‘But what if you want a new coat or something?’ she’d say.
Jennie and Dan had a joint account from which they both helped themselves, not that there was anything in it, as Jennie would remark tartly.
‘Well, I either save a bit each week, or I ask him. He’d probably say yes,’ I’d say uncomfortably as her eyes would grow round.
‘Yes, but it’s the whole idea that you have to ask. It’s so nineteen-fifties.’
‘It’s his money,’ I’d say defensively. ‘At least you earn a bit, Jennie.’ Jennie was a cook and rustled up dinner parties for friends, food for freezers, that sort of thing. ‘He earns every penny of ours.’
‘Well, I won’t go into the fact that you’ve given up a career to raise his children,’ she’d say, ‘or that my children are at school so I can work, and you’ve still got a baby so can’t,’ and I was glad she didn’t. And in turn didn’t go into the fact that Phil called my monthly allowance my salary. I could hear her squeal of horror at twenty paces.
Now, though, it seemed I might not get away with keeping too much dark. Jennie had that determined look on her face which meant she intended to get to the bottom of something.
‘Did he have a life insurance policy?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Poppy, has all this completely knocked the stuffing out of you?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Well, even the most grief-stricken widow might, in an anxious moment, have wondered whether her chickens were going to be provided for. Are you going to get dressed today, incidentally?’
I glanced down at my towelling robe. ‘D’you think I should?’
‘I do, as a matter of fact; you didn’t yesterday. Who took Clemmie to school this morning?’
‘Alice’s mum picked her up for me. Has done for a bit.’
‘Right. Good. But … well, brush your teeth at least, won’t you?’ she said awkwardly.
I shrugged. So demanding. And so many questions.
She swallowed. Licked her lips for patience. ‘OK, Pops, back to basics. Money. Where did Phil keep his papers?’
‘In there.’ I pointed vaguely behind me, through the open kitchen door to the sitting room, where a walnut bureau sat under the bay window.
‘Would you mind if I …?’
‘Be my guest.’
She was in like a rat up a drainpipe. Shimmying out of her coat and tossing it en route on the sofa, she hurried across the sitting room and spent the next half-hour getting very busy. I watched her flicking through his files, which, typical of Phil, were organized and methodical, but which somehow, even though I’d walked across to the desk a few times and stared at it, I hadn’t been able to face opening. I turned and resumed my contemplation of the tiny back garden, the sheep in the field beyond. All ewes now, grazing peacefully. Were they happy to see the back of Shameful, I wondered? Or was any man, demanding or otherwise, better than nothing? They looked pretty content to me, munching away out there.
Behind me I could hear the rustle of papers as Jennie burrowed deeper. I sat on. On the one occasion I did glance around, it was to see Angie peering through the sitting-room window from the road, perfectly plucked eyebrows raised enquiringly under her fur hat. Jennie gave her a quick thumbs up. Angie nodded and swept by. Apart from the kitchen clock ticking and the occasional snuffle of my darling Archie through the baby alarm, the house was silent.
At length she came bustling back, brandishing bits of paper.
‘Right. Well, the good news is, he did appear to have a life insurance policy, but I have no idea what’s in it. He also appears to have had a solicitor, who I’m sure can tell you more.’
‘Oh, good.’ I tried to raise some enthusiasm.
I looked beyond her. Funny. I’d never noticed that damp patch on the kitchen wall. I might have to put a picture on that.
‘No will – at least, not that I can find – but that’s quite normal. It’s probably lodged with the solicitor.’
‘Ah.’
‘Shall I make you an appointment?’ she said impatiently.
‘Is that necessary?’
‘Yes, I think it is. You’ll have a lot to talk about. Sometime this week?’
‘Couldn’t it wait?’
‘No it couldn’t. I’ll have the kids for you.’
She’d already whipped out her mobile. Punched out a number which she’d gleaned from the letterhead in her hand. Why couldn’t I make the appointment, I wondered. Because she thought I wouldn’t do it, perhaps. Would I? Hard to say. The feverish adrenalin which had rendered me