his voice. He’s a real chatty Cathy.
The door swings open to reveal a guy about my age. Ah, not a Colleen. See, I’m losing my mind.
‘Ask for Colleen.’
‘Uh hi... does Colleen live here?’ I ask with an apologetic grimace.
‘Yes,’ he says, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at me, ‘who are you?’
‘My son. He’s just as suspicious as his mother.’
Great. So I’m gonna have to beg two people to listen to me.
‘My name’s Phoebe Bellerose. I have something to tell her.’
He searches critically over my face. ‘O... kay. Follow me.’
I smile and follow him through a lounge and into a small, bright kitchen/diner that smells of freshly baked bread. There’s a woman with short brown hair and glasses sat at the table, her face etched with worry.
‘My Colleen.’
It suddenly dawns on me that this woman has lost her husband and he’s lost his Colleen. You can hear the affection in the way he speaks her name. How heart breaking to have lost each other. I can’t even find one decent bloke. The thought of finding the love of your life, but only to lose him again, makes my heart ache for them.
‘Colleen?’ I ask, trying to smile sympathetically—not that easy.
‘Yes,’ she confirms with an apprehensive nod. ‘Sorry, but I do I know you?’ Realisation dawns on her face. ‘You’re Breda’s great niece, aren’t you?’
Accent gave me away again.
‘Yeah, sorry.’ I shrug, bouncing on my heels, already wanting to run away. ‘This is going to sound really weird.’
She frowns back at me, then at her son.
How exactly do I put this? Your dead ghost of a husband contacted me because apparently I’m now someone who talks to dead people.
‘Um... I knew your husband.’ I swallow, my mouth dry.
Her eyes cloud over with fresh tears. ‘Frank,’ she says, beginning to sniff. ‘You knew Frank?’
‘Yes.’ I nod. Funny, his voice doesn’t sound like a Frank. More like a Mick.
‘How did you know him?’ she asks, with a squinted gaze.
‘Um... we met in the pub.’ My hands tremble by my sides. I despise lying.
She glowers at me. ‘Really? That’s strange. Frank wasn’t a drinker. Plus, he’s been bed bound for the last three months. I thought you and your sister had just moved here.’
Jesus, help me out here Frank! He’s decided to go quiet on me.
‘Well, anyway,’ I say quickly, attempting to move it along. ‘He wanted me to tell you that his will is hidden inside the dog food container.’
She pouts before crying out a laugh. ‘Sorry?’
‘Yeah,’ her son joins in. ‘What on earth are you talking about? Why would he put it there?’
‘Seemed like a good idea at the time.’
Not now Frank.
‘I have no idea,’ I shrug, already walking backwards, more than ready to get the hell out of here. ‘But I just wanted to come here and tell you that.’
‘Wait,’ she instructs, warning me with her eyes to stay in place.
She gets up and walks slowly over to the kitchen sink. Looking back at me, her head tilts, as if sizing me up.
I gulp. If this guy has set me up and there’s nothing there, I will die of shame. Like this isn’t weird enough.
She opens a cupboard underneath the sink, pulls out a metal tin and roots through it. She looks back at me, then back into the tin. She pulls out an envelope, rips it open and pulls out a document that I’m guessing is the will. Thank God for that.
‘Why did he tell you about this?’ she demands, appearing paler than a few minutes ago.
‘Err...’ I stammer, every fibre in my being telling me to turn and run. ‘He just kind of... mentioned it in passing.’
She narrows her eyes at me. ‘He... mentioned it in passing? Why on earth would he mention in passing the place he had hidden an important document? And like I said, he’s been bed bound for three months.’
Oh God. I suppose a guy wouldn’t just mention that in passing, not if he can’t even leave the house.
‘So when exactly did he come in?’ She puts one hand on her hip. ‘And what date did ye girls move here?’
‘Err...’ Oh God, this is awkward. ‘I can’t remember specifically.’
‘I have to say,’ the son says, eying me accusingly. ‘I find this all very strange.’
Like I don’t.
‘Me too.’ Colleen nods.
‘She was always suspicious.’
‘Anyway, I really have to go!’ I spin on my heel and practically run to the door and out of there. I start the walk back to the pub on shaky legs, praying to God he’ll