The Silent Girls

There was such a look of sorrow and worry on Lena’s face that Edie felt compelled to reach out and squeeze the old lady’s hand. ‘You were friends for such a long time.’ she said.

Lena looked away from her and surreptitiously wiped a tear away with the corner of her apron. ‘We were. Me and Dolly, the scourge of Winfield, your uncle Dickie trailing in our wake.’ She laughed and shook her head as if to shake off her memories. ‘All gone now though.’

Edie thought about Dolly’s twin for a moment. Dickie had been the Boo Radley of Coronation Square, a ubiquitous yet quiet presence, unobtrusive but powerful nonetheless. He had died five years before; Edie hadn’t gone to his funeral and felt sad about that now. Sad that Dolly hadn’t told Rose until it was too late. Edie didn’t even know where he’d been cremated, or whether there was a memorial, no one had ever mentioned one. Dickie had been a sweet man and had deserved better, from everyone. ‘Things change,’ she said.

Lena looked at her. ‘Aye, they do, and not always for the better.’

They were quiet for a moment as both sipped their tea, though Edie was acutely aware that Lena was studying her intently. Eventually Lena broke the silence. ‘What was you shouting about, out in the street earlier? I was watching you through the curtains.’

‘I thought it might be you. I was having a go at that bloody man about running his murder tours on the doorstep.’

‘Hmmmm. Won’t do you any good, he’s been running them for a few years now and they’re very popular. We can’t stop him.’

‘It seems somewhat insensitive, given that you still live here, and well, you know…’

Lena pushed her cup away and sat back in her chair. ‘It makes no difference. We’ve lived with the legacy of those murders for all these years, him rubbing our faces in it won’t make much difference.’

‘I find it pretty shocking that anybody would.’ Edie said.

‘Ah well, I expect he has his reasons.’

Edie was about to argue about what those reasons might be when the front door slammed making her jump.

‘That’ll be Sam.’ Lena said, hauling herself to her feet. ‘I’d best get another cup.’

Edie watched her waddle into the kitchen and braced herself for the re-acquaintance with Sam. She had forgotten about him until Lena had said his name. Somewhere in her mind were vivid memories of a boy prone to pulling hair and bullying little girls, a boy she’d had a huge crush on if she remembered correctly. The Sam she could recall had managed to turn a simple game of hide and seek into a terrifying blood sport, calling it Murder in the Dark and scaring her witless. She was still smiling at the memory when he walked in.

‘Bloody hell, Edie Morris!’

‘Hello Sam, and it’s Edie Byrne now. How are you, still terrorising the neighbourhood?’

‘Not so much these days, not so many annoying little girls following me around.’ he said, looking her up and down. ‘You’ve changed.’

‘I’d be a bit of a medical oddity if I hadn’t, it’s been thirty odd years.’ she said, returning his scrutiny and appraising him. She wished the years had been as kind to her and wondered why it was that men aged so much more appealingly than women. Where Sam had laughter lines, she had crow’s feet.

‘Back for the funeral are you? Bit of a mess to face next door. I don’t envy you, last time I was in there it was like the black hole of Calcutta.’

‘Something like that.’ Edie said, thinking about all the rooms she had yet to tackle. ‘When did you last visit?’

‘Years ago, when Dickie was alive. He was a bit prone to falling over and Dolly couldn’t lift him, I’d help out when I could.’

Edie felt another flush of guilt at the realisation that this other family had borne the burdens of her own while she and Rose had blithely got on with their lives. ‘We didn’t know how bad things had got, Dolly never let on.’ she said.

‘That’s what happens when you live away I suppose. So Edie Byrne, what’s with you these days, married? Kids?’

‘Recently unmarried and one kid, though he’s not much of a kid now. He’s twenty-six and doing his own thing. I take it Georgia is yours?’ Edie said, still wondering where the young girl had disappeared to, she had been expecting to meet her again.

‘Georgie? Not mine, I love her dearly but won’t lay claim to her. No, she’s Shelley’s kid, you remember Shelley?’

Edie didn’t, or if she did it was a vague flash. Even back then she had been hard pressed to keep track of the Campion brood. Lena had come from a big family and was always knee deep in relatives. ‘Vaguely, is she Davy’s daughter?’ Davy was Lena’s brother and a man who had given the younger Edie a severe dose of the creeps.

‘That’s her. She’s on her own now, so Mum helps out and so do I.’

Edie had forgotten how confusing Lena’s family could be, she supposed the children called Lena ‘Nan’ because it was simpler. ‘I never could keep track of you lot. There were so many,’ she said.

Sam laughed; it suited him, he had a face designed for laughter. ‘That’s true. How’s Rose, I always had a bit of a thing for her when I was a kid.’

Edie was surprised at this, Rose must be at least eight years older than Sam. ‘She’s OK, she’s laid up with a broken leg, but getting better. She’s married with twin girls.’

‘Blimey, she never did do anything by halves.’ Sam said.

Edie felt a little wistful that Sam remembered her as annoying and Rose as a paragon. Some things never changed.

‘So, how long are you staying?’

‘As long as it takes to get the house sorted out. By the look of it, that could be some time.’

‘If you’re planning on selling stuff I’ve got a friend who’s an auctioneer, I could get him to call round and take a look if you like?’

‘I’m not sure any of it will be worth much, but that would be helpful. Thanks. I might need a few days to sort through the junk though.’

‘I’ll give you my number, you can call me when you’re ready.’ Sam said, pulling out his mobile phone. He reeled off the number and Edie duly inserted it into her own phone’s memory. ‘Where’s that tea Mother, a man could die of thirst at this rate.’ he bawled. The sound of his voice was so deep and sudden that it ricocheted through Edie and made her want to wince. She held her breath for a moment and waited for her heart to steady, wondering how long it would take her to get over her fear of men who shouted. The interjection had unnerved her, and she felt the need to leave, she had stayed long enough for politeness’ sake. ‘Well, I should go, lots to do next door.’

Lena had returned and stood in the doorway, holding a cup and looking pensive. ‘Don’t do too much on your own, you’ll need some help. It’s quite the mess in there. Stay and have another cup of tea, leave it until after the funeral eh? We’ll help, won’t we Sam?’

Sam smiled. ‘Course we will, what are friends for eh?’

Edie gave them a weak smile, friends were people you saw frequently, not old neighbours who you hadn’t seen since you were a kid – but they were kind people, and kindness was not to be sniffed at. ‘That’s a lovely offer, thank you – I might well take you up on it if it’s all more than I bargained for.’ She turned to Lena, ‘I won’t stay for more tea, but thank you. I’ll see you at the funeral tomorrow?’

Lena nodded. ‘Course, we’ll both be there. Have you organised a wake?’

‘Nothing much, just a few sandwiches in the hall at the crem, I’ve no idea who’s coming.’

Lena nodded again. ‘You never know with a funeral, all sorts crawl out of the woodwork. I could have done it here, you know.’

Edie didn’t know what to say, Rose had organised everything over the phone, she had just been nominated as the person who would show up and save what little face Dolly’s family had retained. ‘What a kind offer, but Rose arranged everything, I don’t suppose she would have wanted to put you out.’

Before she left Sam turned to her. ‘It’s been nice to see you again Edie, take care of yourself.’

‘You too, Sam.’ she said, surprised to realise that she meant it. ‘Well, I’ll be off then, I need to sort out somewhere to sleep.’ She turned to Lena. ‘Thank you so much for the tea and company.’

‘You’re welcome, and don’t be a stranger. If you have any questions, you know where I am.’ Lena said.

The old woman still looked a little pensive and her words puzzled Edie – questions about what?

Number 17 felt cold and lonely after the warmth and homeliness of Lena’s house. Despite the fact that it was June, Edie felt inclined to put the fire on in the lounge. There had never been central heating in the house and she remembered it being Baltic in winter with only two gas fires and a scattering of dangerous looking electric heaters to warm the whole house. As she lit the gas she worried about carbon monoxide poisoning and checked the flames for colour; they looked all right, but she was probably no great judge.

She hugged herself and huddled for a moment by the hearth, soaking in some warmth and wondering if the cold might actually be coming from the inside. It would take more than a few half-hearted flames to thaw her ice-defended core.

Ignoring the oppressive clutter of the lounge she made her way upstairs by dint of the feeble landing light, which swung in its shade and cast looming shadows across the stained and aged wallpaper. When she removed her hand from the bannister at the top she noticed that she had gathered a number of long, fine blond hairs on her palm. She shook them off.

Dolly’s bedroom turned out to be a no go zone; not only was it filthy and squalid, but it was full. Every surface was laden with clutter, and clothes had been piled onto the bed. More of the hair littered the room, both in fine filaments and huge hanks. Several disembodied wooden heads had been scattered around the room, each at a varying stages of baldness. It was a macabre sight, especially when lit by a bulb not much brighter than a candle. The fine details of the scene were hidden by inky cloaks of shadow which intensified the grotesquery and heightened Edie’s instinctive reaction, which was to recoil and run. At one time she had been fascinated by her aunt’s occupation and had been mesmerised by the precise creativity that formed the wigs that Dolly made. Now the half-made hair-pieces looked repulsive, like things that had been attacked, savaged and brutalised. The faceless wooden wig blocks made the whole scene even more disturbing, with the shadows painting gruesome features on their flat faces. Edie shut the door and suppressed a shudder. Dolly’s room was best faced in the cold and reasonable light of day.

The spare room, where she and Rose had slept as children, was chock full of junk, Edie was barely able to open the door and step in. The smell of damp and mould assailed her nose and she shut the door on that too.

Dickie’s room had a Mary Celeste feel, as if he had just stepped out for a moment. If the whole room hadn’t been covered in a thick film of dust, Edie might have believed that he had – and was due back at any moment to resume making the half-finished model that sat on his workbench. As a pastime Dickie had made automata, miniature models of fantastic things that sprang to life and moved at the turn of a tiny handle. When Edie had last stayed at the house, he had given her one as a gift – a Pegasus who soared and moved his wings if you wound him up. It had been a simple yet beautiful thing and Edie had treasured it, until Simon had smashed it to bits in a fit of temper. She had kept the parts in a shoe box, intending to ask Dickie to mend it one day, but he had died and so had the marriage, and Pegasus had been lost in the aftermath.

She looked around the room at the shelves, all full of Dickie’s creations – animals, people, birds and beasts, all limited to perfect and precise arcs of movement that could only be brought about by a human hand. They were trapped on their wooden plinths, waiting for freedom and Edie thought she knew something of how it felt. She shut the door softly on Dickie’s domain and left the room in peace.

Her final option upstairs was Beattie’s room, which was as clear and tidy as the others were cluttered. It was the smallest bedroom, a box room really, and was reminiscent of a monk’s cell. Sparse, white and ordered. A plain counterpane lay over the bed, which had been made years before with sheets stretched as tight as the skin of a drum. They were yellow with age and spotted with mould. Edie pressed a hand onto the bed and felt a sensation of damp. She would not be sleeping there.

The last resort was the sofa in the sitting room downstairs. Somehow that felt better and less of an invasion of privacy than using one of the bedrooms. The trick would be finding useable bedding. Everything in the linen cupboard was damp and stank of old dust and decay. Edie had brought her own towels, but hadn’t thought to bring bedding. She thought briefly about shipping out to a hotel, then wondered if Lena might lend her a few sheets and a quilt. If she went to a hotel now, she might never come back and she couldn’t do that. The thought of spending any more time in the house was becoming more and more depressing. Not only was her task daunting but the place seemed to be sighing and breathing around her as if it had a life of its own, one that it had sucked from its previous residents. Grandma Beattie, Dolly and Dickie were gone, but to Edie it felt like they were still there and watching her every move.

For reasons that she couldn’t explain, but that were based on raw instinct, she was uneasy about asking Lena for help. The old lady’s censorious demeanour was liable to hook out more and more of Edie’s guilt regarding the neglect of her extended family. The state of the house alone was accusation enough and evidence that Dolly had lived and died alone and uncared for. Edie resigned herself to sleeping on the sofa in the clothes that she was wearing. An uncomfortable night seemed like small penance to pay for the years that Dolly had cared for her and Rose in the absence of their mother. Years and solicitude that had been met unequally with rejection and indifference.

As she lay on the lumpy sofa, watching the last of the evening light dwindle through the dirty window, she hoped that the funeral might offer some redemption – that laying Dolly to rest with some dignity and respect might undo the cloying sense of obligation and guilt. She would wear black as a mark of respect and hope that it wouldn’t reflect the flush of hypocrisy that was sure to creep into her skin and show her for the fraud she was.

Rose had arranged for a car, it would arrive at eleven the next day to collect her. Then she would follow the hearse carrying Dolly’s body, encased in its pine-veneered coffin and covered up in flowers. Then it would be over, and she could do what she had to do and put it all behind her – as she had with so many other things

Sleep followed on the wings of this anticipated relief and Edie relaxed into it, her inert form brushed by shadows, cast by the light of passing cars and given form and life by the ghosts of the past that resided amidst the clutter and dirt of Number 17 Coronation Square.

Chapter Two

Edie sat in the first pew of the chapel, stiff and uncomfortable in her black suit and aware that she was the centre of attention for the small congregation. Other than Sam and Lena she knew nobody, and whilst they waited for the vicar she battled with the hypocrisy of her thoughts. If all these people had known Dolly well enough to come and pay their respects, why had she died alone in squalor? The vicar arrived, and they all stood while he led the first prayer. They sat for the eulogy, and Edie wondered whom it was that he was talking about when he referred to Dorothy, a pillar of the community and tireless charity supporter who had relentlessly collected for the local charity shops, and who would be much missed by her many friends. For a split second Edie wondered if she’d come to the wrong funeral, for surely the lily clad coffin could not contain Dolly – who had been more a pillar of salt than a pillar of the community. She shook the thought away and stood to sing the hymn that Rose had chosen – Jerusalem. As she mouthed the words, Edie considered the incongruity of the whole thing as applied to Dolly, all she could think about was Rugby and the W.I. Finally, and to her relief, the curtains slid shut and Dolly disappeared. Now all Edie had to face was the lonely walk of shame back down the aisle as she led the mourners from the chapel.

As mourners went, they seemed to be a hungry lot, most of them cheerfully seized upon the opportunity to drink tepid tea and consume limp sandwiches and dry cake in the little hall that lay to the back of the crematorium. Most of the strangers avoided her and chatted amongst themselves, occasionally shooting speculative glances in her direction. She felt both ridiculous and fraudulent in her black suit, and she was tired and achy. The night on the sofa had been dream filled, stiff and uncomfortable, the cushions had felt as if she was lying on a bag of pebbles. Edie was half convinced that Dolly had stuffed the cushions with bricks. She surreptitiously rubbed at the small of her back and returned a weak smile to Sam and Lena who were making their way towards her. They had made a beeline, but had been hampered at every step by elderly women who caught at Lena’s arm and engaged her for what seemed to Edie interminably long moments. To her relief Sam left his mother and strode over. ‘You look like you need rescuing’ he said, offering her a thimble full of weak tea.

‘Thank you, and I do, who are all these people?’ She took the tea and sipped. It was vile, lukewarm and made her wince.

Sam looked around the room. ‘Bingo and jumble sale cronies I think. A good funeral is the highlight of their week.’

‘I didn’t know Dolly was a bingo fan.’ It was true, she didn’t, but then she hadn’t known Dolly well enough to know much about her habits and hobbies.

‘I think Mum used to drag her there from time to time, not sure she was ever a fan, not like Mum, the woman is a bingo fiend.’

Edie wanted to laugh and indulge this charming man who was being so kind, but laughter at a wake seemed incongruous and rude, especially when your every move was being scrutinised. ‘Do you know who that is?’ she said, nodding towards a tall, smartly dressed middle-aged man who stood alone, looking almost as out of place as Edie felt she was. Sam followed her gaze. ‘No idea. Doesn’t look much like a bingo aficionado though.’

It was true, he didn’t. If Edie had been forced to categorise him she would have said that he looked like a policeman, or a soldier. Something about his stance – the impression that he was standing at ease, yet missing nothing – stuck her as representing something official. Her attention was pulled away from him by the arrival of Lena.

‘Bloody ghouls, not as if a one of them cared about Dolly. Makes me sick – they only come for the free food and a cup of tea. Some of ‘em want to get a life!’ Lena said it as if the cheery exchanges she had voluntarily participated in had been some kind of personal affront. It made Edie smile.

‘Well, I’m glad at least a few people came – it would have been a poor show for her if it had just been the three of us. Besides, someone has to eat all these awful sandwiches.’

Lena regarded the limp, curling egg and cress sandwich that sat sad and unappetising on the plate that she held. ‘Sausage rolls weren’t up to much either, I swear the tight buggers here use the leftovers from the last do.’

Edie nodded, ‘You’re probably right.’ She turned to find a spot where she could abandon the rancid tea and winced as the movement jarred her aching back.

‘What’s up, did you hurt yourself?’ Sam asked, a look of concern flickering across his handsome features.

Edie gave him a wan smile. ‘Oh it’s nothing, I ended up sleeping on the sofa last night. The house is pretty damp and I couldn’t find any clean bedding, I’m just a bit stiff that’s all.’ Lena had turned away, distracted by yet another mourner who ignored Edie but expressed their sorrow to the woman who had known Dolly best… yet hadn’t known when her friend lay dying, hadn’t checked on her, hadn’t spoken to her in months. It was natural that people would gravitate towards the more familiar face, Edie supposed. It was probably justified – she’d have been hard pressed to know how to react if anyone had approached her and expressed sorrow for her loss. It had been uncomfortable enough when the vicar had shaken her hand and expressed his sympathy. She cast about the room, looking for the tall stranger, but he’d gone. ‘I might ask your mum if I can borrow some bedding for tonight.’ she said absently to Sam. ‘Not sure I can face another night on that sofa, I’ll be fit for nothing.’

Sam smiled. ‘I’m sure she’ll be glad to help, and you look pretty fit to me Edie Byrne.’

Blushing at a funeral felt as awkward and insensitive as laughing, but there were some things Edie couldn’t control. She could feel the flush creep up her neck and flood her face in a total betrayal of the cool and collected demeanour she had been trying to cultivate. In any other circumstances she would have made a self-deprecating quip in order to level the field again, but Sam had turned away from her and was whispering to his mother. To her further chagrin an elderly man had braved the great divide and was heading for Edie with condolences tripping off his tongue. As he approached she couldn’t help but notice the scowl of disapproval that flickered across Lena’s face. It seemed the man had seen it too because he inserted himself between Edie and Lena and promptly turned his back on the old lady and her son.

‘I’m so sorry for your loss my dear, such a tragic end, so sad.’

Edie didn’t know what to say, so she gave him a weak smile and thanked him.

‘I tried to call on poor Dolly a number of times, but she’d turned her back on us all at the end.’ he said.

So Edie had gathered. ‘Yes, it seems she shut everyone out. I wonder why?’

The old man shrugged his shoulders and spread his arms, he held a silver topped cane in one hand, and with his neat cravat and perfectly pressed black suit, looked to Edie as if he might be about to perform a magic trick. ‘Who knows what was going through her mind? She was never quite the same after Dickie, I always suspected that in losing him she lost her purpose. Fell out with almost everyone so I believe, became very suspicious of us all. It’s a terrible thing when people push their friends away.’

Edie nodded, only half listening to him. Everything people said to her with regard to Dolly felt like an indictment. He placed a cool, thin hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze – she was surprised at the strength of it, he looked so frail. ‘Still, life must go on mustn’t it? And I must say, you really are the image of your father.’

The mention of Frank, any mention of Frank, stunned Edie. No one ever spoke of him, if it wasn’t for the fact that she knew someone had to have sired her Edie might have thought that her father was a figment of everyone’s imagination. Frank Morris, eldest and most un-prodigal of Beattie’s sons, had been a taboo subject for so long that this sudden mention had jarred her completely. Before she could muster a response the man had turned on his heel and walked away.

Lena nudged her with an elbow much sharper than the woman’s fleshy figure belied. ‘What did he want?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know, who is he?’ Edie said, still reeling from the overt mention of her father.

‘You don’t want to know. He’s a vicious old gossip with a chip on his shoulder, best to ignore him, everyone else does.’

Edie was good at doing what she was told and damped down her curiosity as instructed. People were beginning to leave, much to her relief, and the hollow thanks and farewells that she was forced to deliver whilst flanked by the indomitable Lena were distraction enough from the strange encounter.

***

Lena had gone further than just loaning some bedding and had offered Edie a bed for the night, which she had accepted gratefully and had appreciated fully when the bathroom had also offered a shower. The squalor and oppression of Number 17 had been washed away in an instant under the pelting hot water, and a night between clean white sheets that oozed the aroma of fresh air and sunshine (even if it had come from a packet of soap powder) had eased any reservations that remained. With the help of Lena’s kindness Edie had the best night’s sleep she had experienced in an age.

She descended the stairs refreshed and reinvigorated, to be met by the smell of bacon, a fresh cup of tea and Sam, sitting at the table and smirking at her over his breakfast. ‘You moving in then?’

‘Not quite, just taking advantage of your mother’s hospitality and cadging a bed for the night. I’ll buy some bedding today and make do next door.’

‘You will not.’ Lena said as she placed a huge plateful of fried food in front of her. ‘You can stay here as long as you like, it’s the least I can do. Ignore him, he’s always been a sarky bugger. I would have offered you a room straight off, but I didn’t know quite how bad it was next door.’

‘I do really appreciate it Lena, it’s pretty depressing in there. I honestly don’t know where to start. I made a dent in the kitchen the day I arrived, but it’s hard to believe how much stuff they hoarded.’ Edie said, eyeing the breakfast and surprised to find that she actually had an appetite for it. She hadn’t bothered with breakfast for years.

‘I’ll give you a hand if you like, I’ve got nothing on today.’ Sam said.

‘Would you? It’s pretty bad mind, you might want to bring some rubber gloves.’ Edie said, mildly embarrassed by the comparison between Dolly’s home and Lena’s immaculate haven. Or was she embarrassed by the prospect of finding his company desirable? Not that it mattered. She wasn’t Rose. She was the annoying one.

‘No problem, I’ve seen worse. Finish your breakfast and we’ll crack on with it.’ he said, leaning over and stealing a piece of toast from Edie’s plate.

Lena frowned at him and poured them all more tea.

Edie led Sam into the dingy front room with its dusty tat and old-fashioned furniture. Ugly old cabinets bulged with kitsch china objects d’art, and bookshelves bowed under the weight of mouldering magazines and foxed hardbacks. ‘I thought we’d start in here, it seems the least sullied.’

Sam scanned the room. ‘Don’t you want to get the worst over with first?’

Edie shook her head. ‘I did that yesterday; the kitchen was an absolute biohazard. I probably should have donated it to science as a research project. Besides, I have to build myself up to face the rest of it.’

Sam smiled at her. ‘Where do you want to start?’

Edie patted a cushion, releasing a cloud of dust and fluff into the musty room. ‘With a dust mask?’ she suggested.

Sam laughed and pulled a huge handkerchief from his pocket. ‘Your wish is my command, I came prepared.’ He moved towards her and folded the fabric into a triangle, ‘Here, I’ll tie it on for you.’

Edie almost stepped back, but didn’t and submitted, grateful that the handkerchief was covering her glowing cheeks. She hadn’t been in such close proximity to a man in some time, and was ashamed of how she was reacting. At forty-six she thought she might be over such silliness but Sam had grown up rather nicely, better than she had. There was little of the gawky boy left in the man and his unexpected proximity was having a strange and unguarded effect on her.

‘There, sorted. You look like a bandit.’ he said, resting his hands on her shoulders and looking at her. He was at least six inches taller than she was and she was forced to look up.

‘What about you?’ Edie asked, aware that she was blushing like a loon under her mask.

‘Thought of that, I pinched this from Mum.’ He pulled a tea towel out from his back pocket and tied it around his own face. ‘There, ready for action. Shall I start with the books?’

Edie nodded and turned to one of the cabinets, glad of the distraction. ‘I’ll fetch some black bags. Most of this looks like rubbish.’

After an hour it looked like they had made more mess than they had started with. Sam was insistent that some of the books were worth money and he had pointed out that several of the ornaments that Edie had been throwing away with conscious malcontent might be worth something. ‘How am I supposed to tell the difference? It all looks hideous to me.’ she said. It did, but not just because it was old and tacky. Each piece felt like a few ounces of recrimination. For every ornament she held in her hands an equal weight of guilt settled in her heart. She had not cared about the people who had lived in the house; she had let them die. One by one, alone and neglected.

Sam climbed down from the chair he had been using to reach the top shelves and knelt down beside her. He took the ugly china spaniel from her hands and turned it over. ‘Look, this is Staffordshire, you can see by the mark.’ He pointed to the base of the object. ‘People collect this stuff, they pay good money for it.’

‘Lord knows why, it’s horrible.’ Edie said, grimacing at the creature’s painted gaze.

‘I agree, but horses for courses. Who are we to argue if people want to part with their cash? The object of the exercise is to raise as much money as possible, isn’t it?’

‘I suppose.’ Edie said. ‘You’re right, but I just want to get it over with as quickly as I can.’

Sam pulled off his impromptu mask and sat back on his heels. ‘I can see that, it’s not the most stimulating task, raking through other people’s belongings, is it? Why don’t you make us a drink and I’ll sort through the rest and pick out anything that might be worth keeping.’