‘You’re not paintin’ yourself a good picture, duck.’
‘I know.’
‘So, what changed?’
‘Ellie got me drawing again. I loved that when I was a child, but my mother always considered it a waste of time.’ She nods towards Becca. ‘Becca changed me too. Her zest for life. Her boundless creativity. Her independent spirit.’ She shrugs. ‘I wish she liked me more. It’s better than it was, but …’
‘She just has to get used to the idea of sharin’ her dad with another woman. She’ll come around.’
‘I’ve got a lot to think about, Florie. Sam. And … and Ellie told me some things I need to get my head around. I’m going back to New York in a few days.’
Florie digs into the pocket of her black pea-jacket and takes out a small blue box.
‘What’s this?’
‘Ellie wanted you to have it, duck. Open it later, when you’re on your own.’ She nods towards Becca who is walking between the headstones towards them. ‘I think someone wants to have a natter with you.’ She turns to leave. ‘You haven’t seen Emmy, have you? Haven’t seen him since the service.’
‘No, afraid not.’
‘All right, then. I’ll sees you at the house. I’ve got bakeapple cheesecake at the house. I knows you likes it.’
‘Best kind, Florie.’
Florie laughs. ‘We’ll makes a Newfoundlander out of you yet, duck.’
Sophie watches Becca approach, a slender sprite in a 50s navy polka-dot dress that she’d obviously liberated from one of Ellie’s old trunks in the attic. She places a posy of wildflowers on Ellie’s grave.
‘Is everything okay with your father?’ Sophie asks, fumbling with the sign language.
Rising, Becca signs. ‘Dad’s going to take on Toby in the workshop. He’s going to teach him how to make furniture.’
‘That’s wonderful, Becca!’
Becca nods. ‘We’re moving in with Florie. I’m going to make clothes for the shop.’
‘That’s just brilliant, Becca. I’m so happy for you.’
Becca looks at Sophie, chewing her lip. ‘I’m sorry I was awful to you,’ she signs. ‘I didn’t want Dad to forget Mom.’
‘He won’t forget her.’ Sophie looks over at Sam, who’s in a deep discussion with Toby. ‘I have to go back to New York, anyway.’
‘Don’t do that,’ Becca signs, her hands flying. ‘This is your home. We’re your home.’
Sophie shakes her head. ‘Thank you, Becca,’ she signs. ‘I appreciate that, but I still have to go.’
***
Sophie takes the blue box out of her pocket and walks over to a window in Emmett’s store. She wiggles the lid off the box. Inside, a gold locket sits on a cushion of white satin, its fine chain curled around the gold heart. Setting the box on the worktable, she lifts out the locket and holds it up to the window. A fine filigree of tendrils decorates the dull gold. She opens the locket. There’s no mistaking the pretty girl on the left: Winny, her perfect oval face framed by hair the colour of wheat in golden morning light.
She squints at the face looking back at her from the right side of the locket. A little girl of about five, her face sweet but ordinary, her brown hair cut into a blunt Dutch-boy bob. She holds the locket up closer, her eyes widening. It’s her. On her fifth birthday.
Setting the locket on the table, she lifts the cushion out of the box. A small piece of paper is folded into a neat square. She opens it up and reads.
Dearest Sophie,
This was your grandmother Winnifred’s locket.
I can’t think of anyone to whom I’d rather give it than you.
All my love, always.
Your mother, Ellie
‘So this is where you escaped to, Princess Grace.’ Sam stands in the doorway, silhouetted against the sharp white light of the late September afternoon.
‘It was too noisy at the house. I thought I’d come look for Emmett. He’s missing Florie’s bakeapple cheesecake.’
Sam enters the room. For the second time that day, Sophie blinks at his transformation. The dark grey suit shows the skill of a tailor in its perfect fit, and Sam has shaved off the stubble. He smiles, and the Sam she knows is there in the warmth of his deep brown eyes and the teasing grin.
‘Looks like most of the peninsula came out for the service today. The Warriors are on their second run to Wesleyville for more supplies.’ Sam leans against the windowsill and folds his arms. ‘Becca told me you’re heading back to New York.’
‘I have to. I have an apartment to sort out.’
‘Sort out?’
Sophie shrugs. ‘I haven’t got a job anymore. I’ll have to move.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘You wouldn’t believe the rent on my place. I’ll run through my savings in no time if I’m not working.’
‘You’ll land on your feet. Just not in those awful shoes you were wearing the first time I met you.’
‘I’ll have you know they were very expensive Jimmy Choos. Totally ruined, just like my green velvet suit. I made scatter cushions out of it. Did I ever tell you that?’
Sam chuckles. ‘A fitting end.’
‘Sam, there’s something I need to tell you. Something Aunt Ellie told me before she died. I’ve been trying to tell you, but it’s been so crazy around here this week.’
‘You don’t need to tell me.’
‘What?’
‘You’re Winny’s half-sister.’
‘How long have you known that?’
‘Emmett. He told me everything after the fire. I think he thought it’d put me off.’
‘Emmett knew? How could he possibly know that Ellie was my mother? She told me she’d never told anyone, not even Florie.’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Did he say anything else? About me? About my father?’
Sam shakes his head. ‘No. Why?’
So, Emmett doesn’t know everything, it seems. Doesn’t know that George was also his father. But how did he know about Ellie’s pregnancy? I’ll find out. I’ll talk to him and find out. I’m sorry, Ellie, but I’m not going to keep your secrets. It’s time everything was out in the open.
‘It’s a bit strange, isn’t it? You and me? Winny being my half-sister?’
‘Yes, maybe a bit. But, it’s not like we’re blood relatives.’ Sam opens out his hands. ‘As far as I’m concerned, it’s all fine by me. Ellie was a wonderful woman. I wish you’d known her longer. You shouldn’t have stayed away so long.’
Sophie sighs. ‘I know. I was wrapped up in my career. But, the last couple of years … I don’t know. I was starting to feel … unbalanced. I was never much good at relationships. My parents’ marriage wasn’t exactly a great example. I was good at choosing the wrong people. I guess because I expected things to end. It was easier if things ended with someone I didn’t really care about that much. It kept me from getting hurt.’
‘Love hurts, haven’t you heard that, Princess Grace?’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of, Sam.’