Dead to Me Read online

  She hadn’t thought about what he did to her much since they left the old house – having Ruby in her life had helped to numb the painful memory – and she supposed it had jumped into her mind again now because it was Christmas Day. She knew a bit more about sex these days, even if it was only through Ruby and the other girls at work. From what they said, it was quite ordinary for a man to get his girlfriend to hold his thing and rub it. She had the idea they even liked to do it. And Ruby’s mother had said that awful thing about taking it in the mouth to avoid getting pregnant. But Verity knew with absolutely certainty that it was a wicked and perverted thing for a father to make his daughter do such things to him. Just the thought of it made her flesh crawl, and she still had that smell of him in her nostrils as he’d pushed it into her mouth, nearly choking her.

  How she wished she could get on a train now to go and see Ruby and Wilby. For a moment or two she was resolved to find a telephone box and ring them to say Aunt Hazel was dead. She knew Wilby would be so sympathetic, she would tell her to get on the next train, but she couldn’t risk Ruby refusing to speak to her, that would tear her apart.

  Once down by the river she lingered because she loved the Thames, especially on days like this when the water was choppy and the silver glinted amongst the grey. She thought she would like to get on a boat and sail right down to the estuary at Gravesend and out into the open sea. She had the idea that would wipe out all the sad and nasty things that had happened to her in the past few years.

  But it occurred to her then that, as miserable, sad and scared as she was now, without one relative left, apart from her hateful missing father, it also meant she was now answerable to no one. That was actually quite a nice thought. She could stay out as late as she liked, go anywhere she liked.

  She owed no explanations, excuses or promises to anyone.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ‘Well, Miss Wood, I take it you have searched the entire house and found no legal papers, other than these?’ Mr Platt the solicitor asked. He patted the small pile of old, yellowing papers Verity had brought in.

  ‘That’s right,’ Verity said. ‘My neighbour told me I must look for my aunt’s will, but I’ve searched the attic, every box, cupboard and drawer, and I can’t find one. I found those old papers in a box under her bed, and as they had your address on them I kind of hoped you’d have her will.’

  It was now early February. After a post mortem to confirm Hazel’s death was the result of a heart attack, she had been buried in the same churchyard as her parents and sister during the first week of January. It had been a bitterly cold day with flurries of snow falling. But despite that, the funeral had been well attended by staff from Chiesmans and many neighbours.

  Verity had taken today off work to come to Simmons, Platt and Friedman Solicitors in Lewisham. Amongst the old papers she had found was a copy of her grandmother’s will, leaving the house in Weardale Road to Hazel.

  ‘Sadly, your aunt didn’t make one, at least not with us. But as she had these papers and knew the deeds of the house were with us, I am fairly certain we would have been her first port of call.’

  ‘I suppose she thought she had plenty of time – she was, after all, only fifty-one.’

  ‘I wish we could make people see such assumptions are folly,’ Mr Platt sighed. ‘If you die intestate, the government can take the estate if there is no heir. Even if there is an heir, probate is held up while searches are done to find the closest relative.’

  ‘That will be me,’ Verity said. ‘She wasn’t married, she had only one sister – my mother, who is dead. I’m the only person left.’

  Mr Platt looked at her thoughtfully over his glasses. ‘Well, my dear, that’s as may be, but we still have to make absolutely certain. It wouldn’t do to hand over a property to the wrong person. But you can continue living in the house until such time as it either becomes yours, or we find another rightful beneficiary. But even if it is yours, you will have to wait until you are twenty-one to legally inherit it.’

  Verity had assumed that would be the case, but she was relieved she didn’t have to leave the house.

  ‘I paid for her funeral with some cash I found in her bedroom and her final wages from where she worked,’ Verity admitted. ‘Was that wrong?’

  ‘For someone so young I think you’ve handled everything very sensibly. But legally you cannot sell or dispose of her jewellery, silver or any other valuables until probate is settled.’

  ‘She didn’t have anything of value,’ Verity said. ‘The cash I found was money she saved to have a bathroom put in.’

  ‘Will you be able to afford to carry on living there alone?’ he asked.

  ‘Just about, I think,’ Verity said. ‘But with war looming none of us knows what’s going to happen, or how we’ll manage.’

  ‘That is very true, Miss Wood. I am still hoping it can be averted, but it seems most people are resigned to it now. We’ve had many clients coming to us to discuss moving out of London for the duration. Personally, I think such action is unnecessary. But tell me, you said your mother died, but where is your father?’

  Verity gulped. She hadn’t said anything much about her own circumstances. She certainly hadn’t expected to be asked about her father.

  ‘He walked out on Mother and me, a long time ago now,’ she said quickly. ‘Our house was repossessed and we had to come and live with Aunt Hazel. Mother died a while back too.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear that.’ Mr Platt’s face softened in sympathy. ‘You certainly have had a tough time of it. But I would be a poor legal advisor if I didn’t point out that, if he has heard of your aunt and mother’s deaths, he could come back and insist on moving in with you. As your father, while you are under age, he can exercise that right.’

  Verity’s heart sank, this was the last thing she had expected to be told. ‘I won’t let him in,’ she retorted. ‘He’s a violent, nasty man.’

  Mr Platt frowned. ‘I’m sorry if I struck a raw nerve,’ he said. ‘Under the circumstances all I can suggest is that, if he does turn up, you telephone the police if you feel you are in danger. But meanwhile I will act for you in dealing with your aunt’s affairs, if that is what you wish.’

  Verity left the solicitors’ office feeling very anxious. It had been bad enough finding there was barely enough money to bury her aunt. She had expected there to be some kind of insurance policy to cover the funeral expenses, but there wasn’t. All she had now was her own wages, and with electricity and gas to pay she was already struggling. She had come to see Mr Platt in the hope that, even if there was no will, she would at least feel comforted by knowing she had put all her aunt’s affairs in order. She had never imagined that her father would even be mentioned, let alone that she would hear he had rights over her still.

  Looking at the situation logically, Mr Platt didn’t know he was on the run, and that therefore her father was extremely unlikely to do anything which would risk him being arrested. Also, he’d always wanted to have the best of everything, so Verity doubted he’d ever contemplate living in a house with an outside lavatory and no bathroom.

  So she might as well put him out of her mind.

  In the evening of her visit to the solicitors, Verity began a massive sort-out of her aunt’s house. It was partly to distract herself from unwelcome thoughts of her father, but also because it occurred to her that if she got a lodger in, that would solve some of her problems.

  Hazel had been a hoarder; she kept everything from old postcards to stockings with holes in them. Every drawer in her bedroom was filled, and there were dozens of full boxes under her bed, piled on top of the wardrobe, and even more in the attic.

  Verity made several piles. The best clothes and shoes for a jumble sale, the rest in old pillowcases for the rag and bone man. All the worthless items she put out for the rubbish collection, and she made a bonfire with the hated chaise longue, despite having been told she wasn’t to dispose of furniture, as she was sure no one would ever want that.
And she threw on to the fire all the old cards and letters.

  It took four evenings, working solidly after she got in from work until late at night. While sorting things she came across a few belongings of her mother’s that she and Aunt Hazel had forgotten about. There was a very stylish silver cigarette case, a gold and garnet bracelet and a silver and turquoise necklace.

  It was almost as good as finding a crock of gold, and it lifted her spirits considerably. She thought, if she got enough money for the items, she might go ahead with Aunt Hazel’s dream of putting a bathroom in. The man her aunt had asked to call round to give her a quote said it would be easy to install a bathroom in the small box room that used to be Verity’s when her mother was alive.

  That find, and all the increased space as a result of clearing out Hazel’s worthless clutter, had a surprisingly therapeutic effect on Verity. She found herself getting excited by thinking about the many small improvements she could make to the house herself. She could easily give Hazel’s bedroom a lick of paint, even try her hand at wallpapering. She would move her things into that room and then make her old one nice for a lodger.

  All at once she found her evenings busy when she got home from work, and weekends no longer seemed to be so long and lonely. With something creative to do she found she wasn’t dwelling on the absence of her aunt, Ruby or her mother so much. Early March also brought some very mild, sunny days, and that made her think of what she could do to make the back garden nicer so she could sit out there in the summer.

  She took her mother’s cigarette case, bracelet and necklace up to Rosen’s, the jeweller’s in Blackheath, one Saturday afternoon. During her periodic visits to the shop she had struck up a rapport with Mr Rosen, the owner, and this time he greeted her very warmly like an old friend.

  ‘I keep hoping you’ll come in with a young man one day to buy an engagement ring,’ he said teasingly. ‘You really should ensnare one soon before they all get called up for the war.’

  Verity laughed, and all at once realized she had been finding quite a lot of things funny in the last couple of weeks.

  ‘There is no young man to ensnare, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘I need some cash to put a bathroom into my house. Perhaps, once I’ve got that, I’ll find Mr Right.’

  He looked at the goods for some little time. ‘Ten pounds,’ he said finally.

  ‘I can’t accept that,’ she gasped in horror. ‘I was expecting at least thirty.’

  ‘I’m sorry, my dear, if that offer disappoints you,’ he said with a shrug. ‘But times are getting very hard for me. I still haven’t sold the silver pheasant I bought from you, and I doubt I will until this threatened war is over. Many of my best customers are worried about it and moving out of their homes here in Blackheath. The last few weeks I’ve hardly sold a thing.’

  ‘Why are they going? We don’t even know for certain there will be a war,’ Verity said with some indignation.

  He looked hard at Verity and made a resigned face. ‘I think we all know it’s inevitable, my dear. People say it’s better to find a safe place now and get settled before it begins. I say to them, “Who will look after your fine house and stop burglars and looters getting in?” They don’t say I am a silly old man, but that is what they think.’

  ‘So you mean these people are just shutting their front doors and going away?’ Verity asked incredulously.

  ‘Just so,’ he said. ‘Just this morning as I came up Lee Park I saw Mr and Mrs Solway, next to the doctor’s, they were putting suitcases in their car, ready to go. They told me they were going to the Lake District where they own a cottage.’

  Verity agreed to accept the ten pounds he’d offered, because she needed money now, and she doubted anyone else would give her more. She stayed for a little while, chatting about what the war might mean for them. Like her, Mr Rosen had been following the news closely, and they spoke of the awful way the Germans were treating their Jewish population.

  ‘I have a feeling it is going to get much worse for them,’ he said. ‘Many of the wealthier ones have left for America and other safe places, but the rest will become trapped there. And goodness knows what will become of them.’

  Verity could see his eyes filling up, perhaps thinking about friends or family he had over there, so she changed the subject to conscription and said she’d read that in April men of twenty and twenty-one would be called up.

  ‘Thank goodness I’m too old this time,’ he said with a weak smile. ‘I went off so willingly last time, not even waiting to be called up, just like so many others. But I lost most of my pals, and for a time I thought I’d lost my mind too. I pray this time it won’t be so bad.’

  After leaving the jeweller’s Verity bought some fruit, and a loaf in the baker’s. As she walked back through the village she wondered if ten pounds was enough for a bathroom, as she couldn’t remember what Aunt Hazel had said it would cost.

  It wasn’t exactly sensible to get it done, not until she knew for certain the house was hers. But on the other hand, it would make life so much more comfortable for her and a lodger to have a bath, hot water and an inside lavatory. Could she really go another couple of years without them?

  As she got to Lee Park she stopped to look at the Solways’ house, wondering how they could bear to leave it. It was one of those elegant, detached Georgian houses, with a central front door beneath a fancy portico, and lovely long windows, arched at the top, of which there were so many in Blackheath.

  Aunt Hazel had made most of the curtains for the couple, and she had often talked about how beautiful the house was inside.

  Verity looked over the gate, noting they had closed the internal shutters across the windows. Then she saw a young man sitting on the lawn under a monkey puzzle tree.

  He had a small suitcase with him, and he was slumped over, almost as if he was crying. Assuming he was a relative of the Solways, and he had arrived after they left, she felt she had to speak to him.

  ‘Excuse me!’ she called out. ‘If you are looking for Mr and Mrs Solway, I’ve been told they left for the Lake District this morning.’

  He looked up at the sound of her voice, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘Yes, I know,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘I was their gardener and they gave me notice today.’

  He was an unusual-looking man, slender and tall, with a bony but rather beautiful face, a thick thatch of unruly fair hair and duck-egg-blue eyes. She guessed him to be in his mid-twenties, and though his clothes were old and worn he sounded very well bred.

  ‘Gave you notice just like that?’

  He walked over to her and stood behind the gate looking at her. Close up he looked even more interesting. He had chiselled cheekbones, and his eyes were lovely, with thick, long dark lashes. Not handsome in a conventional way, but there was something fascinating about his face.

  ‘That’s right. Called me in just after ten, handed me my wages and said they were closing up the house and leaving. I asked if I was to stay on to look after the house and garden – I have a room above the old coach house, you see – but they said that wasn’t necessary, I was to go.’

  He had been crying. Verity saw his eyes were red.

  ‘That was very mean of them,’ she said. ‘Had you been with them long?’

  ‘Six years. The garden was nothing until I came, I breathed life into it and made it what it is today. The daffs are all coming out now, in another few weeks it will be a picture, and they just chuck me out like I did nothing for them.’

  His voice was quavering, and she wasn’t surprised he was upset – anyone would be.

  ‘Can you go home to your family?’ she asked.

  ‘No, I don’t have any –’

  He stopped short, and Verity noticed he’d turned very pale and was wavering.

  ‘Are you alright?’ she asked.

  To her shock, without answering her, he just crumpled in front of her eyes, falling down on to the gravel drive. Verity hastily opened the gate and went in. She
crouched down beside him, not knowing what to do.

  Thankfully, he opened his eyes after a few moments, so clearly he’d just fainted, or maybe it was shock. He tried to sit up.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said haltingly. ‘I don’t know what happened there, I felt whoozy and then suddenly I was on the ground.’

  ‘I think you just fainted,’ Verity said, helping him to sit up. ‘It might be shock, especially if you haven’t eaten anything today.’

  ‘Just before you came along I was telling myself I ought to go to a cafe. I haven’t eaten since yesterday.’

  ‘Eat this for now,’ she said, getting one of her apples out of her bag. ‘Then I’ll come with you to the cafe. There’s one down the bottom, on Lee High Road.’

  In Fred and Ada’s cafe he ordered beef stew with mashed potatoes, while Verity just had a bacon sandwich. She waited until he’d begun to eat before she asked him any questions.

  It was apparent he was very hungry, and she was reminded of the day she bought Ruby a meat pie. The difference was that this man’s manners were impeccable, no stuffing his food in or not using cutlery.

  ‘I’m Verity Wood,’ she said. ‘I live close by, I’m sixteen and I work in a wholesaler’s in the City.’

  ‘Well, I’m Miller Grantham. I’m twenty-five and as of today jobless and homeless.’

  ‘Miller! What an unusual name,’ she said. ‘But you’ll soon find another job and home.’

  He gave her a weak smile. ‘Of course I will, just feeling a bit sorry for myself, as it was so unexpected. Miller is a family name, my father and grandfather both had it as a second name.’