‘Would you like something to drink? Tea or coffee, or there’s mineral water, if you’d prefer.’
His manner was pleasant and friendly, and I found myself relaxing. ‘No, thanks, I’m good.’
He sat on his side of the desk. ‘I was so sorry to hear about your father.’ His eyes flicked to a file on the desk, but he didn’t move to pick it up. ‘Your mother won’t be joining us?’
Of course, he didn’t know. So much had happened in such a short time that with everything swirling in a soup of emotion, it was hard to keep things straight in my head.
I’d lain awake for hours considering what I was going to tell people if they asked about my mother. That grief had driven her crazy… that she’d copped out of a life without my father… that she’d abandoned me. Sorrow washed over me again, tears of self-pity filling my eyes. Abandoned, it was such a lonely word. I pulled out a tissue, scrubbed at my eyes and reached into my core for some steel. ‘The news of my father’s sudden death affected her badly, Mr Brooks, she’s receiving care.’
‘I see.’
I wasn’t sure he did. ‘It’s in a private clinic. It’s going to be essential to free up some money to pay for it.’ I looked pointedly at the file. ‘My father’s will?’
He rested a hand on it. ‘Yes. It was rewritten almost four years ago.’
‘After his bigamous marriage to Olivia Burton.’ I was almost amused at the shock that widened the solicitor’s eyes and made a perfect O of his lips.
He picked up the phone. ‘Jenny, could you bring some coffee,’ – he raised an eyebrow at me as if to ask if I wanted some. I didn’t, but I nodded anyway – ‘for both of us, please.’ He hung up and gave me a wavering smile. ‘Coffee helps to get my thoughts in order.’
When it arrived, he downed one cup quickly, refilled it and sat back. ‘I knew there was an Olivia Burton in your father’s life, but I wasn’t aware of the details. He didn’t volunteer the information and it’s not my business to ask.’
I hadn’t touched my coffee; I took a sip now. I hadn’t thought to ask for sugar, and it was bitter and unpleasant. Or maybe it was my thoughts. I was imagining my bigamous father sitting in this very seat, talking about Olivia Burton. Imagined her sitting pretty in the house he’d paid for. Anger sliced through the sorrow and made my voice hard, the words coming out sharp and ragged. ‘He remortgaged our house to buy the house she’s living in. We’re currently behind on the repayments. And there’s worse, I’m afraid. I checked through bank statements last night; he hasn’t paid the premium on his life insurance for several months.’
‘No!’ Brooks put his coffee down, the cup clattering noisily on the saucer.
‘Something had to give. He only received a statutory payout when he was made redundant.’
Brooks ran a hand through his hair. He wasn’t a fool; he knew statutory redundancy would have been a piss-poor payment. Especially for a man with two mortgages to maintain. ‘Right, so we’d better have a look at his will.’ He opened the file. ‘It’s a simple straightforward one. He left your home to your mother.’ He raised his eyes from the document in front of him. ‘She will either need to assume the mortgage or pay it off. This isn’t something you can do, I’m afraid.’
‘Being only sixteen has its drawbacks,’ I said, trying for humour.
Brooks didn’t look amused. I suppose I’d had longer to absorb my father’s transgressions.
‘I can contact the life insurance company and see if they would accept payment of the arrears at this stage, but I’d be lying if I told you there was a chance in hell.’ He hesitated, staring down as if afraid to meet my eyes.
I didn’t need to be a mind reader to know I was going to hear bad news. ‘The other house?’
‘Your father set up a trust granting Olivia Burton a life interest in it. When she dies, or if she remarries, the life interest ends.’
‘So we can’t sell it?’
‘No.’ He swallowed the remains of his coffee in a frantic, almost desperate gulp. ‘It’s worse, I’m afraid. If there’s no money to pay the arrears on your mortgage, or to continue to pay the mortgage on the other house, it’s your home that will need to be sold, and the mortgage on the other home either cleared from the available funds or be assumed by your mother.’
I laughed, a harsh disbelieving sound. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’ Although I knew he wasn’t, knew that no matter how bad things had appeared, they’d just got substantially worse. ‘So, my mother and I are made homeless, and that Burton woman carries on regardless?’ I reached forward and slammed a hand down on the documents before him. Perhaps he was afraid I was going to grab them and rip them into pieces. I probably would have done had I thought it could do any good. ‘Can we fight this trust? There must be a way.’
Colour flared in his cheeks. Not in anger, but embarrassment. ‘Your father insisted the trust was locked down solid. I made sure it was.’
‘So that’s it?’
‘I’m assuming Ms Burton is aware of your father’s death.’
‘Yes, the police were in contact with her.’
‘She must have been shocked.’
Shocked? Probably. They’d been married for four years. I wondered if she was devastated at the lie she’d lived. She’d lost her husband, and the right to call him that. Shocked, devastated, falling apart – I didn’t give a fuck about her. I shut my eyes. Not because I was reluctant to look at the solicitor, or because I was tearful. I shut them in case he saw them turn hard as I knew exactly what I needed to do.
The end… it would justify the means yet again. Olivia Burton’s life interest in the house died with her. It made perfect sense that this should come as soon as I could arrange it.
After all, I had killed before. The second time was sure to be easier.
13
I left the solicitor’s office with a headache pounding my skull. I must have looked wretched because Mrs Higgins took one look at me when she opened the door, and whisked me into the kitchen, pressing me down on a chair while she bustled around.
‘I knew I shouldn’t have let you go to the solicitor’s alone,’ she said, pressing the switch on the kettle. Because tea was going to cure everything. I swallowed the irritation. She was being kind and had volunteered to go with me that morning.
My reluctance was twofold. It was obvious she didn’t really want to go, and I didn’t want her to be privy to my father’s will. It seemed essential that I keep our financial status a secret. More essential now in the face of what I intended to do.
I drank the tea she made me, answered the questions she asked as briefly as possible and made my escape.
The police officers who’d brought the news of my father’s death had left me a number I could call if I had any questions. I had a few. Mrs Higgins had told me I could use their phone whenever I wanted. It sat on a table in the hallway and offered little if any privacy. It made more sense to go to my house to make the calls.
‘I’m just going to check on a few things at home,’ I said. ‘I’ll be an hour or so.’