Did his uncle mean he should make reparations to Tammy? Or Kathleen?
Ruan let out a groan that echoed in the silence of the caravan.
Walter’s notes and letters had provided fragments of answers to his questions while opening up many more.
The box was now empty but the lawyer in him prompted him to go through the documents again in case he’d missed anything. The only thing he hadn’t really paid much heed to were a clutch of yellowing receipts for gardening supplies;clearly poor old Hicks had been forced to account for every penny he spent.
As he examined the receipts, he discovered a sheet torn from a small spiral-bound notebook among them, almost as if it had been hidden away. It was grimy with dirt and the writing was hasty, clearly written in anger with capitals and underlining, at times barely more than a scrawl.
He had to flatten the note on the table under the desk lamp to see it better.
He’d barely got halfway through when he had to stop, unwilling to touch it further, as if he’d be tainted by the poison it contained.
His chest tightened and he knew what people meant by a heavy heart, but he also knew what he had to do.
Because, no matter what wounds it might rip open, like Kathleen’s final letter to Walter and his doomed proposal, the secrets in that note weren’t his to keep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Tammy almost dropped the fused glass sculpture she was wrapping for a customer.
The last thing she’d expected was for Ruan to walk into the gallery in the middle of a working Monday. She’d batted away the two messages he’d sent her since their row last week, saying she needed more time. They’d been polite and restrained – reminding her of the contrast between Ruan and Sean – yet she still hadn’t felt able to meet him face to face.
Even though she now understood why he’d delayed telling her about the house for a couple of extra days, Davey’s diagnosis had taken up all her energy. She felt overwhelmed by her concerns for him and what the future might hold – while the tentacles of the past were trying to drag her back to painful times she’d tried to escape.
She caught his eye and somehow kept up her sales patter, taking the payment and saying a cheery goodbye. Meanwhile Ruan pretended to browse the paintings. Even from behind, Tammy could tell his shoulders were stiff with tension.
As soon as they were alone, he approached the desk. ‘Ididn’t want to disturb you, but I’ve found something and I think you should see it. I visited the nursing home where Walter spent his final years and they gave me a box of letters and notes.’
‘Oh?’
‘Can we go somewhere quiet?’ he asked. ‘Is Davey in?’
‘No but I can close for lunch in ten minutes and meet you in the flat. Do you want to go up? Why do I need to see these letters?’ she added, unable to wait.
‘There’s a note from your dad to Walter. I think you should have it,’ he said solemnly.
The tiny hairs on her arms stood on end. ‘I’m closing now,’ she said and turned the sign on the door. ‘Go up.’
A minute later, she walked in on Ruan as he was staring out of the window at the harbour.
‘What’s in this note?’ she asked, dreading yet wanting to see it.
Ruan unzipped his document wallet and removed a small sheet of notepaper. Tammy recognised it. Her dad used to buy the cheap notebooks from a pound shop in Penzance.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ruan said, putting it into her hands.
It might have been half a minute; it might have been much longer. Tammy couldn’t tell. All she could see were the vicious words in that note: the threats, the warnings and angry accusations.
She sat down heavily on the sofa and forced herself to look at it again.
Walter
I’m WARNING you.
You got what you wanted: our home. You finally forced us out of Rosewarne and now you can revel in it. I hope you rot there.
I’ll take my share of the blame for losing it. I let you lead me into temptation and it’s too late to go back now but I WON’T let your poisonous lies about Debbie and Davey ruin everything else.
