Lunch in the café. Eating steak pie and chips, drinking red wine. The exotic garden. Fronds and palms from all around the world. Bold vibrant tropical flowers. The gentle tranquillity of the woodland gardens. The sweet, homely prettiness of the cottage gardens. The lake, the trees, the pinetum. The waterlilies. The rockery and its tumbling waterfalls. Caprice bought a trolleyful of plants from the garden centre.

‘Next year,’ Caprice said, as I drove her home, ‘we’ll come later in the season to catch the summer borders in their full glory.’

For Caprice, next year will never come. Tears well up inside me. I bite my lip to try and push them away. But they are volcanic.

166

Saffron

Hayley’s sobs and moans echo around the church, like a stuck pig’s. Miles and I exchange glances. She’s attracting too much attention. Overegging her importance within the family.

167

Aiden

Sitting in a conference room at Mann and Mann Solicitors with my brother. Floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out onto a low-maintenance leafy shrubbery. Board meeting table. High-backed leather chairs. Stiff central flower arrangement of orchids and lilies. White lilies, a favourite of Mother’s. The flowers we chose for her casket. Mr Mann, our mother’s solicitor, is dressed in black as if we are still at her funeral. His grey hair is wispier than ever. He has aged since we were sorting out Father’s estate. The fat has gone from his face, and he is painfully thin and frail. He coughs a little, to clear his throat.

‘This is the last will and testament of Caprice Jackson.’ A long severe pause. ‘I bequeath my estate in equal parts to my sons, Aiden Jackson and Miles Jackson. Aiden is to receive his share immediately. Miles’ share is conditional. He will receive £100,000 immediately, but the remainder only if six months after my death, his wife Saffron is still alive. If Saffron should die within the first six months of my death, the rest of his share shall pass to Hayley Manville Smith.’

Mother had always said it would be clear-cut. Fifty-fifty. What has happened? What is this? I look across at Miles. His eyes are dark and thunderous. He is ashen.

‘What has happened? What has Mother done?’ Miles asks.

168

Miles

The wording of my mother’s will burns me, like acid.

‘What has happened? What has Mother done? We always thought the money would be split fairly between Aiden and I?’

Mr Mann leans back in his chair. ‘This is how your mother wanted it to be. It was her money. She was very definite in her instructions, which I faithfully recorded in her will.’

‘But what’s all this about Saffron dying?’ My body is rigid with fear. ‘When did she add that? Why does she think Saffron might die?’