Gideon took the key out of her trembling fingers. ‘Are you okay?’
Kate looked up at him. ‘I think I’ve finally realised she’s gone.’
He smiled grimly and fitted the key into the lock. ‘I’ll bring in the box of bits Debbie’s put together for you,’ he said as the front door swung open. ‘Go on in.’
She did as he said, stepping on to the encaustic tiled hallway. Aunt Babs had loved this floor. She’d spent hours on her hands and knees keeping it pristine with some secret mixture of linseed oil and turpentine. Kate let her fingers run along the dado rail. It was all exactly the same. Like walking into a memory.
It was impossible to believe Aunt Babs wouldn’t appear from the kitchen, a warm smile of welcome on her face. The house was eerily quiet. No sound of a radio blaring away in the background. Just the steady beat of the old hall clock on the wall.
Kate bent down to pick up the day’s post, which was sitting on the ‘welcome’ hearth mat. She’d take these to Debbie’s in the morning. See if they needed to contact anyone. She laid them down on the hall table and walked into the lounge.
A couple of cardboard boxes stood in the centre of the floor, a pile of photograph albums lay on the coffee table. Debbie must have decided it was time to start sorting out her mum’s belongings.
Kate took in a sudden intake of breath. It was going to be a difficult job. Painful. Perhaps she could help with that? Maybe she could assuage her conscience by ringing Debbie and offering to make a start on the kitchen cupboards? That would be a horrid job.
Dimly she heard Gideon walk back into the house. She heard his feet on the hard floor of the hallway. ‘Kate?’
‘In here,’ she called back. ‘I’m in here.’
She walked slowly over to the dark wood chiffonier and picked up a photograph in a bright silver frame. It showed Aunt Babs, Debbie and Kate—the three of them. They were sitting under a gnarled apple tree, the trunk so far twisted it had been propped up by a piece of old fencing.
God only knew why Aunt Babs had kept it out all these years. It wasn’t a great photo and the apple tree had long since died, blown over in a heavy storm. She couldn’t remember what year.
But she remembered the photo being taken. It had not been long after she’d first arrived and she’d been painfully shy. Scared, too. Very uncertain whether she’d be staying for a week or a month.
Kate reached out and traced her finger across Aunt Babs’s face. It had never entered her head then that she might be staying for good. That she’d finally found her home.
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