the careful calculations away and—

‘Are you all right, Nell?’

She looked up to see Mr Garrett standing near the back door, watching her. Something told her he mustn’t see these papers till she’d decided what to do about them. ‘Yes, thank you. It’s a slow business and very upsetting, but it has to be done. I’m glad now that I’ve started it, though.’

His expression lightened a little. ‘Do you need any help? You have only to ask.’

‘No, thank you. I’ll … um … come to you if there’s
anything I don’t understand. It’s just letters and stuff so far. And his bank book. He had some money saved. Will that come to me now, do you think?’

‘In the absence of a will, I’m fairly certain you’ll get the money.’

But there
was
a will, she thought as she watched the kindly minister walk inside. Mr Garrett wouldn’t have left his wife out of
his
will. Anyone could see how much he loved her and their children.

Once he’d gone into the house, she spread the will open and looked down at it again. Who’d have thought a piece of paper could hurt you so much?

She’d done it before she admitted to herself what she was going to do: stuffed the envelope and paper into her bodice. There was no will now, as far as she was concerned. She’d earned the right to inherit his money by her hard work and thrift, by bearing his child. Just let anyone say different!

Underneath the notebook was another envelope, the last item in the box. She didn’t want to open it, wasn’t sure she could cope with another nasty surprise.

It took her two readings to work out that this was a life insurance policy, one covering both Cliff’s life and hers. And the sum payable to the survivor was …
a thousand pounds
!

She couldn’t breathe at the thought of that huge sum, had to press one hand against her chest to hold her fluttering heart still. Then she looked at the insurance policy again. Perhaps it had run out.

No, it was valid until October.

Did that mean she would get the insurance money?

It was a huge sum, but she would give every penny of it to have her daughter back; yes, even put up with
him
again if she could only hold Sarah in her arms, tickle her, kiss her.

‘I think you’ve done enough for now, dear,’ Mrs Garrett called across the garden. ‘You’re looking very pale and strained.’

Nell looked down. There were no more papers. ‘I’ve finished.’

‘Was it … did you find any bad news?’

‘Some would say it’s good news. Cliff took out an insurance policy on his life. I’m not sure, but I think it’ll bring me some money. I need to ask Mr Garrett about it. I don’t know how to deal with it.’

Nell folded up the papers and put them back into the shattered box. On second thoughts she put the papers she’d intended to burn back with the others, in case they were needed, then got to her feet.

Mrs Garrett was waiting for her in the kitchen. ‘I’m afraid my husband’s gone out, but he’ll be back in an hour or so. The children won’t be back for a while yet and I’ve let Mary go and see her mother for an hour. Could you just keep an eye on things down here while I have a little rest? You know what to say if anyone comes to the door.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Nell knew Mrs Garrett was convinced that ten-minute rests were what kept her going. And she certainly looked refreshed whenever she managed to snatch even this small amount of time for herself.

Feeling guilty, but no less determined, Nell went to stand in the hall and listen, to make sure Mrs Garrett wasn’t
coming down again. She heard the bedroom door open and shut, then the bedsprings creak.

Now was the time to do it.

Slipping across to the old-fashioned kitchen stove, she pulled out Cliff’s will, and without a moment’s hesitation, thrust it into the heart of the fire. She watched as it was quickly consumed, then used the poker to disperse the blackened flakes of burnt paper.

Whoever the witnesses were, there was nothing now to show that the will had ever existed. But even if the witnesses came forward, she would feign ignorance, say she’d never even seen a will, that it hadn’t been among his papers. Then it occurred to her that Cliff wouldn’t have shown them what the will said anyway. As she’d found out to her cost after they married, he was the most secretive person she’d ever met.

She stayed kneeling on the rug in front of the fire, feeling a chill that came not from the wind that was rising outside or the grey clouds starting to cover the blue sky, but from the way her husband had behaved to her.

Shamefully. Cruelly. He hadn’t cared for her at all, had only wanted to use her.

If she didn’t need to keep in touch with his family in case her sister Mattie contacted them, she’d never speak to any of the Greenhills again.

She was glad Frank had gone back to Swindon. She didn’t want him finding out about the insurance policy and she’d hated being with him. The way he’d looked at her, even though she was newly widowed, had shocked her to the core. It wasn’t just the hostility, it was … lust. She shivered at the thought of him even touching her.

When Mr Garrett returned, Nell showed him the papers she’d found.

‘Wasn’t there a will?’

‘There’s no sign of one.’ That was more or less the truth – now.

‘Do you understand about the insurance policy, my dear?’

‘I think so. Cliff’s death means they’ll have to pay me a thousand pounds.’

‘Yes. You’re very fortunate that he was so thoughtful.’

She didn’t comment on that, didn’t want to tell any more lies to this decent man. ‘I don’t know how to claim the money, though.’

‘We can check that with the insurance agent who sold it to him. See, his name and address are here.’

‘Oh, yes. If I do get the money, that means I can get a proper headstone made for Sarah. One with an angel on it, to watch over her.’

‘Will that comfort you, my dear?’

She stared at him, then shook her head slowly. ‘Nothing will really comfort me, but it seems right to mark where she lies. Um …’

‘Is there something else?’

‘There’ll be a lot of money left. What shall I do with it?’

‘You must put it in the bank, where it’ll be safe until you need it and where it will earn you interest. Have you any idea what you’re going to do with yourself once you’ve sorted out your daughter’s headstone?’

She shook her head. ‘Not really. I can’t seem to think clearly.’ She indicated the pile of papers. ‘Will you help me deal with these, please?’

‘I’d be happy to. And you’ll stay with us for the time being?’

‘Yes. I’m grateful for your help. Without you, I’d have been lost.’

‘And Nell … don’t you think it’s time you told your sister what’s happened?’

‘I suppose so.’ She wasn’t looking forward to that.

She wrote a letter to Renie that night, keeping it short. The first tear took her by surprise, and others followed before she could move her head away, so that the ink ran together and words were blotted out. If Renie saw that, she’d quit her job and come running. That mustn’t happen. She didn’t want her own tragedy to spoil her sister’s life.

Nell started again, taking more care with the second letter, ending by begging Renie not to come rushing up to see her.

I won’t be staying here, anyway.

Until she wrote those words, she hadn’t made up her mind about what to do. Now she knew she’d be moving on. She desperately wanted to get away from the pitying looks and hushed voices – and from the memories.

She received a long loving letter from Renie by return of post, and read it only once, because it hurt so sharply to dwell on what had happened.

She kept dreaming of Sarah, woke murmuring her child’s name, wept into the privacy of her pillows every night.

The Garretts gradually resumed a more normal life. The two children not yet at school spent their days playing with their mother and the young nursemaid.

Mrs Garrett seemed to understand that Nell didn’t
want to look after the little ones, so let her help with the housework, which the daily maid, a grim-faced widow of about forty, was grateful for.

In between undertaking various spring-cleaning tasks, Nell went with Mr Garrett to see the bank manager, talked to the local Justice of the Peace, and dealt with the insurance company. She learnt to speak crisply and not let Mr Garrett speak for her, or else the men she had to deal with treated her like a slow-witted child.