When she was alone in the kitchen, she took the badge out of her handbag, turned it round and round in her hand. PARKER. It had to have belonged to Adam. But how had Mimoza got it? And then there was Dan Russell with his insinuations and threats. So many intrusive thoughts throwing up disturbing questions with no answers. Wandering around her kitchen, closing windows that had been open all day, Lottie knew she had to do something.
Her mother had boxed up most of Adam’s stuff after he had died. ‘You don’t want to be looking at this in the state you’re in,’ she had said. Lottie would have agreed to anything to get her mother off her radar so that she could drink away her pain. Those boxes were now in Rose’s attic. Could they hold the answers? Without rationalising her actions, she made her decision.
‘I’m going to Granny’s. Be back in a while,’ she called up the stairs and ran out to her car. She had to do this before she changed her mind.
* * *
The gate creaked as she pushed it inwards. No sign of life. Windows closed. Curtains drawn.
She rang the doorbell. No response. Her mother was probably out on her do-good chores with the homeless.
Lottie had her own key. She unlocked the door and entered the dusky hallway. It was hollow with silence. The aroma of coffee drifted towards her. In the kitchen, she held her hand to the kettle. Warm. A mug with a crescent of coffee in the bottom sat in the sink along with a plate and knife. The hum of the refrigerator the only sound breaking the silence.
‘Mother?’ Lottie shouted, her voice reverberating around the bungalow.
No reply. Good, she thought and went back to the hall. The attic was fitted with a fold-down ladder. Taking the rod from the top of the living room door, she placed it in the brass hole and pulled. The steps hit the tiled floor with a thunk.
Standing on the top step, she felt around and found the light switch. A cool yellow beam cast eerie shadows as she hauled herself into the confined area. No dust or cobwebs. Just oppressive heat. Boxes were stacked on shelves, colour-coded, and a clipboard lay on the floor in front of her.
The list was in alphabetical order, with a colour linked to each name. There were four with ‘LOTTIE’ in red. She noted one with ‘DAD’ in black, and another with ‘EDWARD’ in blue. Her heart flipped at the thought of her brother. She dearly wanted to root around in those, especially since her mother was not around. But she knew she would have to leave them for another day. Her immediate conundrum consumed her enough.
She drew her eyes back to the first entry on the list: ‘ADAM’, the colour green marked beside it. She only wanted to touch some of his things. To feel close to him again. To eradicate the misgivings Dan Russell’s insinuations had planted in her brain.
Bracing herself, she put down the clipboard and crawled further into the claustrophobic attic.
‘You took your time. Hope you weren’t trying to avoid me.’
Boyd locked his car and glanced over at Jackie, leaning against his apartment door, smoking a cigarette. She held a bottle of wine in her other hand and wore skin-tight jeans, with a black halter top accentuating her leathery tan. Boyd didn’t need Jackie in his life right now, but Lottie had tasked him to find out about Jamie McNally.
‘What do you want?’ He went to put his key in the door, thought better of it. Didn’t want her following him inside.
‘You never rang me. You promised we could talk.’
So he had.
‘It’s been a tough day, Jackie. Can we do this tomorrow?’
‘Every day is a tough day with you, Marcus. Never a good time to put me first. Will you ever change?’
‘Where you’re concerned, the answer is no.’
‘Narky boots. Let me in. Even if you don’t want to talk, I do.’ She stubbed out her cigarette.
Boyd turned the key and ushered her inside. For once, he hoped his phone would ring, summoning him back to work. Knowing how his day had gone so far, he doubted his luck would turn.
With his back to Jackie, he phoned Lottie. Maybe she could rescue him. No answer. He’d try again in a few minutes.
He sighed and looked at his not-yet-ex-wife. ‘Want a drink?’
Searching through the attic, Lottie found two plastic boxes with a green mark. Two boxes for Adam’s stuff. Not much to show for a lifetime, even one cut short. She double-checked. ‘ADAM’ was written in black marker on the side.
They were midway up the rack. A see-through crate of ceramic ornaments sat on top of them. Hefting down the heavy box, she placed it behind her. She blew out a breath and removed the first box of Adam’s things. Her phone vibrated in her jeans pocket; she ignored it.
Beneath the cracked lid she was faced with bundles of sympathy cards. Don’t look at them, she told herself. She hadn’t read them at the time; she wasn’t going to do so now. Placing them behind her, she knelt down to search through the remaining items.
A sheaf of bills, invoices and chequebook stubs. Funeral expenses. A pile of Adam’s ties and socks lined the bottom of the box. They’d been scattered through the house, she remembered, and after the funeral she’d gone around picking them up, determined to throw them in the bin. Her mother had stopped her. One day you’ll thank me, she had said. Maybe today was that day.
Lottie held a tie in her hand, still knotted. She’d regularly tied the knot for him. Adam could never get it right, always with the inside bit longer than the outside bit. Smiling, she laid it to one side.
She found two of his work notebooks and remembered how he was forever writing things down. Flicking through one, she gulped back a sob. His handwriting seemed so familiar, yet she hadn’t seen it in such a long time. Dates, events, names, vehicle registrations. Military work. Every page was full. Adam hadn’t liked waste. Memories floated in front of her eyes. But no tears. They had already been shed, too many of them. She forced herself to focus. The dates were for the year before he died. Nothing any further back. No use to her now.
Pulling down the second carton, she noted it was lighter. Photograph albums. Old and well thumbed. Holidays. Sun and smiles. Years of family. Christmas, first day at school, hurling matches, fishing. A previous lifetime but all very familiar. She became so engrossed in the memories she didn’t realise how long she’d been looking at them until she heard the front door open and bang shut. She jumped involuntarily, and the albums on top of the pile slid to the floor.
‘Lottie Parker, what are you doing up there?’
‘I’ll be down in a minute.’
Hurriedly Lottie returned the albums to the box and gathered up the ones she had dropped. Beside them, a faded photograph lay on the chipboard floor. She picked it up.
‘Oh my God!’ she cried, looking at it in shock.
‘Lottie! What’s wrong? Are you okay?’ Rose shouted from the bottom rung of the ladder.
She had to get out of the attic. Without clearing up the mess she had made, she scuttled backwards on hands and knees and made her way down the steps. Ignoring her mother, she rushed out of the house and into her car, where she rested her head on the steering wheel. What the hell had Adam done?
Fifty-Three