The Legacy: Trouble Comes Disguised As Family (Unspoken Book 2) by T. Belshaw (the best books to read .txt) 📗

got her looks, and her hair, from Frank, her father, who had died somewhere in the Atlantic the year after her birth. Maybe she got the hair problems from Frank’s mother, Edna, was it? How was the hair gene passed down? She doubted it was a matriarchal thing, after all, her daughter and granddaughter both had dark, healthy, heads of hair. She decided to blame it on Alice anyway. They had always hated each other. There was talk of her mother practicing witchcraft in the attic of the farmhouse. Perhaps she had placed a curse on her first born, or simply used toxic chemicals when she washed her hair in the bath when she was a baby. Alice was capable of anything.

After bathing, she filled the sink and rinsed out the sticky cream with fresh warm water, then she returned to the bathroom, calling to Marjorie on the way.

‘The bath’s all yours, be quick, the water isn’t too hot.’

In the bedroom, Martha pulled on a black and grey checked skirt and a white, silk blouse before opening a hat box that sat on the dressing table. She took out a steel-grey wig and pulled it over her patchy clumps of hair. She sat for a few minutes, tugging it first to the right, then the left, then the back. Finally satisfied, she applied a dab of rouge to her cheeks and went downstairs to the lounge where she turned on the radio and listened to the latest international news program. Radio 4 and the BBC TV news were her only source of information. She had cancelled the newspapers to save money some years before.

A few minutes later she heard Marjorie come down the stairs and five minutes after that, her younger sister walked into the lounge carrying a tray laden with Martha’s favourite china tea service. She was wearing a maroon skirt, a cream blouse and a navy cardigan.

‘I thought I’d use the best china as it’s a special day,’ she said.

Martha pursed her lips, looked Marjorie up and down, then shook her head.

‘You aren’t going to a solicitor’s office dressed like that, surely?’

‘What’s wrong with it?’ Marjorie looked down at her chest.

‘It’s not really fitting for the occasion is it? We’re attending the formal reading of a will; we’re not going to a coffee morning at the Women’s Institute.’

‘I... I thought.’

‘Don’t think, Marjorie. It seldom works out well for either of us.’

Marjorie looked confused. ‘What should I wear then?’

Martha sighed. ‘I’m not your dresser,’ she said, testily. ‘Wear the black knitted suit you wore to Mother’s funeral. That will look much more business-like.’

‘The hat had a veil on it,’ Marjorie protested.

Martha slammed her hand down onto the dining table making Marjorie jump.

‘Then don’t wear the bloody hat.’

Sniffling, Marjorie left the room.

‘And don’t take all day about it,’ called Martha. ‘Nicola is picking us up at eleven.’

Marjorie’s tear-stained face appeared around the dining room door.

‘Why are we leaving so early, Martha?’ She sniffed, pulled a handkerchief from the sleeve of her cardigan and wiped her nose. ‘The appointment isn’t until one-thirty.’

‘We’re going to have a look at our old home, Marjorie. I want to see what state the outbuildings are in. I’ve got big plans for that place.’

Chapter 5

‘You know you can stay with me as long as you need to, don’t you, darling?’ Sam took her arm from around Jess’s shoulder. ‘Sorry, love, it’s gone to sleep.’

Jess smiled a weak smile and snuffled before taking a new tissue and blowing her nose again.

‘Thank you, Sam. You won’t have to put up with me for too much longer. I’ll start looking for a place next week.’

‘You’ve got a place. A lovely place. Don’t let that bastard, Calvin, stop you living your life. Change the locks, get a bloody restraining order. Hire a hit man…’ Sam aimed a finger gun at her.

Jess looked around the room, then hung her head.

‘I’ve been so happy here. Everything was going so well, then… well, all this happened.’ She put both hands to her face and began to sniffle again. ‘I can’t stay here, Sam. He ruined it, everything was so perfect and he went and ruined it.’

‘To be honest, if I were you, I wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing he can still get to me, Jess. But then, I haven’t just lost my beloved Nana. Maybe I wouldn’t be so dogmatic if I had.’

Jess got to her feet. ‘I’ll get all my stuff together.’ She took another look around the flat where she had been so happy for so long. I’ll leave all the stuff in the kitchen for now, she thought, then went to the cupboard in the hall and returned with a roll of black plastic bags. She tore a couple off, dropped the roll on the coffee table, and walked quickly through to the bedroom.

‘Could you get all my stuff from the bathroom, Sam?’ she called as she opened up her wardrobe and grabbed an armful of clothes from the rail.

Half an hour later, she stood in the lounge staring at half a dozen, full to bursting, bin bags that they had piled up at the top of the staircase.

‘Six bags,’ moaned Jess. ‘Is that all my life is worth?’

Sam patted her on the back. ‘Come on, Jess. You’ll build a new life with someone worth sharing it with.’ She picked up one of the bags and struggling with the bulk, hoisted it to her chest. ‘Blimey! What have you put in here, your Neolithic fossil collection?’

‘You picked the one with the jeans and winter coat in.’ Jess forced a smile and grabbed two of the lighter bags. ‘Come on, let’s get them loaded up.’

Ten minutes later, the bags had been transferred to the car, the cupboards had been checked and the utility bills and solicitor’s letter had been stuffed into Jess’s shoulder bag. Sam waited at the bottom of the stairs as Jess took one last, lingering look around.

‘Give me a moment, Sam,’ she said