She sat beside her mother and picked up her waxy hand. The fingers were elegant. A platinum wedding band encircled her ring finger. Would George remove it? Would she be buried or cremated? A funny thing to think about but she was sitting here facing her mother’s death and Diana didn’t know what her wishes were, and she should. Today her mother had said she was sorry and that had to be enough. It must be, but it wasn’t. It was unfinished and yet looking at her, Diana accepted the time for words had gone. She was surprised she was still alive. In fact, she would say she wasn’t. It felt as if her soul had left. Was her mother dancing with her father now?

In front of Diana the ghost of an image hovered. It was of her young self sitting on the bed in this room watching her mother dress. She could almost touch it. The hint of her perfume, Chanel No. 5, and hairspray filled her nose. Her mother was putting on earrings. They were diamonds and pearls. She had jewels, many of them. Diana had played with them and they had laughed together. Looking at her now she wanted to tell her she had remembered something good, but the words died on her lips.

Where were her jewels? Diana hadn’t seen them in years. Had she sold them? Lottie would have loved them. Her fingers twitched, and the bald fabric on Ben’s ears scratched her skin. Diamonds and bright colours. She looked at her mother. She hadn’t really known her at all and now she never would. She was an orphan before she’d enjoyed being a daughter.

51. Lottie

51

Lottie

4 August 2018, 6.00 p.m.

Lottie’s shoulders slumped. Her mother was tricky at the best of times, but right now she was a nightmare, thinking that Gramps had killed Allan. Lottie needed to know the truth. With the diary out again, she reread the last page. Why would her mother think it was her fault and why had Gran said she had killed him? She didn’t believe either of them. There was one person who might be able to help – Mrs Hoskine.

It was a short walk to the cottage where she lived and as she passed the church, she glanced towards Allan Trewin’s grave. New flowers had replaced the previous ones. Maybe it was her mother this time. A crow swept down from a tree with a deep mournful cry. Soon Gran would be joining him. She paused. She’d made that assumption, but she hadn’t checked it with Gramps. He might want something different. Gran might have told him what she wanted. There were so many questions she was afraid to ask.