“She should’ve said something.”
“You were dealing with enough—she didn’t want to burden you. Anyway, what does it matter now? The house helped pay for the two of you to live while she was sick, and it financed the treatments Medicare didn’t cover. You’ve moved on. It’s over.”
“It would’ve been nice to know we had a little bit of money to fall back on after Mum’s death.”
“You seem to be doing pretty well on your own,” he countered.
Charmaine bit back a retort. She wouldn’t call bouncing from place to place for three years, living on minimum wage, never sure if she would be able to make her rent, doing well. But Sean didn’t know what she’d been through. How could he? She’d never told him. As far as he knew, she had a nice, if somewhat cramped, unit close to the beach on a tropical island, with a decent job only a few steps from her front door. Things were good now. But there’d been a lot of heartache and anxiety along the way.
Maybe she wouldn’t have left Newcastle right away if she’d had some equity in the house to draw from. Although, she hadn’t been allowed to access any of her mother’s accounts at first. The entire estate was frozen by the state after her death. It was standard procedure, Charmaine had been assured. But it didn’t make things any easier for her, especially when the bills for the funeral took the last of her meagre savings. At the time, she couldn’t believe that her mother hadn’t done more to prepare for her passing.
Mum hadn’t spoken to Charmaine about her estate or her last wishes. She hadn’t handed Charmaine a sheet of paper with passwords on it for all her accounts, or a list of belongings and who they should go to. The only thing she’d discussed was that she wanted Charmaine to play the Carpenters at the funeral, and to scatter her ashes in the ocean off the coast of Newcastle.
Charmaine had done both things with a heavy heart. Alone one evening on an empty beach as rain spattered against her face and a chill northeasterly did its best to foil her plans, she threw an urn full of ashes into the churning surf. It had been a frustrating ending to a horrible month for her, and all she’d wanted to do as she watched the waves take her mother’s remains into their dark, roiling depths was to leave. To get out of there and not look back. To forget about it all and to start her life again, as someone else, in a new place.
“I suppose you’re right. It wouldn’t have changed anything. I only wish she’d told me. I thought I knew everything about her, but the more time passes, the more I learn about her. It’s like I’m uncovering information about a stranger.” She didn’t like the way it made her feel. It was hard enough holding on to the memories that flitted like vapours in and out of her dreams some nights. To discover that her mother wasn’t the open book she’d always seemed to be caused Charmaine’s stomach to tighten. She shook off the encroaching nausea with a sigh and reached for her purse.
“I’ve got to go. We can talk more about this later.”
As she shut the front door behind her, she saw her brother staring at the blank television screen. What was going through his head as he sat there? She wished she knew. It’d always been so difficult for her to read him, since his way of thinking was foreign to her own. Sometimes she’d imagine what he must be considering when he looked pensive and then he’d say something so unrelated or out of the blue, she’d realise all over again that he was the most unknowable person she’d ever met. And it scared her.
Four
As the last customer left,the bell above the door rang, and Evie exhaled a sigh of relief. It’d been a long day. She’d spent half of it showing the contractor around the bookshop and talking about floorboards, roofing, tiles and paint, and she’d had no time to eat or drink anything since she was the only one working the afternoon shift.
She finished counting the till, then closed her eyes and massaged her temples with her fingertips. The bell above the door rang again, and without opening her eyes, she declared, “We’re closed.”
“Surely you can stay open a little while longer,” said a soft, feminine voice.
Evie’s eyes blinked open, and her heart fell. She grimaced. “Emily.”
Her sister was here. She’d been expecting this moment—dreading it. But she’d steeled herself to be positive, to be loving and kind. She hurried to embrace her twin sister, who laughed and flung her arms around Evie’s middle, lifting her off the ground.
Evie groaned. “Put me down. We’re the same size, and you’ll hurt your back.”
“I’m younger than you. Don’t forget.”
“Pffft … by two minutes. That hardly counts.”
Emily set Evie’s feet back on the floor. Evie studied her sister. Her red hair had been bleached blonde and straightened. She was tanned and lithe, perhaps a little too skinny. Her cheeks were chiselled and her brown eyes darted from Evie’s face to the door and back again. She’d always been a little skittish. Evie was the solid, reliable one. Emily was the artist who always seemed to have some kind of drama going on in her life. Drama Evie was glad to avoid.
“I wasn’t expecting you yet,” Evie said. “Mum mentioned you might come, but she didn’t tell me a time.”
“I had to get out of there. They hover. Have you ever noticed how much they hover?”
Evie laughed. “I’ve noticed.”
“It’s good to see you, sis.”
“You as well.” Evie hadn’t been excited at the prospect of a visit from her sister when Mum first mentioned it, but now that she was here, she had to admit she liked it. They were twins, after all, and had a connection she couldn’t deny. Even if Emily drove her crazy more often than not, she loved her above anyone else in the world. Besides, her mother had asked her to be nice, so she intended to try.
“My things are out in the car. Care to help me with them?”
Evie zipped up the cash bag with the day’s take inside. “I’ve got to get over to the bank, but I’ll give you my house key. There’s no point bringing your things into the bookshop since I’m closing up.”
“Isn’t it a little early for that?” Emily’s eyes narrowed. “Everything okay?”
“The customers are gone, and I have a throbbing headache. I’m closing early.”
