But then her eyes settled on the date on the ticket and the curve of her lips fell. First of November, 1989.
The publication date of Essie’s first novel.
And something hit Liv like a wrecking ball, almost knocking her off her feet.
The first of November must also be the date her dad died.
She shivered, as if drenched by a surprise storm. A warning bell clanged in her head and she wasn’t sure why.
Surely, it was all a strange coincidence.
Chapter 31
Briefcase
When Anthony arrived at Essie’s flat to share the will with Liv, he wore a white rose in his buttonhole and had a speck of confetti on his shoulder. His formal, distant air had returned as he sat down at Essie’s dining table.
Liv supposed it was a serious occasion, and she felt stiff, too. Finishing the manuscript had been like giving birth. It brought back memories of delivering Mack and Johnny, after her adrenaline rush faded and she wanted to crawl into a cave to hibernate.
She poured glasses of water and drank hers in one go, trying to get rid of a jittery sensation in her stomach. The stack of documents Anthony took from his briefcase could change her life and fortunes around forever.
The solicitor cleared his throat. ‘As you know, in three weeks’ time, the six-month period Essie specified for her death to be kept a secret will be over,’ he said. ‘We’ve both made it through alive.’
Liv smiled weakly. She jiggled a leg under the table, urging him to move on. She had the striped tie in her pocket, but Georgia’s courage was evading her.
‘First of all, a few logistics,’ he said, passing a piece of paper to her. ‘This is Essie’s obituary. I started to write it, but you’re far better at these kinds of things.’
As Liv read the words, tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them away, unable to bear reading about Essie’s death. ‘What happens now?’ she said.
‘On November the first, notice will be posted in theLondon Gazetteand a local paper notifying everyone of Essie’s death under her real name and pen name, to enable any creditors to come forwards. Her obituary will be more of a tribute to her, to be published more widely. I will personally contact Marlon so he can pass on the news to others in the publishing industry.’
Liv looked down at the paper. Everything felt so final and real, even clinical. Essie’s life and achievements had been condensed to one sheet of paper. ‘I know of a beautiful article where fans share stories about what Essie’s books mean to them,’ she said. ‘We could add a link to it in her obituary.’
‘Good idea.’ Anthony nodded. ‘Who wrote it?’
‘Chloe Anderton fromSheen.’
‘The journalist who was digging for info on Essie?’ he said, furrowing his brow.
‘I think you should read it. It’s very touching, and peoplecanchange.’
Anthony thought for a moment. ‘Okay, I believe you.’
Liv’s heartstrings tugged when she thought about Hank receiving the news. ‘I’d like to tell Hank Milligan personally,’ she said.
‘Yes, whatever you think is best.’
He ceremoniously turned over the first piece of paper. LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT was typed on the page. ‘And that brings us to Essie’s will,’ he said.
Liv’s stomach clenched when she saw it. Over five months ago, she and Anthony had sat in a coffee shop together and he delivered Essie’s last wish to her. And now they were here, trying to wrap everything up with a neat bow. She clutched the tie in her pocket for comfort.
‘There’s a lot of legal jargon involved,’ Anthony said. ‘Although I know you’ll understand it perfectly, it is rather long-winded. So, I won’t read out the entire document to you. I have other beneficiaries to contact, too.’
He ran a hand through his hair. The tuft he left on top somehow made him more human. ‘Suffice to say, as the executor of Essie’s will, I am to oversee all the administration and financial arrangements relating to her estate. Essie has bequeathed the vast majority of her assets to the Museum of Writing in Manningham. She requests that a contemporary writers’ room be set up in her name, and also that a series of bursaries are made available for writers in underrepresented communities.’
He continued. ‘After her death is announced I shall set up a meeting with the curator and the museum board to inform them of Essie’s generous gift.’ He looked up at Liv. ‘You previously mentioned a lack of modern exhibits. How do you think Essie should be best represented in the museum?’
Liv thought about what she’d like to see. ‘What about setting up a replica of her writing room?’ she said. ‘It was the place she spent most of her time. Readers would love to see where she wrote about Georgia Rory.’
