The Emerald Comb. Kathleen McGurl
have had our ups and downs lately, but seeing him like this broke my heart.
‘Katie, it hurt, you know? To hear that she’d thought they might have to send me back. Even now, after all these years.’
‘She didn’t know what she was saying.’
‘She did. She just didn’t know who she was saying it to.’
I rubbed his shoulder. I didn’t know what I could say to comfort him. ‘Perhaps you should stop visiting her. It wouldn’t hurt her, she wouldn’t even realise anything had changed.’
‘It’s my duty. She’s got no one else.’
‘But it just upsets you. I hate to see you like this. And it’s not even as if she’s your real m—’
Whoops. Wrong thing to say, or nearly say. Simon glared at me. ‘She’s my mum, Katie. She, and no one else.’ He knocked back the rest of his wine and stood up decisively. ‘Well. Enough of that. Where are our gorgeous children?’
‘Sitting room, watching Jungle Book.’
‘Great, I love that film! Mind if I join them while you’re making dinner?’ He didn’t wait for an answer, but sashayed off across the hallway, singing something about the bare necessities of life. I heard Thomas squeal ‘Daddy, Daddy!’, ticklish giggles from Lauren, and the clap of a high-five, ‘Yo, Dad!’ from Lewis.
The next day, Sunday, was grey and rainy. There was no hope of going out anywhere, so we decided to get on with the unpacking. There were still piles of boxes in the corners of rooms, waiting to be sorted out. Some boxes contained things like photo albums, outgrown toys and old school books. Those would go in the loft above Lauren’s room as soon as we’d installed a loft ladder. That was the only part of the house we’d not yet explored. The hatch was sealed shut and Simon didn’t want to open it up yet. ‘Time enough,’ he’d said. ‘Plenty to sort out down here before we venture up there. Right then, what shall we tackle today?’
‘The study,’ I said. ‘Let’s unpack the books and files, and fill up those shelves. I’ll give them a dust and polish first while you get the kids settled doing something.’ I hoped my family tree research folders would turn up somewhere amongst the books.
I made us a cup of tea, then went back to the study armed with a damp cloth, dusters and polish. The shelves and cupboards needed a thorough clean before we could put anything onto them. The wood was dark with age, with a deep patina from centuries of beeswax. Walnut, perhaps, I thought. I pulled open the fold-down desk where Veronica had put the tea tray on my first visit, and reached deep inside with my damp cloth to get the dirt out of the corners.
‘That’s funny,’ I said.
Simon looked up from the box he was opening. ‘What?’
‘The panel at the back inside the desk is loose. Oh!’
I’d pushed on one side, and the panel had opened up. I bent down and peered inside. There was a small drawer behind, made of the same walnut wood but looking less aged. It had a tiny metal ring as a handle. I gently pulled on it but it didn’t move.
‘It’s stuck.’
‘Let me look,’ said Simon, and I moved out of the way. He gave a tug, and then joggled the drawer from side to side to free it up. Gradually he eased it out of its slot.
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