Blood-Tied Read Free Page B

curiosity was the last thing she wanted right now. Esme hesitated. If they did discover that Elizabeth had been meeting someone it would create an opening to mention the episode with the unknown man. She decided to defer the matter for the moment.
    Gemma slammed down the teapot on the worktop with such a thump that the lid clattered and threatened to jump off.
    ‘You look tired,’ said Esme with concern. ‘Did you sleep at all?’
    Gemma sighed. ‘Fits and starts.’ She placed her hands flat down on the counter, on either side of the teapot, and leant towards Esme. ‘Is this weird for you, too? Doesn’t it seem odd to you to be standing here, making tea in Mum’s house, the two of us, without her being here?’ Her forehead was furrowed, her mouth turned down at the corners.
    ‘Of course it does,’ said Esme. ‘It’s bound to. The whole thing does. It will work itself out.’
    ‘You sound like me in my nursing role, talking to distressed relatives.’
    ‘Then take some of your own advice.’ Esme turned away. ‘Come on. Get on with that tea, then let’s see if we can solve the mystery of who your mother was meeting…’
    ‘If anyone.’
    ‘If anyone,’ echoed Esme. She scanned the kitchen. ‘Let’s start with the obvious.’ She walked over to the notice board on the wall and inspected it. A business card for a window cleaner, a shopping list pad with a single word ‘matches’ written on the top sheet and a flyer for a forthcoming event at the local library. They were all neatly and geometrically arranged next to the calendar. Esme took the calendar off its hook. She stared at it for a second and then flicked back through the pages.
    Gemma came and looked over her shoulder. ‘What is it? Have you found a name?’
    ‘Nothing so specific, only the initials, W.H.’ Esme prodded a finger on the page. ‘But on the very day.’ She turned back to the previous month. ‘And there, and again there.’ She looked up at Gemma. ‘So who’s W.H.?’
    ‘Address book.’ Gemma hurried into the living room. The telephone was on a small table by an armchair. Elizabeth’s address book was neatly stored in a small shelf underneath. Gemma pulled it out and began scanning through the entries.
    ‘I’ll finish making the tea,’ said Esme, turning back to the kitchen. She flipped the switch to re-boil the kettle.
    While it did its magic she speculated about the initials. So, who was W.H.? Friend? Lover? Why only put their initials? Surely you’d write the person’s first name? Was this the person she was quarrelling with? On the other hand it could be an aide-mémoir of some sort. But for what?
    The kettle boiled and she warmed the pot, swilling the hot water around and tipping it down the sink. Water the Hostas, Hyacinths, Heathers? She dropped the teabag into the pot and poured on the water, racking her brain to think what other things came to mind. Women’s…something? Something Holiday?
    She sighed. It was pointless to try and guess what it might be. They needed more to go on. She picked up a tray from behind the bread bin and put the teapot down on it. Two mugs followed into which she slopped some milk and then she took the tray into the living room. The room was spotless and smelt of gardenias or something equally cloying.
    She looked around for somewhere to put the tray. Unlike in her own home, there were plenty of empty surfaces. There were no discarded newspapers and magazines on table tops, piles of reference books with markers sticking out of them or half-read paperbacks face down on the arms of the sofa. She walked over to the middle of the room and placed the tray on the vacant coffee table.
    Gemma sat in the armchair, her nose buried in Elizabeth’s address book.
    ‘Any luck?’ asked Esme.
    ‘Nothing under W or H, or anywhere else that I can see.’
    Esme nodded towards the bureau. ‘There might be a clue in there somewhere.’
    Gemma made to get up. ‘Hang on,’ said Esme. ‘Let’s have