One Last Gift, page 12
Sell it, she had said. But…“But can’t you just…fix it? Fix the pipe, sort the flooring? You might have to close for a little bit, but you’ll get it back on its feet, I’m sure.”
“Well, the thing is,” Linda said slowly, “I’m not going to be able to afford to do that.” She sighed. “Oh, Cassie love, I just don’t have the money. I’ve been keeping my head above water—just—and I thought we’d turned a corner, thought I’d be able to make it work, but with this…It’s something I can’t come back from. I don’t have the money to redo the place, and there’s no way I’ll be able to borrow any more money. The bank has already been sending me letters, reminding me how much I owe them—as if I didn’t already know.” The letters she’d seen after Christmas, Cassie remembered. She’d forgotten about them, of course, too torn up by everything else, but she had a flash, then, of the Urgent notice. “So I don’t really have a choice,” Linda finished.
Cassie pressed her free hand to her head, tried to think. “How much money would it cost to fix the damage from the pipe leak?”
Linda hesitated. “About thirty thousand, I think.”
“Thirty thousand?” Cassie exclaimed, causing Josh to look at her again. But seriously—what had happened with the bloody pipes? “Sorry,” she said quickly, aware that she probably wasn’t helping. “But, look, that’s not completely out of the realms of possibility. Even if you can’t get a loan, there must be a way to raise that sort of money. We can think of something. I’ll help you.”
Linda paused for long enough to let Cassie know that there was something else. “The thing is, there’s a developer who’s made an offer on the place.”
“Already? I thought you said this only happened last week?”
“Yes, but they’ve been sniffing around for a while now—they must’ve known I wasn’t doing too well, I suppose.”
“Well, don’t take the offer,” Cassie said sharply.
“Cassie love, I’m not in the position to—”
“Please, Linda. Just…Wait, OK? At least give me time to…think.” The office door swung open, and Robert strode in. She jumped. “Sorry, Linda, I’ve got to go,” she said quickly, looking down at the desk as she felt Robert’s eyes on her. “But I’ll call you back later.” She heard Josh calling Robert over, trying to distract him. “I’m going to figure this out, OK?”
“I hope that wasn’t a personal call, Cassie,” Robert said, the moment she was off the phone. Cassie decided it was safer not to answer that. Robert picked up a pen off Josh’s desk and started tapping it against the back of Josh’s monitor. Josh watched Robert’s hand and the pen with an expression of distaste.
“The Easter egg treasure hunt,” Robert demanded. “Where are we with that?”
Cassie shot Josh a panicked look. “I’m doing it,” Josh said easily.
Robert paused briefly in his tapping, stared over at Cassie. “But you do it every year.” Cassie fought to keep her expression neutral.
“Well,” Josh said, “I’m having a go this year. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
Robert still looked suspicious, though he resumed his tapping. “Fine isn’t really good enough. Cassie is better at this sort of thing than you.”
“Consider this me branching out. Growing into my role.” Josh’s voice was deadpan.
Robert spared him a brief glance, then looked again at Cassie. “You should supervise.”
“I will,” she said immediately, even though it was a lie. Josh could handle the treasure hunt, she was sure—it was for kids, for God’s sake, and he’d watched her do it enough times.
“Fine,” Robert said, and left the office, taking Josh’s pen with him.
Josh glanced at her. “Are you OK?”
She nodded. It was different, but she couldn’t help it—it made her think of Tom, of the treasure hunts he’d done for her, the one he’d set up before he’d died. She still hadn’t been able to start it, in the two and a half months since she’d gotten the first clue, even though it had been playing on her mind constantly—wondering what the clues said, what they led to. What he’d been planning for her. Not that she could explain any of this to Robert. He expected her to be running as normal by now, and she was doing her best to convey that.
“I’ll take care of it,” Josh said soothingly. “Don’t worry. Robert can sod off—it’s only a stupid treasure hunt.” He grimaced. “I didn’t mean…”
“No. I know what you mean. And thanks.”
Josh hesitated. “And…Linda?”
Cassie blew out a breath. “Another story.” And she proceeded to fill him in.
* * *
—
When Cassie got back to her flat that evening, Hazel was making supper, though judging by the steam and the swearing, it was not going well. Cassie walked into the kitchen and peered into the pan to see a congealed mass of rice—Hazel had not gotten any better at cooking since they’d left university. She looked mournfully at Cassie. “I tried.”
“And that’s what counts.”
Hazel held up an open bottle of white wine. “I opened it for the risotto, but since that’s not going well it’s probably best to drink this, and that way the food might taste better.” Hazel poured her a glass, and Cassie took it gratefully.
“So,” Hazel said, “how are things going with Robert?”
“OK, I guess,” Cassie lied. “He’s upset at the moment because I’m not organizing the Easter egg hunt.” It wasn’t the same, she told herself firmly. It wasn’t the same as what Tom used to do, and it was Easter, not Christmas.
Hazel was watching her. A little too carefully, Cassie thought. “Have you…” Hazel hesitated, tucking a strand of her ebony hair behind her ear. “Did you ever open that clue from Tom? The one Linda gave you?”
Cassie shook her head, looking at her risotto rather than at Hazel. “I can’t bring myself to.” A part of her wanted to, though. Wanted to know what he’d written, what he’d been planning. But an equal part of her was terrified at the thought, about the grief spiral that might be waiting for her on the other side.
“Maybe you should,” Hazel said softly. “It might help you to—”
“What, move on?” Cassie tried to keep the bitterness from her voice.
“No. Not that. I’m not sure moving on is the right way to put it. Someone like that…” Hazel shook her head sadly. “You don’t just put them aside and step away from them. But it might help you to process, I guess. Or not.” She blew out a breath, picked up her wine. “You don’t have to. But if you want to and you want me with you or whatever, then I’m here, OK?”
They ate the rest of the risotto in relative silence, and when they were done, Cassie went to bed early. She didn’t go to sleep though. Instead she took out the envelope that she’d been keeping in her bedside drawer, so it was next to her as she slept, always within reach. She traced the edges of it with her fingertips, drinking in the sight of his scrawling handwriting. She’d once accused him of having the ugliest handwriting in the entire world—and he’d managed to take that as a compliment, claiming that if it was going to be ugly, it was best to be the ugliest. Like he’d won some sort of competition.
She thought about going to get Hazel. But this first time, seeing what he’d written, it felt like it should be a private moment.
And so, with trembling fingers, she opened the envelope. It wasn’t just the clue inside, she saw. There was something else, something more. A little note. Her gaze rushed over the page, too quick to take in the words, frantic in her need to absorb them. She took a breath, forced herself to slow down, and read.
Happy Christmas, Chipmunk! Are you excited? I’m excited. The hunt this year is going to be so much fun. But I feel like I should warn you—so we don’t have a repeat of the tantrum of ’03 again—that it might be harder this year. You’ll get it at the end though. Probably. Hopefully.
Just don’t freak out if this takes longer than usual, ok? It’s all part of my grand, evil plan.
Underneath that, he’d drawn a little cartoon man with evil eyes, drumming his fingers together, and a little speech bubble with mwahahahaha in it. Cassie felt a little snort of laughter build, then bubble over. It was a terrible cartoon drawing. But just like his handwriting, she knew Tom would’ve been proud of it. She could picture him drawing it, writing the note. Could picture his face as she read it. She would’ve scowled at him, no doubt, demanded to know why, exactly, it would take longer this year—and why he’d felt the need to warn her about it. And he’d shake his head and say something annoying like, “All in good time, Chipmunk.” She could actually hear him saying it, right now, like he was here with her in the room.
She blew out a breath, put the note aside. Then, heart hammering, she picked up the clue. The first clue that would start the hunt to the very last gift her brother would ever give her.
Chapter Thirteen
“What do you mean, you’re going to take the offer?”
Cassie jerked forward from where she was sitting on her double bed, her back propped against the pillows. Tom’s clue, the one she’d opened last night, fluttered off her lap and onto the duvet next to her, and she snatched it back up. His words had been playing on repeat since she’d read it. We’ll stay close this time but go up high…And he knew she didn’t like heights—though really, who did? She was pretty sure anyone who said they weren’t scared when they were peering down at the ground from high up was lying. Her brain had been whirring, trying to figure out where Tom wanted her to go, and she’d barely been able to sleep because of it. But she was trying to focus, trying to put it aside, because she knew she needed to help Linda.
“Cassie love, I just don’t have any options,” Linda said with a sigh. Her voice was groggy, not yet fully awake—Cassie had rung her first thing in the morning, and Linda had always been more of a night owl.
“Of course you have options. There are always options.” Cassie took a breath. “Look, Linda, it might not cover it all, but I have my savings, from my parents, and I—”
But the answer was entirely predictable. “Absolutely not, Cassie. That’s for your future, not mine.”
“But I—”
“No,” Linda said. “And that’s final.”
Cassie wrinkled her nose, but she knew that once Linda decided something, it really was final. The thing was, though, when she’d thought about it she’d realized she didn’t just have her inheritance now: she had Tom’s too, because he’d left it to her in his will. It was less than she would have expected, less than her half—not that she cared about that. She didn’t want Tom’s money, because it would feel wrong, using it. But she hadn’t realized he’d already spent a chunk of his, and she couldn’t help wondering what he’d done with it. Wondering why he hadn’t told her about it.
“All right,” Cassie said. “What about you host some sort of fundraiser in the village?”
“I can’t ask the village for money, love,” Linda said, and Cassie hated how weary her voice sounded.
“Yes, you can! They’d want to help. We could organize some music, put on some food, ask people for donations and—”
“Where, exactly, can we do this? There’s no way I can let anyone near the pub right now—it’s a bloody health and safety risk, I tell you, and I swear the mold is already setting in.” Linda’s voice cracked, just slightly, at the end of her sentence—cracked in a way that might have been easy to hide, if Cassie didn’t know her so well. The sound made Cassie’s heart break—Linda loved that pub. She could only imagine what this was doing to her—seeing it destroyed, feeling like there was nothing she could do. She gripped Tom’s clue, the little piece of paper, tighter in her fist, fingernails biting into her palm around it.
“We’ll do it at the hall,” Cassie said. “I’m sure they’ll let us use it for free, if we explain.”
Linda huffed out a laugh. “I’m not sure how much money a little village fête will raise us, my love.”
“Well, we don’t know, do we?” Cassie demanded. “Not until we try.”
Linda said nothing, and Cassie read something in the silence.
“What?” Still nothing. “Linda, what is it?”
A sigh. “The developers—they’ve given me two weeks to take the offer, otherwise they’re going to withdraw it.”
“What? They can’t do that! That’s like…blackmail.”
Linda laughed softly. “Indeed. But that’s their world for you.”
It was wrong, Cassie decided. Wrong that people could manipulate you like that. “You can’t let some random people have it,” Cassie said, her voice on the edge of a plea. “Who knows what they’d do to it.” And she couldn’t bear it—the thought that they’d tear it down, build some crap block of new flats or something in its stead. Linda’s pub was special because it was old. It had history, memories. It needed love, it needed looking after—not tearing down.
“I don’t want to do this, Cassie—that pub has been my life. But when these things happen, they happen, and you sometimes have to know when to give up the fight. I’m fighting a losing battle anyway—all these chains, and whatnot—village pubs are just not making the money anymore.”
Cassie winced. She knew things had changed from when Linda started out, but she didn’t like the thought of it. Somewhere deep inside, no matter how she’d tried to push it aside as the impractical dream it was, she still harbored a fantasy of opening her own place in the countryside. She didn’t want Linda to give up. It felt like it would prove her dream a façade, once and for all, prove to the sensible part of her brain that she’d be stupid to go down that route.
Linda sighed, and Cassie could imagine the swish of her bob as she shook her head. “I’m getting old, anyway—”
“You’re not—”
“And these managers,” Linda carried on over Cassie, “they’re never any good.”
“That’s because you don’t ever give them a chance.” And it was true—Linda didn’t trust anyone with her pub longer than a few days.
“What about a crowdfunder?” Cassie asked suddenly.
“A what?”
“A crowdfunder. You know, there are these websites, and you upload details of your project, and then you get people to donate.”
“Hmmm, sounds a bit mercenary to me, taking people’s money.”
“Well, they wouldn’t give you the money unless they wanted to—you’re not forcing anyone to.”
“Still, I don’t know how I feel about—”
“Or you could give them something in return,” Cassie plowed on. “Like a share in the pub or something? I’d do it!” she continued, talking over Linda’s automatic protests. “Then if the pub made loads of money, they would too, but more than that, the people donating would feel like they were a part of something, you know?”
“Shares.” The way she said it, Cassie could almost see Linda grimacing, the idea of ceding some control there.
“You wouldn’t have to let them have any say in it—like what you do with it.”
“Then what would be the point of being a shareholder?”
Cassie sighed. “Linda, will you just please think about it? If not shares, then we can come up with something else.”
“Fine. Fine, yes, I’ll think about it. In the meantime though, let’s talk about something else, hmm? How are you?”
For now, Cassie thought, she’d let Linda drop the subject—but she wasn’t going to give up on this. “I’m…well, I’m OK, I guess.” She paused. “I opened Tom’s first clue.” She looked down at it, sitting in her lap.
“Did you?” Linda’s voice changed, became more intent. “What does it say?” Cassie smiled a little at the urgency in her voice. Linda had always loved the treasure hunt. Tom had used her pub more than once, sending Cassie there to a beaming Linda, who would hand over the next clue.
Cassie didn’t need to look at the slip of paper—she could recite it from memory.
“We’ll stay close this time, but go up high,
I talked about taking you, but our plans went awry,
Now I’m hoping you’ll brave it alone,
Climb to the sky and see the unknown.”
Linda laughed delightedly. “I love it! Oh my gosh, the rhyming!”
Cassie smiled again. “He tried to stop doing that one year, and I basically had a fit.”
Linda chuckled quietly. “I remember. Do you know, when he was little, he used to ask me for help with the rhymes?”
“Really?”
“Oh yes, he’d sit in the pub after school or when Claire was busy—he’d pick times when you were out of the room or off with Hazel—and we’d go through all the possible rhyming words together.” Cassie could imagine it: a young Tom sitting across the other side of the wooden bar during the closed times, before it opened again at 6 p.m., pen poised over paper, frowning in concentration, his floppy blond hair falling into his eyes. The fact that Tom was gone and now soon the pub would be too hung in the air between them.
Cassie cleared her throat. “There’s a P.S., too.” He did this sometimes, when he thought she might need extra help.
“Oh?”
“P.S. I’ve always liked the number thirty-two. P.P.S. Once you’re there, I hear the afternoon tea is exquisite. Especially when you order from Rose.”
“I can hear Tom’s voice when you say that, you know.”
The sadness in Linda’s voice made Cassie’s own throat tighten. “Me too,” she whispered, blinking back tears that were always so close to the surface.
Then Linda said, a little incredulously, “He’s always liked the number thirty-two?”
Cassie couldn’t help laughing. “Apparently so.”
