Chapter 73
The cheque from Christie’s arrived on the Thursday of that week. Bonnie rushed over to the door when she saw the postman’s head appear in the glass of the door. She was always first to pick up the post at the moment, even if it meant excusing herself from talking to a customer. It was always a relief when she flicked through it and found nothing with Stephen’s writing on it.
She knew that Stephen had been following her around because she’d spotted him in the Morrisons car park in the town centre the previous night. He was driving an Aygo now and she wondered if he had changed cars so he could tail her, and if so, how many times he had managed to do so before he gave himself away.
The lines between her life and her nightmares were starting to blur; more so with every day that took her closer to 5 July. The CPS would have her file; it would be in someone’s workload pile waiting for them to study and assess whether or not to prosecute her. Stephen’s account would be damning and no doubt Katherine Ellison would have told the police how she had witnessed the heated exchange when Bonnie told Alma that she hated her enough to kill her. No one could bear testimony to how her relationship with Stephen’s mother had altered beyond all belief over those last three months, how their two hearts had reached out to each other, met on peaceful ground and embraced, and the quiet tender moments they’d shared. On her last morning, as Bonnie gently sponged her face, Alma had been agitated, frustrated by something inside her she had to get out. Then, as if she’d summoned every vestige of strength left inside her, she had grasped Bonnie’s hand, held it as tightly as she could and said with slow, clear, laboured words, ‘You’re a good girl. Be happy. When I’m gone, promise me you’ll leave him.’ The effort had exhausted her and she’d fallen back against her pillow then and Bonnie had stroked the hair back from Alma’s face and said, ‘I will, I promise.’ It had saddened Bonnie that she had failed to shield Alma from the truth that her son was a cold, unfeeling shit.
She had grown to love Alma a little over those last weeks, and she was worried now that the old lady’s resting memory would be dragged awake, paraded, dissected, mocked. Her last days had been constantly on Bonnie’s mind, replaying during idle moments, at night before she slept, in her dreams. And every time she revisited that defining moment of lifting the bottle to Alma’s lips, not once could she see her hand tilting even a fraction. She knew now that whatever acid Stephen had tried to drip into her consciousness to corrode the facts, in no way could she have hastened Alma’s chosen moment to die by a single second. But she had no proof of that.
Every day now, Bonnie expected to walk into work and find Lew reading a letter from Stephen telling him what she had done. He didn’t know that she’d diverted his last letter but he might guess that was the case and try a more direct method of contact. She lived in dread of Stephen finding out Lew’s email and writing to him that way, because she’d have no chance of intercepting it. She had almost crashed her car that morning, seeing a black Aygo following her up Spring Hill. She’d been looking in her rear view mirror more than through the front windscreen and had to brake hard to stop herself ramming into the back of a left-turner. It hadn’t been Stephen but she was still shaking when she pulled into the car park and had to stay there for five minutes to compose herself.
But today the post contained no bad surprises, only good ones: a thank you card from someone who had safely received a much-desired clock which Bonnie had parcelled up and sent to Australia, and that big, fat, fabulous cheque from the auction house.
‘Do you want me to take the cheque straight to the bank when I go to the dentist at lunchtime?’ she asked.
‘Yes, and as it is very unlikely to bounce, will you do me a favour and go around to Mrs Twist’s house and give her a cheque of her own.’
‘I’d like that,’ said Bonnie.
‘Don’t rush back. Go have lunch outside somewhere.’ Let the sun work its magic on you and cheer you up, my lovely Bonnie.
She was wearing a dress the colour of strawberry icing today, but even that bold shade couldn’t brighten her. She was fading before his eyes and he knew that her divorce was far tougher on her than his was on him. She had no controlling rein on Stephen like the one he had on Charlotte.
Bonnie wasn’t going to the dentist but had an appointment with the doctor. She had fought against the stress long enough now and needed some medical help. She wasn’t sleeping, her appetite had dwindled, she was on the verge of tears all the time.
The doctor prescribed her anti-depressants but, he warned, they would take six weeks to start working. In six weeks when they made an impact on her system, her life would have changed for ever. If the CPS prosecuted or didn’t, Lew would know what she had been accused of because Stephen would make damned sure he did. Tablets wouldn’t even make a dent in the resulting depression she’d have then.
*
Mrs Twist lived in a ground-floor maisonette just out of the town centre. The small estate was inhabited totally by pensioners who were engaged in an unspoken competition to have the best front garden. Mrs Twist’s pansied borders were crammed with stone fairies, sitting on toadstools or reposing amongst the flowers.
Bonnie rang the doorbell and a rasping buzz sounded in the depths of the house. She knew that it would be answered because she’d seen two figures sitting on a sofa through the large picture window when she walked down the path. Sure enough, the door soon opened to a chain-length and Mrs Twist’s face appeared. She surveyed the dark-haired lady wearing the bright pink dress suspiciously.
‘Hello. What is it?’
‘Mrs Twist . . .’
‘If you’re J’ovah’s Witness, I’m Church of England. And I don’t buy owt on my doorstep.’ The door closed to a slit.
‘Mrs Twist, I don’t know if you remember me, but my name is Bonnie and I used to work at Grimshaw’s antiques centre,’ said Bonnie, when she could get a word in. ‘I was working there the day you brought in a box of things. The white Gulvase and other stuff and—’
‘Yes, I do remember,’ said Mrs Twist, cautiously. ‘What about it?’
‘There was a Chinese cup and saucer in the box. It was painted and held together with staples. You took it to the Pot of Gold and Mr Harley the owner bought it from you.’
‘I’m not giving him his money back, if that’s what you want. I sold it fair and—’
‘Please don’t worry, Mrs Twist, it’s nothing like that. I appreciate this might seem odd, but I have some news about those two Chinese pieces.’ She took a small step back from the door because she didn’t want to frighten the old lady. ‘I work there now, in Spring Hill Square, you see. That cup and the saucer turned out to be very valuable.’
Now she had Mrs Twist’s full attention and the door opened again as far as the chain would let it.
‘Oh aye?’
‘Mr Harley would like you to accept this. It’s a cheque for seven thousand pounds.’
Bonnie held the cheque up for Mrs Twist to see and the old lady squinted and stared at it, but didn’t extend her hand.
‘Just a minute.’ Mrs Twist momentarily disappeared whilst she relayed the information to the other person in the house with her. Bonnie heard a woman’s loud ‘Never!’ and stifled a chuckle.
Mrs Twist returned with her glasses on.
‘Oh yes, I recognise you now. What’s your name again?’
‘Bonnie. Bonnie Brookland,’ she replied, momentarily forgetting that she’d given her married name. Bonnie poked the cheque through the aperture. ‘You just put that in your bank. Mr Harley didn’t think it was fair not to let you have something from the sale.’
Mrs Twist took the cheque and her whole demeanour changed. ‘Ooh, well that’s lovely that. Very nice of him. Thank you. Thank you very much.’
‘Goodbye, Mrs Twist. Buy yourself something nice. Enjoy it.’
Bonnie turned and the door closed and Mrs Twist walked into her lounge with the cheque. ‘Look at this, Kitty,’ she said and handed it to her sister, who picked up her glasses in order to scrutinise it thoroughly.
‘What did she say she was called?’ asked her sister.
‘Bonnie Brookland, she said. If she hadn’t told me to go somewhere else I wouldn’t have my spending money for our Italian caper. I thought I’d got a good deal with that hundred and fifty. And I felt rotten afterwards, Kitty, because I think I dropped her in it with my big gob. I told that Grimshaw fella that she’d said to go try another shop. I’ve felt bad about that ever since.’
Her sister rushed over to the window and knocked hard on it. Bonnie, about to get back into her car, turned around.
‘What’s up, Kitty?’ asked Pauline Twist.
‘I want to talk to her.’
Katherine Ellison, or Kitty as her younger sister had always called her, hurried to the door and trotted down the path towards Bonnie, who recognised her instantly.
‘Hey, I want a word with you,’ called Katherine.
Bonnie prepared herself for an onslaught. She felt tension prickling her skull.
‘You remember me, don’t you?’ said Katherine.
‘Yes, yes, I do,’ said Bonnie.
‘Come here, I want to talk to you.’ She beckoned Bonnie forwards. Bonnie kept a safe distance because she half-expected the older woman to try and slap her.
‘I’ve had the police round, you know.’
‘Yes, I expected that,’ replied Bonnie.
‘Did you help her?’ Bonnie noticed that Katherine was wearing the locket which used to be Alma’s. Her voice had a tremble in it, an appeal. ‘Please, Bonita, will you tell me honestly what happened to Alma? I know she’d bought something to end her suffering.’
Bonnie’s heart jumped in her chest. ‘You knew?’ She couldn’t think straight or what that might mean for her.
‘Yes I knew. It was something that would make it look as if she had died in her sleep so that no one would know what she’d done. She told me.’
Bonnie’s mind started spinning; her stomach felt heavy, flooded with a sick feeling.
‘I told the police I knew,’ said Mrs Ellison.
Bonnie hiccuped a huge sob that came from the deepest part of her, as if it had been pressed down like a jack-in-a-box and suddenly released. It was the first glint of hope she had seen in her dark sky. It meant everything to her.
‘Please tell me you were with her at the end, that she wasn’t alone?’ Katherine Ellison’s voice was full of a desperate need to be told what she wanted to hear, truth or not and she repeated the word. ‘Please.’
‘I was with her,’ said Bonnie. ‘She drank the drug and I held her and she fell to sleep, just drifted off, I promise you. It was so gentle that I don’t know when she took her last breath. And I sat with her afterwards until Stephen came back.’
‘Poor Alma. My poor darling friend.’ Katherine Ellison shook her head, holding back a huge weight of emotion. So it was true then, Stephen had failed his mother when she needed him. It would have broken her heart.
‘Mrs Ellison, I know she didn’t like me very much for many years and I won’t lie, I wasn’t fond of her either, but I swear to you that I did everything, everything I could to make her comfortable and we made our peace in the end. I was very sad when she went.’
‘Thank you,’ Mrs Ellison replied. ‘I would have liked to have been at her funeral.’
Bonnie frowned in puzzlement. ‘Stephen said that he had rung you and told you about the arrangements but you’d decided not to come.’
Mrs Ellison’s top lip tightened but it was not worth airing what she thought of him again. There was no end to his callousness.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Bonnie. She knew from the expression on the older lady’s face that yet another of Stephen’s lies had just come to light.
Katherine sighed. ‘It can’t be helped now. I went to her grave and paid my respects when I came home. I didn’t want her thinking I didn’t care enough to show up.’
‘I don’t think she’d have thought anything negative about you, Mrs Ellison, from the way she spoke about you.’
Katherine Ellison’s eyes lit up. ‘Really?’ she said, interest sparked.
‘When she could speak she told me all about you and her as girls,’ said Bonnie. ‘About ice skating when Tinker’s Lake froze and about you both trying to get pink hair by dyeing it with your mother’s food colouring. All sorts of stories: when you went dancing, her wedding when she dropped her bouquet just before the car came and you mended it with pins for her. She loved you very much.’
Katherine groped for Bonnie’s hand, sudden tears half-blinding her. For Alma to have shared things like that with Bonnie proved beyond measure how much she had come to mean to her. Alma didn’t give herself away easily.
‘We said our goodbyes before I went to Spain but she rang me there, you know. She told me how kind you were to her and how she’d misjudged you. I told the police about that phone call too.’ Katherine Ellison’s cheeks were damp but she was smiling. ‘Thank you for being with my friend at her end. Thank you for telling me the truth. I wish you well, Bonnie. I hope I’ve helped you.’
And with that, Katherine Ellison turned and walked back into the house.