family could be, she supposed the children called Lena ‘Nan’ because it was simpler. ‘I never could keep track of you lot. There were so many,’ she said.
Sam laughed; it suited him, he had a face designed for laughter. ‘That’s true. How’s Rose, I always had a bit of a thing for her when I was a kid.’
Edie was surprised at this, Rose must be at least eight years older than Sam. ‘She’s OK, she’s laid up with a broken leg, but getting better. She’s married with twin girls.’
‘Blimey, she never did do anything by halves.’ Sam said.
Edie felt a little wistful that Sam remembered her as annoying and Rose as a paragon. Some things never changed.
‘So, how long are you staying?’
‘As long as it takes to get the house sorted out. By the look of it, that could be some time.’
‘If you’re planning on selling stuff I’ve got a friend who’s an auctioneer, I could get him to call round and take a look if you like?’
‘I’m not sure any of it will be worth much, but that would be helpful. Thanks. I might need a few days to sort through the junk though.’
‘I’ll give you my number, you can call me when you’re ready.’ Sam said, pulling out his mobile phone. He reeled off the number and Edie duly inserted it into her own phone’s memory. ‘Where’s that tea Mother, a man could die of thirst at this rate.’ he bawled. The sound of his voice was so deep and sudden that it ricocheted through Edie and made her want to wince. She held her breath for a moment and waited for her heart to steady, wondering how long it would take her to get over her fear of men who shouted. The interjection had unnerved her, and she felt the need to leave, she had stayed long enough for politeness’ sake. ‘Well, I should go, lots to do next door.’
Lena had returned and stood in the doorway, holding a cup and looking pensive. ‘Don’t do too much on your own, you’ll need some help. It’s quite the mess in there. Stay and have another cup of tea, leave it until after the funeral eh? We’ll help, won’t we Sam?’
Sam smiled. ‘Course we will, what are friends for eh?’
Edie gave them a weak smile, friends were people you saw frequently, not old neighbours who you hadn’t seen since you were a kid – but they were kind people, and kindness was not to be sniffed at. ‘That’s a lovely offer, thank you – I might well take you up on it if it’s all more than I bargained for.’ She turned to Lena, ‘I won’t stay for more tea, but thank you. I’ll see you at the funeral tomorrow?’
Lena nodded. ‘Course, we’ll both be there. Have you organised a wake?’
‘Nothing much, just a few sandwiches in the hall at the crem, I’ve no idea who’s coming.’
Lena nodded again. ‘You never know with a funeral, all sorts crawl out of the woodwork. I could have done it here, you know.’
Edie didn’t know what to say, Rose had organised everything over the phone, she had just been nominated as the person who would show up and save what little face Dolly’s family had retained. ‘What a kind offer, but Rose arranged everything, I don’t suppose she would have wanted to put you out.’
Before she left Sam turned to her. ‘It’s been nice to see you again Edie, take care of yourself.’
‘You too, Sam.’ she said, surprised to realise that she meant it. ‘Well, I’ll be off then, I need to sort out somewhere to sleep.’ She turned to Lena. ‘Thank you so much for the tea and company.’
‘You’re welcome, and don’t be a stranger. If you have any questions, you know where I am.’ Lena said.
The old woman still looked a little pensive and her words puzzled Edie – questions about what?
Number 17 felt cold and lonely after the warmth and homeliness of Lena’s house. Despite the fact that it was June, Edie felt inclined to put the fire on in the lounge. There had never been central heating in the house and she remembered it being Baltic in winter with only two gas fires and a scattering of dangerous looking electric heaters to warm the whole house. As she lit the gas she worried about carbon monoxide poisoning and checked the flames for colour; they looked all right, but she was probably no great judge.
She hugged herself and huddled for a moment by the hearth, soaking in some warmth and wondering if the cold might actually be coming from the inside. It would take more than a few half-hearted flames to thaw her ice-defended core.
Ignoring the oppressive clutter of the lounge she made her way upstairs by dint of the feeble landing light, which swung in its shade and cast looming shadows across the stained and aged wallpaper. When she removed her hand from the bannister at the top she noticed that she had gathered a number of long, fine blond hairs on her palm. She shook them off.
Dolly’s bedroom turned out to be a no go zone; not only was it filthy and squalid, but it was full. Every surface was laden with clutter, and clothes had been piled onto the bed. More of the hair littered the room, both in fine filaments and huge hanks. Several disembodied wooden heads had been scattered around the room, each at a varying stages of baldness. It was a macabre sight, especially when lit by a bulb not much brighter than a candle. The fine details of the scene were hidden by inky cloaks of shadow which intensified the grotesquery and heightened Edie’s instinctive reaction, which was to recoil and run. At one time she had been fascinated by her aunt’s occupation and had been mesmerised by the precise creativity that formed the wigs that Dolly made. Now the half-made hair-pieces looked repulsive, like things that had been attacked, savaged and brutalised. The faceless wooden wig blocks made the whole scene even more disturbing, with the shadows painting gruesome features on their flat faces. Edie shut the door and suppressed a shudder. Dolly’s room was best faced in the cold and reasonable light of day.
The spare room, where she and Rose had slept as children, was chock full of junk, Edie was barely able to open the door and step in. The smell of damp and mould assailed her nose and she shut the door on that too.
Dickie’s room had a Mary Celeste feel, as if he had just stepped out for a moment. If the whole room hadn’t been covered in a thick film of dust, Edie might have believed that he had – and was due back at any moment to resume making the half-finished model that sat on his workbench. As a pastime Dickie had made automata, miniature models of fantastic things that sprang to life and moved at the turn of a tiny handle. When Edie had last stayed at the house, he had given her one as a gift – a Pegasus who soared and moved his wings if you wound him up. It had been a simple yet beautiful thing and Edie had treasured it, until Simon had smashed it to bits in a fit of temper. She had kept the parts in a shoe box, intending to ask Dickie to mend it one day, but he had died and so had the marriage, and Pegasus had been lost in the aftermath.
She looked around the room at the shelves, all full of Dickie’s creations – animals, people, birds and beasts, all limited to perfect and precise arcs of movement that could only be brought about by a human hand. They were trapped on their wooden plinths, waiting for freedom and Edie thought she knew something of how it felt. She shut the door softly on Dickie’s domain and left the room in peace.
Her final option upstairs was Beattie’s room, which was as clear and tidy as the others were cluttered. It was the smallest bedroom, a box room really, and was reminiscent of a monk’s cell. Sparse, white and ordered. A plain counterpane lay over the bed, which had been made years before with sheets stretched as tight as the skin of a drum. They were yellow with age and spotted
