LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter 3

      Gwen ate her pasta and drank a glass of red wine, but she didn’t feel any better. Marilyn Dixon. The name seemed oddly familiar. Against her better judgement, Gwen fetched Iris’s notebook and opened it at random. It was disturbing how easily she found an entry about Marilyn. Almost as if the book was being deliberately helpful.

       Marilyn Dixon was here again about dry patches on her cheeks. That woman sees problems where there are none. I gave her tincture of rose for her nerves and told her it would give her the skin of a fourteen-year-old.

      Gwen flipped the book shut and put it in the bread bin so that she couldn’t see it any more. If she couldn’t see it, she wouldn’t be tempted to read it. She needed to stay strong. Don’t get sucked in.

      She also needed to repay Lily for the casserole and the soup, and something told her that a packet of HobNobs wouldn’t cut it in Pendleford. She baked a couple of fruit cakes, steadfastly ignoring the siren song of the notebook. She vacuumed the living room and plumped the thin cushions on the sofa. It just looked sadder and quieter, and the cat wouldn’t settle. He kept crying to be let out and, sixty seconds later, crying to be let back in. By the tenth round, Gwen was losing her patience.

      ‘For the love of—’ Gwen flung open the back door, ready to sit the cat down for a serious heart-to-heart vis-à-vis the wisdom of pissing off his source of food and shelter. ‘Oh.’

      ‘Don’t leave me out in this cold; I’ll catch my death. And you’re letting all your heating out.’ The man was at least a hundred years old, his face scrunched-up like a used Kleenex.

      Gwen stepped back and he made his way up the step and into the warmth of the kitchen.

      ‘I need Iris,’ he said, taking the comfy chair.

      ‘Course you do,’ Gwen said. She flicked the switch on the kettle. ‘Tea?’

      ‘This isn’t a social visit.’

      ‘Fine.’ Gwen sat opposite him. ‘You are aware that I’m not Iris?’

      ‘I’m not senile.’ The man glowered at her. ‘I went to her funeral. You don’t get up after one of those.’

      ‘Not usually, no. What can I do for you?’

      The man looked down, his face abruptly red. He didn’t answer.

      ‘The thing is, as we’ve already established, I’m not Iris, so I probably can’t help you anyway. You’re better off going to the chemist. Or the doctor. Or A&E.’ Not my bloody kitchen.

      He looked up. ‘You’re turning me away?’

      ‘No. It’s not like that. But I can see it’s something you’re embarrassed about and if you do tell me, I’m not sure it’ll be worth it as I don’t know how I could help. I run a crafts and antiques stall and I barely knew my great-aunt and I’ve just moved in and people keep turning up and won’t leave me alone.’

      The man chewed his lip. ‘Iris mixed me a cream. It soothed my chilblains.’

      ‘Chilblains?’ What was embarrassing about poor circulation?

      He nodded defiantly.

      ‘The problem is, I don’t know how to make the cream. And there wasn’t anything left in her work room. It was cleaned out as far as I could tell. I don’t even know what’s in it. I don’t know where to start.’

      The man got creakily to his feet saying, ‘I won’t bother you again.’

      Gwen felt like hell. ‘Won’t you stay for a cup of tea, at least?’

      ‘I won’t bother you,’ he said again, his mouth set into a stubborn line.

      ‘I really am sorry.’ Then Gwen spotted the fruit cakes she’d just taken out of the oven. She got one of the tins down from the cupboard.

      ‘Take this.’

      ‘What is it?’

      ‘Fruit cake. Drop the tin back to me when you’ve finished.’

      ‘Will it help my chilblains?’

      ‘No, no. I just feel bad about you coming out in this cold and—’

      The man had the tin and was tucking it noisily into a carrier bag that had appeared from his coat pocket.

      He stuck out his hand and they shook awkwardly. ‘I’m Fred Byres. Number six Meadowmead.’

      ‘Nice to meet you,’ Gwen said.

      He raised a hand and disappeared down the path at a surprisingly fast clip, rustling.

      Gwen took a deep breath and then dialled the number on the solicitor’s letterhead and asked for Cam. When she heard his voice, she sagged against the wall.

      ‘It’s Gwen. Harper.’

      His voice changed, went tight. She couldn’t blame him. He’d made it quite clear that he was still angry with her for the way she’d left things all those years ago. Time heals was a big fat lie. ‘I was wondering if I could talk to you about my aunt.’ She looked around the hallway; the doors leading off were like eyes watching her. ‘I feel a bit weird living in her house when I didn’t know her. I’ve been sorting through her stuff and it just feels wrong. I feel like an intruder.’

      ‘So go home.’ Cam’s voice was flat.

      ‘I don’t want to,’ she said carefully. No need to explain that she didn’t have one. Or, rather, End House was it. ‘I’m going to stay.’

      Cam didn’t say anything and Gwen could almost hear his sneer down the line.

      ‘At least for the time being,’ she added, wishing with all her being that he wasn’t so hostile. Or that it didn’t bother her so much.

      ‘Why don’t you ask your family? What about your mum?’

      ‘They didn’t get on. Something happened when I was a kid and we weren’t allowed to see her any more. We weren’t allowed to use her name, actually.’ Gwen forced a laugh to show she knew it sounded overblown and ridiculous. Not the kind of way that she, rational, normal, Gwen Harper would ever behave.

      ‘I didn’t know her very well,’ Cam said. ‘Just in a professional capacity.’

      ‘Please. Anything at all would help.’

      ‘Didn’t you say you live next door to her old carer? She’d know more than me.’

      ‘Cleaner. And I’d rather get a different viewpoint. I know it’s an imposition, but I won’t take up much of your time. I’ll come into town and we could have coffee. Or lunch. I’ll buy you lunch.’

      ‘Bribery is illegal, you know.’

      Gwen smiled, relieved at the lightening in his tone. ‘Whatever it takes.’

      There was a sudden loaded silence. Then she heard him sigh. ‘Tomorrow. One drink after work.’

      ‘That’s brilliant, thanks so much—’

      He cut across her. ‘And you’re buying.’

      The

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