Page 23 of Snowflakes Over Micklewick Bay

‘That’s a relief. Are you all right for me to continue, lovey? I know you’ve had a bit of a day of it, so if it’s all too much, we can pick it up another time. Tomorrow, maybe?’

‘If it’s all right with you, I’d prefer to hear it all now.’ Hannah knew that to leave it would only give her a sleepless night, worrying about what else was to come.

‘It’s fine with me, flower.’ Birdie paused a moment, as if getting her thoughts back in order. ‘Your parents loved Midsummer Haven; were very settled and happy there, even more so when you came along. Bronagh adored your dad as much as he adored her and she didn’t want him to have to leave the property if anything ever happened to her. She thought it’d be a good base for you to return to when you left for university or college. Coll said her and your mum’s wills took some drafting to make sure everything was watertight, so there’s no wonder your head’s in a spin with it all. It’s why they’d opted for Maurice Cuthbert since he had an excellent reputation for complicated inheritance situations like theirs. Apparently, he was – and still is – the best in the field and, from what I could gather, your mum wanted to safeguard everything in case your dad remarried and his new wife wanted to get her mitts on owt you were meant to inherit. It’s why her estate didn’t go to your dad or straight to you. She didn’t want to risk you being in a position where you could be browbeaten into handing anything over.’

‘Right,’ said Hannah, absorbing Birdie’s words. She assumed with her mum being a solicitor who specialised in matrimonial law, she’d have seen all sorts of acrimonious situations and would’ve wanted to be absolutely certain to safeguard her estate so it didn’t end up in the wrong hands.

‘Mind, I reckon she’d have changed her mind about letting your father stay at the house if she’d known what was going to happen with that Polly woman. Coll said your mum started to have doubts about her not long after she’d moved in to be your childminder,’ Birdie said sadly. ‘Shame she didn’t put her out on her ear; things would’ve been very different if she had.’

‘They would, Birdie.’ Hannah tried to ignore the spike of anger that shot through her at the reminder. As a child, she could remember being wary of the woman. The first time she’d met her at her parents’ office Polly had been sickly sweet, fawning over her and making a fuss. But something about her manner had made Hannah feel strange, that there was a fakeness about her. But that had been long before Polly had got her feet under the table at their home. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on that, though, she needed to get her head around all of what Birdie was telling her. She rubbed her brow with her fingertips, her mind piecing together the snippets of information Birdie had just imparted about her mother and aunt’s estate with what she’d learnt from Mr Cuthbert that morning. Bit by bit, it was starting to make sense.

‘By rights, Polly should’ve been out of Midsummer Haven before Christmas.’ Birdie’s voice broke through her thoughts. ‘But she’s been ignoring the letters from the solicitor giving her notice to leave. And I heard a whisper Darryl’s moved back in with her, so I very much doubt he’ll be helping things.’

Darryl! Of course, that would explain it. Her thoughts jumped to the texts and missed calls from him. That must’ve been the reason he’d been calling her. She’d left her phone in her coat pocket which was currently hanging up to dry at Fern Cottage. She’d deliberately kept it turned off since she’d returned from Micklewick Bay, not wanting to hear the arrival of further communication from him. It was also, she thought a little guiltily, another excuse not to text Florrie.

She dreaded to think how many messages had arrived since she’d last checked, not to mention the tone of them. At least she hadn’t encountered him while she was in Micklewick Bay; that was something, at least.

Hannah’s mind went back to the last time she’d come face to face with her stepbrother. It was when she’d sneaked back to the town for her father’s funeral. It was a day she wasn’t going to forget it in a hurry.

The weather had been suitably sombre for a funeral despite it being mid-August. A dense, grey cloud hung low in the sky as a sea fret inched its way in, snuffing out any last traces of sunshine. Hannah had only learnt of the service two days before when a former neighbour had rung and left a message on the landline answerphone. It was Mrs Peterken – the woman she’d seen outside the bookshop in Micklewick Bay when she’d dropped Florrie off – who’d had the unenviable job of delivering the news that Hannah’s father had died a few weeks before. She’d had a suspicion that Polly and Darryl would keep it from Hannah and her aunt, which was why she’d called. Hannah had been devastated that she’d had to find out this way. She’d always known her stepmother had a malicious, spiteful streak, but keeping it from her that her father had died was beyond cruel and heartless.

Despite her attempt at maintaining an outwardly calm demeanour, Auntie Coll had barely managed to contain her boiling anger. ‘Just when you thought the woman couldn’t stoop any lower, she goes and outdoes herself.’ She’d shaken her head, fury flashing in her eyes. ‘She’s in for one heck of a shock, I can tell you. Karma, I always say, has a nasty habit of biting you on the bum when you least expect it. Little does Polly know she’s going to get a great big bite out of her sorry backside.’

When Hannah had asked what her aunt had meant by that, Colleen’s vague reply of, ‘You wait and see, flower – comeuppance is a wonderful thing,’ had only puzzled her further but she’d been too preoccupied by the news of her father to dwell on it.

Her aunt, who had an appointment with her consultant at the hospital on the same day as Jon Merryweather’s funeral, had offered to cancel it and accompany Hannah to the service, but her niece wouldn’t hear of it. ‘No, Auntie Coll, it’s important you keep it, otherwise you might have to wait ages for the next one. If I go, I’ll go on my own and stand at the back, keep a low profile.’

Much as she’d wanted to pay her last respects, Hannah had been torn about whether to attend her father’s funeral. Auntie Coll had told her that their years of estrangement shouldn’t come into it and that she had as much right to be there as anyone – especially Polly and Darryl – and that she’d support her whatever her decision. But Hannah had firsthand experience of how venomous Polly and Darryl could be and she’d been fearful of attracting their attention. There was no getting away from it, her presence there would enrage them. She’d hate to have a confrontation at such an inappropriate time.

In the end, it had been a last-minute decision. On the morning of the funeral, Hannah had woken with the overwhelming need for closure. She hoped it would help her accept that the chance for reconciliation was gone. To see her father put to rest would mean the whole situation was over. That she’d be able to let go of the invisible thread of hope that had kept her tethered to Micklewick Bay.

She arrived in the town early in order to secure a parking place with a clear view of the entrance to the church, but provided sufficient distance so she could keep hidden from anyone who might loiter before going inside. The last thing she wanted was to be recognised and for anyone to start hurling accusations at her or give out disapproving looks. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time. An image of one of Polly’s friends, Gaynor, landed in her mind. The woman had given Hannah a right savaging, accusing her of things Darryl had been guilty of and not her. The look on Gaynor’s face had haunted her for months after. The memory was enough to make her heart race.

She’d been in the confines of her car for over an hour, her heart heavy with grief, by the time the first of the mourners arrived and began filing into the church. Her stomach swooped and a feeling of unease took hold when she spotted Polly being helped out of the funeral car by Darryl. Her mouth went dry and she started to shake. It was a Pavlovian response that Hannah hadn’t experienced with such force since her mother had died and Polly and Darryl had moved into Midsummer Haven. The intensity took her breath away. No wonder Auntie Coll had described her as a little ball of stress when she was younger. It had taken a long time for Hannah to let go of those feelings, though she still got a reminder from time to time, when a memory sneaked its way in.

Hannah watched with morbid fascination as her ex-stepmother made a great show of weeping profusely, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief and leaning heavily on Darryl’s arm, her legs buckling dramatically. The whole look was offset by an over-the-top outfit made up of yards of black chiffon that fluttered wildly in the breeze, a matching showstopper of a hat atop her impossibly black hair. She put Hannah in mind of a carrion crow flapping its wings.

Once she was satisfied everyone attending would be safely inside, a surge of adrenalin kicked in, swamping her trepidation. Hannah jumped out of her car and hurried across the road, slipping into the church where she lurked inconspicuously in the shadows at the back, the overpowering smell of incense tickling her nose and making her want to sneeze. Though she was wrapped up in a heavy black overcoat, and wore a brimmed hat – borrowed from Auntie Coll – pulled low over her ears, being sure to have her hair carefully positioned so it would cover as much of her face as possible, she still kept her head bowed, not daring to glance up. And as difficult as it was, she somehow managed to keep her sobs contained as she shed tears for her father and the relationship they’d been deprived of for so many years.

When the service had come to an end, Hannah went to quietly steal away but, frustratingly, found the entrance to the church blocked by a couple of people she vaguely recognised. The odd snippet of their muted conversation drifted her way, how her father would be greatly missed, that he’d been a much-loved member of the community, how he did so much for local charities. It felt strange to hear him spoken of in the past tense. And not only that, but how it would seem he had no problem showing kindness and compassion to others, yet he’d had none to offer her.

Though the realisation stung, she told herself that now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. Eager not to draw attention to herself, she stepped back into the shadows and feigned reading the discarded order of service of a previous wedding she’d found on a small wooden table. Spotting Polly and Darryl heading towards the door, which was hard to miss with her ex-stepmother’s wailing that was gaining pace and growing in volume, Hannah dipped her head and turned her back to them. She held her breath, her body tense as adrenalin pumped through her veins.

Finally spotting a gap in the stream of mourners, Hannah sneaked out, hurrying down the path that led to the rear exit of the church yard, her heart racing for fear someone would call her name. She wouldn’t be able to relax until she was back in her car and heading away from the town.

She’d just swung around the corner when the last people she wanted to see seized their moment and pounced. A loud gasp escaped her mouth as her heart stuttered. With no trace of the histrionic displays of grief of moments ago, the pair rounded on her. ‘How dare you show your face here? It’s the last place you’re welcome… Such a disappointment to your father… What makes you think he would’ve wanted you here? All that money he wasted on you… Shame you hadn’t bothered to visit sooner, before it was too late… Your father was devastated when you chose to leave… said you were nothing more than a waster, coasting through life… sponging off everyone… You won’t be getting a penny from him… At least he had Darryl to love and make him proud…’

‘Stop it!’ Hannah turned and fled to her car, too stunned to cry. She threw herself inside, locked all the doors and drove out of the town as if her life depended upon it. She was shaking so badly that once she’d passed the town sign for Micklewick Bay she was forced to pull over until her breathing had settled and her heart rate had steadied. Only then did her tears make a bid for freedom and she sobbed uncontrollably. It had been a mistake coming. It hadn’t offered her an ounce of closure, instead it had opened up old wounds. She never wanted to see Polly or Darryl again. She was never going to return to Micklewick Bay. There was nothing for her to go back for.

The months that had passed had done nothing to numb the effect of their toxic tirade. The words were still dagger-sharp and had the power to slice through her heart in the moments she foolishly allowed her thoughts to venture down that route, her mind conjuring images of them snarling spiteful words at her, the pure hatred in their eyes. Polly’s mascara-smeared face and the vivid red lipstick she’d worn had given her a grotesque yet, at the same time, comedic appearance. The memory made Hannah shudder.

But what she’d learnt today regarding the ownership of her childhood home had shed a whole new light on things. There was no wonder Polly and her son hadn’t wanted her to know her father had died, never mind attend his funeral. If Hannah and her aunt were none the wiser about Jon Merryweather’s departure from this world, then Polly and her son wouldn’t have to leave Midsummer Haven. It suited them to keep the news to themselves, however morally wrong.

‘After all these years, I still find it hard to believe that between them, they somehow managed to fool everyone into thinking that Polly had selflessly created the perfect patchwork family, showering the same love and affection on me as she did Darryl, and treating me as “her own”,’ Hannah said to Birdie. ‘Well, everyone except for Auntie Coll and Uncle Len, they could see right through her. They knew it was all an act, portraying them to be a blissfully happy family that I was hellbent on ruining.’

‘That they could, lovey. Broke their hearts to see it happening. Colleen said Polly was jealous of the attention your dad gave you; she had to be number one in his eyes, and she set out to make sure that’s how it was going to be in the only way she knew how. I think money was the other motive as well. I doubt very much she’ll have known he didn’t own the house when she first got her claws in him. Still, I don’t know how she can live with herself, doing what she did.’

‘Well, I can assure you the woman who confronted me at my father’s funeral didn’t show an ounce of remorse. She has no problem living with it; she’s still just as vicious and so’s her son.’