Salt Sisters

landing, I fished a sweater of Amy’s out of the laundry basket and held it up to my nose. The smell was so clearly her, it was as if she had just walked in. I slumped to the floor, my face buried in the wool, my tears wetting the collar.
‘What are you doing?’
Betsy appeared from nowhere.
‘Sorry, love – I didn’t see you there.’ I tried to compose myself. ‘But this jumper smells just like Mummy and it made me sad.’
She climbed onto my lap and sniffed at the sweater, curling up like a cat with her cheek resting against it.
‘Auntie Izzy, what’s going to happen to Mummy now?’
I struggled for an answer that would make sense to her.
‘Well, most people believe that when someone dies, they go to a better place. Some people call it heaven, or paradise – it has lots of names, but it all means the same thing. And then they wait there, and look down on the people they love, until they follow them to heaven, too.’
‘Will she be a ghost?’
‘I don’t believe in ghosts. Not the kind you’re probably thinking of. But when someone you love dies, it sometimes feels like they are still here. You can smell them, or see or hear something that reminds you of them. Our memories keep them alive.’
‘Is that what happened when your daddy died?’
I stroked the nape of her neck, the delicate paleness where her hair was still baby-soft.
‘Your mummy and I were very sad when our daddy died, and we used to think about him every day. We still do. I still do’ – I corrected myself – ‘and I miss him. But as long as I love him, his memory stays alive.’
‘Was Nanny very sad when your daddy died?’
Betsy looked up at me, her eyes the same as Amy’s, blue-grey with gold flecks. The same as mine.
‘Of course she was,’ I said quickly. ‘We all were, just like we’re all sad now. That’s why we have to help each other. Especially you, Lucas and Hannah.’
‘Hannah doesn’t talk to me very much,’ Betsy sighed. ‘Mummy says she needs to put that phone down and have some real human conversations for a change.’
I laughed at her parroting of Amy.
‘Well, we shall just have to find something worth talking about, won’t we?’
Back at The Ship that evening, I found Adam in the bar again with Carrie and Gina. He was three gin and tonics in, and I decided to catch up.
Adam discretely recapped for my benefit – Carrie had been in primary school with me and Amy, but had gone to secondary school in Berwick, while we had headed off to St Helen’s in Alnwick. Carrie insisted that Amy had been one of her best friends, and she simply didn’t know how she was going to cope without her. She wiped away a tear with a finger tipped with a long acrylic nail.
Gina dived straight in with her life story, and I tuned her out pretty quickly, my ears only pricking up when she got to the part about how she knew my sister. She had befriended Amy and Mike after slipping on the pub’s icy steps one night. Amy had taken her home and bandaged her up.
Eventually someone asked me what I did in Hong Kong, and I explained that I was a client relationship manager at one of the world’s biggest banks. I rearranged my Celine bag on the seat beside me so they would get a better view of it, but neither of them commented. They probably didn’t know what it was. Adam flashed me a side-eye.
I couldn’t imagine how he found anything in common with these small-town girls. He must have been so bored these past couple of days, despite insisting that he was loving the fresh air and daily beach walks. There wasn’t much for him to do now apart from wait for the funeral. I supposed I should be thankful that he had made himself a couple of friends.
The girls hung on Adam’s every word, and I doubted they’d ever met anyone so cosmopolitan – both of them were fawning over him. Gross. They were fishing for gossip, too: Carrie told me there were rumours circulating that Amy had been drink-driving. She tapped an acrylic claw against the table, waiting for me to answer.
There was a hush in the pub as the chatter dimmed. I glanced around – everyone had stopped talking. A fisherman sat at the bar in a faded Aran jumper, a hand as big as a bear’s paw on his pint glass. He was staring at his beer, pretending he wasn’t listening.
The anger inside me hardened, a little stone in my stomach. Adam must have seen it, and before I could say anything, he whisked me out of the bar and up the stairs to bed.
I was grateful for the early night. Tomorrow, we were meeting with Amy and Mike’s solicitor, and I wanted to be as sharp as possible. The vodka in my hip flask was still cold and I finished it off, praying it would help me find sleep quickly. But the little stone in my stomach grew, and my simmering resentment kept me awake.
That was the worst thing about a village. Everyone made it their business to be intimately acquainted with everyone else’s entire lives. There was no escape from it, no matter how far you ran or how long you stayed away. No matter how high you climbed in life, there would always be people who remembered your darkest moments.
Welcome home, Izzy. Seahouses – where everyone knows everyone’s business, and nobody can keep a secret except the sea.
Charles Moore Jr. eased his ample frame into the chair at the head of the kitchen table and took some papers out of his briefcase. The wooden seat groaned under his weight. He peered over the top of his glasses at the various members of the Morton and Sanders families assembled around him.
‘First of all, I must