Salt Sisters

thanked her for it. As she set out plates and bowls, I wondered how to broach the subject of Amy and Mike’s finances without making it awkward.
‘Amy told you everything, right?’
Rachel nodded. ‘We were best friends.’ She hesitated, looking concerned. ‘And you can trust me, too. Is something on your mind?’
‘I’m fine. I’m just wondering though… I mean, how do you think they were doing, financially?’
‘They do quite well, I think.’ She waved a spoon, gesturing to the kitchen. ‘Just look at this place. It’s one of the nicest houses in the village. Way nicer than mine!’
‘So Amy didn’t mention anything about money worries, or anything else that might have been troubling her?’
‘Nothing. Why? What’s going on?’
‘I’m just trying to work out if there was more too it. When she crashed her car that night. Was she stressed or worried about something?’
Rachel thought about it. ‘She had a lot going on, you know – three kids isn’t easy. And although she was only working part-time, the hours are always longer than they’re meant to be, plus the stuff with the school, and then the fundraising, community projects… But she liked to be busy.’
‘So she wasn’t taking anxiety meds…?’
Rachel stopped stirring the soup and turned off the hob. She was standing with her back to me, and I wished I could see her face. She ladled the soup into two bowls. ‘Where did you get that idea from?’
I rubbed my thumb over the engraving on the hipflask in my pocket. ‘You mustn’t tell anyone.’
‘Cross my heart.’
I sat down at the table. ‘The coroner. Apparently Amy’s blood tests showed she was on medication, one of those types that you’re not supposed to mix with alcohol. But she had drunk a glass of wine that night, and got behind the wheel. It all just seems… so unlike her.’
Rachel frowned. She placed the bowls on the table and folded herself into the chair opposite me.
‘I don’t think she was on anything, no. Not that she told me. But between you and me… and don’t take this the wrong way’ – Rachel slowly stirred her steaming bowl of soup – ‘I’m not sure that she was always happy.’
‘You mean with Mike? Why, what did he do to her?’
‘Nothing! I mean, really, nothing. I think it was her. Sometimes… sometimes it just seemed as if this wasn’t enough. Like she wanted more.’
As soon as Rachel left, I went back to my search of the study. That cupboard was bugging me, and I couldn’t find a key anywhere. Nor did I see anything to suggest that Amy hadn’t been happy. Anyone looking at her life would have said she had it all.
The Amy who had longed to get away from here and travel the world with me, she was a shadow in the memory of this woman. Had she simply buried those ideas because real life had worked out differently? It looked like Seahouses and village life – Mike and her family – all of that had become enough for her.
Or had the memory of young Amy haunted her? Had she regretted giving up her dreams?
I decided to take a walk to the harbour to clear my head.
Seahouses was perched on top of a very gentle slope, one of the highest points on that stretch of coastline. It was a clear sunny day, and on the horizon, I could clearly make out the rocky protrusions of the Farne Islands. When the wind was high, it was possible to hear the shrieks of the million birds that nested there.
I walked down towards the harbour, resisting the smell of chips from the takeaway van parked at the top of the bank. I had no idea how Amy and I had stayed so skinny as teenagers, considering how many of those damn things we’d eaten. We would get a bag between us, load them with salt and vinegar and eat them from the paper while they were steaming hot.
The sea was a rich navy blue, broken only by the occasional line of white wave. A great day for going out on the water. Indeed, as I turned the corner into the harbour, I saw that it was almost empty – anyone who could be, would be at sea. The fishing boats would be back by early evening, hauling fresh catches of herring, haddock and a few cod if they were lucky. I scanned the row of fishermen’s cottages at the crest of the harbour hill – the sea houses that gave the village its name – for the blush pink of Puffin Cottage. I couldn’t wait for Mike to get home so that I could get back to my new bed.
Still, it was useful to have Amy’s place to myself. Where could the key for that cupboard be? I took a nip from my hip flask to help me focus.
Back at the house, I looked at the study with fresh eyes. With all the crap on the desk, it would be easy for a small key to get lost. I wondered if Mike took it with him when he travelled, but that seemed risky. He might have hidden it somewhere, somewhere it wouldn’t be easily found, but not a place where he was likely to lose it. I scanned the bookcase. The model boats were replicas of cobles, the type used by the local fishermen. I picked up the miniature Farthing and shook it – and there was the distinctive rattle of metal on wood. I peered through the tiny porthole and saw the glint of a small silver key inside. I ran my thumb along the hull until I found the join of the seam and prised it open, the key falling onto the floor below.
The cupboard opened with a creak. Finally, the business accounts. I had a couple of hours before the kids got home and about three years of bank statements, invoices and purchase orders to go through. I poured a small vodka. Time to get