Salt Sisters

it should be me. Sometimes we need to go away in order to find our way home…’
She trailed off, gazing out the window at the sky, which was turning inky as dusk fell. The moment was over.
I pulled out my phone and sent a message to Amy:
I’m doing my best here Ames, but this is so hard. I miss you every day. xo

Chapter Seven
The children were finally going back to school, and as much as I thought it would be good for them to get back into a routine, I also selfishly couldn’t wait to have the day to myself. That was, until I checked my morning messages, and found one from Hannah:
I don’t want to do this.
I growled into the pillow and pressed snooze on my phone.
Monday mornings had always been a struggle for me, but I was determined to get this right. I’d insisted to Mum and Auntie Sue that I didn’t need extra help – I wanted to handle the morning routine on my own. I told them it was important for the children’s sake to keep it as fuss-free as possible, but deep down I wanted to prove to everyone – including myself – that I could do it.
It took some arm-twisting to convince Hannah that she’d have to go back to school sooner or later – and later meant she’d have more catching up to do. We had done ourselves a big favour by laying out uniforms, packing bags and making packed lunches the evening before, but there were endless last-minute tasks that I hadn’t foreseen – from plaiting Betsy’s hair to helping Lucas find his missing library book. He and Hannah had to run for the school bus. I knew they were trying their best, but the whole experience was wearying.
By the time I got back from dropping Betsy off, I wanted to go back to bed. I poured myself an orange juice and topped it up with vodka.
I needed to pull myself together: I had digging to do. There was something about the suggestion Amy was on anxiety medication that just didn’t sound right to me – Amy had herself together.
On the other hand, if she and Mike had been experiencing money problems… That might explain why she had been on edge, and why she was taking something for it. But would she have been drinking, too? And would she have got into the car like that? Amy was a nurse, she would have known better.
Rachel was coming over for lunch, which gave me the whole morning to rummage around. I went up to the office on the first floor and surveyed the scene.
It was officially Mike’s study – the hub where he ran his business, whatever that was, but it was by no means off limits to the rest of the family.
The room was dominated by a desk, on top of which sat a computer monitor surrounded by several stacks of files and loose papers. The back wall was covered in bookcase units, with cupboards underneath that screamed IKEA. There was a nod to a nautical theme, with a couple of model ships on the shelves and some seashells lined up along the windowsill. The shelves were full of files. A lone post-it served as a reminder of the Wi-Fi password: I traced a finger along the black loops of Amy’s handwriting.
I started at the top of the first pile and moved my way through each folder systematically, looking for anything interesting. They kept everything – appointment confirmation letters from the dentist, permission notes for school trips, PTA agendas. I had forgotten Amy’s mild hoarder tendency. It had first kicked in when we’d had to sort through Dad’s stuff and ever since, she’d disliked throwing things away.
There was a family medical file, with letters from the GP and confirmations of hospital appointments. There were a few prescriptions inside, but I couldn’t see anything about benzodiazepines or anxiety. In fact, it looked like the last time Amy had seen a doctor was for an ear infection three years ago.
Mike’s business was something to do with innovation. From the looks of things, it was nothing more complicated than pairing start-ups with investors or helping them access public funding, and I wondered how Mike made any real money from it when he was just the middleman. There were some sidelines too, such as training workshops for innovator-entrepreneurs and some invoices for consultancy services, which might have meant anything. He had even done some Amazon selling, although I couldn’t figure out what the products were.
Then the interesting stuff: bank statements for their joint account, for Amy’s account and her credit card. I could see that Mike was putting money into the joint account each month, and all the outgoings seemed to be bills. Amy’s account showed her salary coming in, and it gave me a jolt of guilt when I realised how little she took home from her job as a district nurse. Still, she wasn’t spending much from her salary. In fact, she was putting almost all of it into a savings account. Good for you, I thought.
I couldn’t find Mike’s bank statements, or the business accounts, which was strange, because the invoicing paperwork was all here. He must have filed them somewhere else. I turned to open the cupboard behind the desk, but it was locked. The other cupboards were all open. Where was the key?
I was digging through the desk drawer when the clatter of the front door shattered through the quiet house, startling me. I put my hand to my chest, my heart pounding against my palm. Rachel called out from the hallway below and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Where had the morning gone? I had completely lost track of time. I quickly pushed the piles of papers back to their original positions and went to meet her downstairs.
She had made us lunch of quinoa and feta cheese salad with pumpkin soup, and my dearly departed Pilates body