Salt Sisters

is that we should think hard about what we might have seen or heard. Anything that might help us understand or get some answers…’
‘My darling girl,’ Mum said, her eyes becoming watery pools and her hands trembling as she folded them over mine. ‘When somebody dies, there are no answers.’
Auntie Sue stood up. ‘I think perhaps that’s enough excitement for your Mum for now,’ she said, ushering me out of the room. ‘Maybe you can pop back over later?’
She grabbed her coat from the back of the door and followed me out into the street. I took long, purposeful strides so that she had to jog to keep up.
‘Come on, Izzy. You know that’s just her way…’
‘Yes, her way of dealing with things.’ I twirled back to face her. ‘So you keep saying. But you know what? I’m tired of hearing it. How about if she gave some useful advice for once instead of energy crystals and that ohm shanti crap?’
Auntie Sue was panting to catch her breath. ‘She’s trying her hardest. And your questions are way out of order. There was nothing weird going on with Amy, or between her and Mike. If there was, I’d have known.’
‘What if there was something going on and they were hiding it from us? Like if his business was in trouble, or they had money worries or something?’
Auntie Sue took a deep breath. ‘It takes ten minutes to walk from one end of this village to the other. None of us have secrets.’
I walked back to Amy’s, chewing over Auntie Sue’s words. The wind was blowing up from the south, a mild but strong wind that would trace fossil-like patterns over miles of sand dunes.
‘Oh Amy,’ I whispered to her on the breeze. ‘What was troubling you?’
I hadn’t been back for long when the door clanged open and the house was suddenly full of noise – school bags flung down in the hallway, stockinged feet thundering up the stairs, the chatter of three distinct voices shouting over one another. It was only 4 p.m. There were at least another five hours until bedtime and my stomach lurched as I wondered how we were going to fill them. Rachel had stressed the importance of maintaining their routine, but I had no idea what their routine actually was. I needed help.
I yelled up the stairs: ‘OK kids, I’m calling a meeting.’
I set a plate of biscuits in the middle of the table and they came down and gathered around, looking from me to one another, bemused.
‘Only one agenda item: re-establishment of the routine. I think it would help us all if we agreed a timetable for our days. We need to know where we’re supposed to be and what we’re supposed to be doing.’
Blank stares.
‘For example, what time do you like to eat dinner?’
‘Do you mean tea?’ said Betsy.
Lucas giggled. ‘She’s just being fancy.’
Hannah rolled her eyes.
Lucas helped himself to another biscuit. ‘Well, Mum normally – Mum used to do tea at half six, and a bit later on weekends. If one of us is out, then we get tea before or after everyone else. And sometimes if Dad isn’t home in time, they would eat together later,’ he said, bumbling his tenses. My heart broke for him.
‘Great – super helpful, Lucas. So, if we eat at half six, what are you guys doing for the rest of the evening?’
‘Depends what day it is. Everyone has different activities on different evenings. It’s all on the calendar.’
I peered around the kitchen – I hadn’t seen a calendar anywhere.
‘Not down here.’ Betsy rolled her eyes. ‘On the computer!’
We crowded around the computer in the study and Lucas logged on. Within a few clicks he had opened a very elaborate, colour-coded monstrosity of a spreadsheet.
‘There. We each have a colour, and this tells us where we’re supposed to be and when. See there’ – he tapped the screen – ‘I’m green. And this shows that I have computer club on Wednesday evenings.’
All the colours, the randomly-placed blocks of time, the overlapping appointments – it was enough to make me dizzy.
‘So, how do you keep up with all of these activities?’ My mouth was dry.
‘Well, it was Mum mostly keeping the calendar up to date,’ said Hannah. ‘She gets emails from our schools and all our clubs, and she puts the dates in.’
As Hannah said this, an idea came to me. Auntie Sue was right – it was impossible to keep something secret in Seahouses. But what if Amy had confided in someone outside the village? Someone at work, or one of her university friends? The answer would be in her emails or on her social media. I just needed to access it.
‘Do any of you know how to log in to your mum’s email account?’
It turned out that the email address linked to the calendar was shared by the entire family. Definitely not somewhere Amy would have kept private correspondence. The password was the first line of their address – not a great secret. While the kids were occupied with their homework, I did some digging around on the computer. I tried the same password for Amy’s personal email account, but it was incorrect, not surprisingly. Nor did it work for Facebook.
How could I get her password? Mike might know it, but obviously I couldn’t ask him without making him suspicious. I could ask the kids for help, but they would be unlikely to have it. Rachel – perhaps she could give me a clue. If anyone could guess at Amy’s password, her best friend seemed like a good place to start. I sent her a message:
Do you know Amy’s email or Facebook password by any chance?
By 6.45 p.m. I had served up a dinner of fish fingers with jacket potatoes and baked beans. Only fifteen minutes behind schedule and a good balance of protein, carbs and fibre, but the kids were less than impressed. Hannah pushed it around her plate and Betsy didn’t even touch