From Italy With Love - Jules Wake

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halfway up the stairs.

      Staggering into the kitchen, she yanked open the kitchen cupboard and pulled out a pint glass, filled it to the brim and forced herself to drink the whole lot.

      The room swam around and the lights bounced off the kettle which seemed to be moving up and down by itself. The evening had disappeared into a big blur, although she could feel the ring encircling her middle finger. Too big for her engagement finger, but Robert had wanted her to wear it. Guilt warred with confusion. Had she really agreed to get married on Monday?

      It seemed so sudden and so out of character for Robert.

      The dizziness increased and clutching a second pint of water to her chest she slumped into one of the wooden chairs at the scarred table. The fruit bowl in the middle was empty of fruit as always but there was a white envelope propped in it.

      Miss L Browne. A proper letter. You didn’t get those very often these days.

      From the wrinkled back of the re-sealable envelope she guessed with slight irritation, Robert had already opened it.

      Peeling the letter out of the envelope, she looked at the smart headed paper. Solicitors. Sadness misted over her like a rain cloud bearing drizzle. Uncle Miles.

       Dear Miss Browne

       Further to your uncle’s recent death, we would be grateful if you could call Mr R Leversedge to arrange a convenient appointment to discuss the contents of Mr Miles Walford-Cook’s last will and testament.

      She turned the letter over, as if expecting something on the back of it, like a clue as to why she’d been summoned. A nagging thought hovered at the back of her brain, like smoke curling out of reach.

      She had no expectation from Uncle Miles. He had all his ex-wives to look after. Besides he was cross with her. Her mouth crumpled and she shut her eyes. Had been cross with her. Was probably still cross with her. Fancifully she glanced upwards. Yes, definitely would still be cross.

      With a sudden smile, she thought of his irate face, faded gingery eyebrows scrunched up over rheumy eyes that still had the power to intimidate most people. Now she understood why he’d been so blinking stubborn. Regret lanced through her and her breath hitched. If only he’d told her he was dying.

      Stupid old bugger. With a hurried swipe, she rubbed the tear from her face. And now it all made sense. Not so much his sudden desire that she go visit her mother, which of course had fallen on deaf ears, but his guilty admission.

      Laurie let out a small mirthless laugh. She thought his guilt completely misplaced but hadn’t been able to reassure him. He’d probably left her some small bequest. It would be nice to have a keepsake from him. But she certainly didn’t expect or deserve anything else. Despite what he thought, it hadn’t been his fault.

      If anything she owed him; he’d offered a haven every holiday when home was too unbearable before her parents finally called time on their battlefield of a marriage. After that the visits to her uncle and Merryview had stopped. It had been awkward, Dad refusing to see his former best friend, his ex-wife’s brother and Laurie hadn’t liked to leave Dad on his own. Hadn’t she also felt Miles could have done more to stop his sister misbehaving?

      As she tapped the letter against her hand wondering what it might be, the kitchen spotlights sparkled in the stones on her new ring. And insight as sharp as the refraction of the light, struck home.

      She looked down at the letter, the envelope and then back at the ring. And then frowned at herself for even thinking it.

       Chapter 3

      She’d thought the solicitors would be more impressive than this. Leather chairs, old wooden desks and book shelves lined with tomes. Instead the desk was birch veneer, she suspected 2009 Ikea, as were the bucket chairs in front of the desk. The bookcase in the corner sagged under the weight of haphazard mottled-grey box files, papers bursting from them, looking like an untidy sentry in the corner.

      An Olympic logo of coffee rings in varying shades of brown marked the top of the desk which was empty, apart from the phone and an outsize pad of paper.

      Mr Leversedge blended in perfectly, a shambolic figure with hair standing in tufts and glasses perched on his nose that were slightly skewwhiff.

      He smiled gently at Laurie inviting her to take a seat.

      ‘Thank you for coming all this way. Was your journey good?

      ‘Yes, fine. Easy really. Train to Euston, walk to Kings Cross and train to York.’

      ‘I’m glad and I appreciate you coming. I am sorry for your loss.’ For a moment he looked bleak. ‘I’ll miss your uncle, he was one of a kind.’

      ‘Did you know him well?’ asked Laurie, partly out of politeness but also slightly puzzled.

      ‘We both enjoyed a beer and a game of chequers at The Anchor once a month.’

      Then it clicked. ‘Ron; you’re Ron.’

      ‘That’s right!’ He looked delighted.

      ‘I remember him slipping off on a Sunday evening saying he was off for a pint, always used to say he needed some “man-time” away from the ladies.’ She smiled at the memory. Much as Miles had loved women, he’d disappear every now and then with a slightly apologetic air, to do ‘man things’.

      ‘Lovely to meet you, Lauren. He talked about you a lot … especially in recent months.’

      ‘Really?’ her face crumpled. ‘I feel so bad that I didn’t see him.’ She swallowed hard and looked down at her lap. ‘I was … should … we’d sort of fallen out. And now it seems so stupid but …’

      Ron leant forward and patted her hand. ‘Do you want to know something?’

      She lifted her head, finding his understanding tone comforting and met the warm, steady gaze of his faded blue eyes. It was easy to imagine him and her uncle setting the world to rights. Ron had the same slight air of curiosity about the world, eyes alight and dancing. She wondered if they’d shared a tailor; Ron’s eccentric scruffiness bore a marked resemblance to Miles’ slapdash dress sense.

      ‘He was tickled by your stubbornness. Said it showed character.’

      Laurie sighed. ‘Not really. I was refusing to go and see my mother. He wanted me to visit her.’

      ‘And he understood exactly why you didn’t want to. Miles was under no illusions about Celeste, your mother. Unfortunately he did feel very responsible.’

      Laurie rolled her eyes. They’d had that argument several times over. ‘Well he wasn’t. I know Dad blamed him but I didn’t. My mother obviously had her reasons.’

      Ron shook his head. ‘It was still a terrible thing to do. Sorry dear, that’s a view I shared with Miles, and he felt he put the idea into her head.’

      Just thinking about the decision her mother had, even all these years on, made her want to double over with the punch of pain she associated with that rejection.

      ‘My mother came to that conclusion all by herself.’ Laurie hated the bitterness that crept into her voice. She was grown up now, it didn’t matter anymore.

      Guilt twisted in her gut. Miles had kept his illness to himself and she’d had no idea how bad he was until he was admitted to the hospice. On her visit there, he’d barely been able to talk to her. Now it made sense; he didn’t want her to be totally alone, he wanted her to connect with her last remaining family − especially with Dad dying only two years ago.

      She clamped her lips together but it was no use, the lump in her throat overwhelmed her and the tears pooled and slid down her face.

      Ron pushed a box of tissues towards her. His still watchfulness, gentle

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