LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

frowned. ‘Why didn’t she just give it to you?’

      Lily laughed. ‘I keep forgetting that you didn’t know your auntie at all, did you? She was very protective of her recipes. Adamant that they should be passed down through family —’ She broke off, perhaps realising what she’d said, then continued smoothly, ‘And she always said I was her closest family, that I was like a granddaughter to her.’

      ‘Well, as soon as I find the recipe I’ll pass it on.’

      Lily smiled properly, her face lighting up and becoming pretty. ‘Thank you. I’d appreciate it.’

      Gwen drove to the big supermarket on the outskirts of town and stocked up; she couldn’t rely on handouts from the neighbours for ever. She picked up cat food and a red velvet collar and put the receipt into her bag without looking at it. She was close to the limit on her emergency credit card and hoped, fervently, that the cat didn’t eat very much.

      Back at End House, she set up her iPod dock and put on Johnny Cash at full volume. She stacked tins and packets and jars, filling the kitchen cupboards, then cleaned through the house, swiping away dust and cobwebs and muddy paw prints.

      The cat appeared and pronounced the cat food a success. ‘Don’t get too used to that stuff. It’ll be value tins next time.’

      The cat tilted his head and regarded her disdainfully.

      ‘And then I’ll have to re-home you, I suppose.’

      The cat blinked slowly.

      ‘Unless I stay here. And adopt you.’

      The cat began licking itself.

      ‘Great,’ Gwen said. ‘Is that supposed to be a sign?’

      The sun had disappeared by four o’clock, making Gwen think about an early dinner. She pulled out pans and knives and started cooking. It was such a treat to have a kitchen again. And no annoying housemates to share it with. A spark of happiness flared as she followed the ritual of making pasta sauce. The movements were soothing. They calmed the feelings stirred up by the shock of seeing Cameron Laing.

      Gwen chopped a handful of fresh basil, almost cutting off the tip of her pinky in the process. ‘Damn it.’ She ran her finger under the cold tap and told herself off for thinking about Cam while in possession of a sharp object. She threw the basil into the tomato sauce simmering on the stove and tried not to think about him in his dark suit. Cam in a suit was weird. When they’d been together, she would’ve sworn his Ramones T-shirt was surgically attached to his body. Except when he was peeling it over his head that time on the beach. She shivered, remembering the way his eyes had turned black, holding her like he was a drowning man. It had always been like that. Something wild and desperate and, with hindsight, probably not all that skilful. She closed her eyes and imagined what Cam might’ve learned in thirteen years. She leaned against the worktop, breathing in garlic-and-wine-scented steam and feeling the pressure against her suddenly thrumming and alive body. Her eyes flew open. Someone was knocking on the back door.

      Gwen knew her face was flushed, but figured she could blame it on cooking. She wrenched open the door, ready to tell Lily Thomas politely but firmly to sod off, only to find a woman she didn’t recognise peering at her anxiously in the dusk. She was wearing a navy trouser suit and carrying a matching handbag, but she still looked a little ragged around the edges. Her skin was pale and there were dark circles around her eyes.

      ‘You’ve got to help me,’ the woman said and pushed past Gwen into the kitchen and sat in the biggest chair.

      ‘I’m sorry?’ Gwen managed.

      ‘You’re Gwen Harper, aren’t you?’

      ‘Yes.’ Gwen tried to smooth out her frown. Manners cost nothing, after all. ‘Do you live next door?’

      ‘Of course not. I’m Marilyn Dixon.’

      ‘Right,’ Gwen said. It was official; the people in this town were insane. She gestured to the stove. ‘I was just about to eat. Are you hungry?’

      Marilyn opened her eyes wide. ‘Will that help?’

      Gwen gave up on reason and took the chair opposite. ‘Can we back up a bit? Speak slowly; I feel like I missed a memo or something.’

      Marilyn’s fingers gripped her handbag on her lap, her knuckles bright white. ‘You are Iris Harper’s granddaughter, aren’t you?’

      ‘I’m her great-niece.’

      ‘Oh.’ Marilyn looked ridiculously disappointed. Her bottom lip stuck out like a toddler. There was a short silence, broken only by the soft popping of the simmering sauce.

      ‘Did you know my great-aunt well?’ Gwen tried for some polite chit-chat.

      ‘Not really. She kept herself private. Not a mixer.’

      ‘Right.’

      ‘But she always helped.’ Marilyn sniffed. ‘Wasn’t very nice about it, but she helped.’

      ‘I thought she was quite infirm herself.’ Gwen couldn’t imagine what Iris had been doing for Marilyn Dixon. Marilyn was no spring chicken, but she was easily thirty years younger than Iris.

      ‘Ha!’ Marilyn said and Gwen jumped a little. ‘She was as strong as a horse. Healthy as anything. Never got ill. Well…’ Marilyn paused and Gwen could almost hear her thinking ‘…until she died, of course.’ Another pause. ‘God rest her soul.’

      Gwen frowned.

      ‘I’m sorry. Should it be goddess rest her soul? I was never really sure on that,’ Marilyn said.

      ‘I’m still confused.’ Gwen shook her head to clear the fog. It didn’t help. ‘Can we start with the basics? Who are you and why are you here?’

      Colour flushed up Marilyn’s neck. ‘Your great-aunt was known for helping people. She said you were going to move in after she was gone.’

      Gwen frowned. That made no sense. ‘The last time I saw my great-aunt I was thirteen and she said no such thing.’

      ‘Don’t shoot the messenger,’ Marilyn snapped. ‘And besides, I would’ve thought you’d be a little more grateful.’ She waved a hand. ‘She left you her house.’

      ‘Does everybody know my business?’

      Marilyn looked at her in surprise. ‘In Pendleford? Of course.’

      ‘God help me.’ Gwen raised her eyes skyward.

      ‘Well, I can see I’m not wanted.’ Marilyn began to rise.

      ‘Don’t go. I’m sorry if I was rude. I’m just a little confused.’ And frightened. Gwen took a deep breath. ‘Can you talk me through the kind of help my great-aunt dished out?’

      Marilyn sat back down. Her face softened in sympathy. ‘You really don’t know?’

      ‘I really don’t know,’ Gwen said, although she was starting to suspect. The secret room full of jars. The weird noises. The cat. Great-Aunt Iris had been a bit eccentric. And it seemed that the Harper family reputation for ‘weird’ was alive and kicking.

      ‘She was magic.’

      ‘I’m sorry?’ Gwen hoped she’d misheard.

      ‘She could help with stuff.’ Marilyn shrugged. ‘Like if your hens stop laying or you’ve got a cold that won’t go away. She’s got a brilliant medicine for that.’

      ‘Like homeopathy?’ Please let it be homeopathy. No flipping tarot cards.

      Marilyn’s face brightened. ‘Exactly. People are always using homeopathy or reflexology or having someone stick needles in their sore bits. Seeing Iris was no different.’

      ‘And you paid her?’

      Marilyn’s face fell.

Скачать книгу