sob left her.
Oh, Olive. Maddie’s tears were for Olive, for the life she’d lived, for the energy she’d brought to every room. They also fell for Maddie, for her loss, for how torn she was that she had been away from Olive in her last weeks. They were for all the memories at Maris Cottage, for the summer days and nights, for the fish and chips eaten in the garden and the screeching seagulls swooping down on Ed as he ran away, startled, a five-year-old safe with his mum and Aunty Olive in his world. They were for Ed. How he’d miss Aunty Olive and would be heartbroken he couldn’t be with her now. Olive had always staunchly been on his side, no matter what. He’s my favourite great-nephew, she’d say, and laugh every time she saw him. The fact that he was her only great-nephew was never mentioned as they used to hug each other tightly each time.
Olive’s cheeky grin was now a straight line of thin lips, a face that held no emotion, an empty canvas of wrinkles and lines belying the warmth and humour that used to live there. Her usually neat hair, styled every week at the hairdresser’s, now rumpled wisps held together with a solitary pearl clip. No necklaces, no red-lipstick armour today. Maddie squeezed her hand; it was cold. The only sound was the ticking of the gold alarm clock on the bedside table and a quiet cough from the doctor.
‘It was very peaceful,’ Clare said, as Maddie nodded, holding on to Olive’s hand as if that might bring her back to life.
27
Maddie was back at Rachel’s with a half-finished bottle of red wine. Rachel was sitting opposite her at the kitchen table, stroking Taffie who was by her feet; the cat was in its basket, purring peacefully. Nurse Clare had said they would take care of all the arrangements, of all the plans, she was not to worry, and that they’d try again to contact Tim. She’d also told Maddie there had been a letter for her, filed in the office ‘in case this situation arose’. Maddie was holding it now, with shaking hands, reading.
My dear Maddie,
You have been such a spark of light in all my days – from visiting me at the cottage, to Maybank View and all the bits in between. If you are reading this letter it means that I have passed away and I don’t want you to be sorry, or sad and morbid, or to do anything silly like wear black at my blessing. Or cry. So come on, no tears for me.
In fact – and I know the lawyers will sort it all out – but I insist on everyone wearing colours. Absolutely no black – do you hear? I have left a lump sum in order that it can all be done properly. But I want you to do something for me. Do you promise? I want you do this, Maddie, do you hear? I want you to scatter my ashes out onto the ocean. Out to sea, not far from my little cottage. I have left plans for the blessing. It’s all arranged and I want you to do something there that you probably won’t think is possible: I want you to have fun.
Maddie smiled at this bit, then wiped her nose on a tissue.
It’s not a sad time; it’s just a marking of time. My life is over, but here’s the thing, Maddie: yours isn’t.
(This bit was underlined shakily in pencil).
And I want you to enjoy it. Ever since we met I felt that you had more to give. You’ve been cooped up in that house with that little job. I don’t know what the future holds for you but I do know one thing: I want you to have my cottage. It’s all arranged, in your name only. Somewhere to escape to – if you need to. I’m not often wrong about things, Maddie, and I have long believed that you needed something for yourself.
You’ve shone through Maddie, in full technicolour – you have been more like a daughter to me than you’ll ever know. In a way that Tim has never really ‘come through’ for me as a nephew. You have. I wanted you to have something for yourself. Just yours, Maddie. Use it as you will. A holiday house, a place for you and Ed. You decide. It does need a fair bit of work, but it’s all yours, and