August 2011
Beth sat staring at the sealed cardboard box. It looked fairly ordinary apart from her grandmother's decorative label. Somehow it was challenging her. Was she brave enough to face up to whatever the box held? Would it stir up painful memories or contain embarrassing revelations about her family?
She'd managed to clear all of Rose's worldly goods from the bungalow, but this last box retrieved from the loft had brought Beth to an abrupt stop.
She gazed out of the window at the old apple tree that she'd climbed many times growing up. Everything was so heart-breakingly familiar, Rose had never changed a thing. She told Beth stories about her own daughter, Beth's mother, climbing that same tree.
'Your mother was rather a naughty girl, not like you, but it was very hard for me to be cross with her. She was the flame and the rest of us . . . moths.'
'And my father, was he a moth?'
'Oh yes, definitely a moth. He adored her, and they both adored you.'
Beth felt the glow of those words and the love of her parents rush through her like electricity. She knew that their love, even in their absence, had made her strong. This had led her to the success she had in the business world, which had made her grandmother so proud.
Rose was baby-sitting Beth when the accident happened. They had dropped Beth off in her little carry-cot at six o'clock and by seven o'clock her parents were dead.
When she was older, Rose showed her the newspaper report and explained that it was foggy and icy as they set off for the theatre. Their car skidded from the road into a stone wall. They were killed instantly and didn't suffer.
Beth simply stayed with Rose. All the anecdotes of her mother's life growing up and the love of her parents wrapped her in security and gave her confidence, which balanced her sense of loss.
She took a deep breath and opened the box. There were her brownie badges, her school reports, her first swimming certificate and even a newspaper cutting about her success in achieving the gold Duke of Edinburgh award. Rose had kept everything. Seeing it all together made her realise how much her grandmother had done for her.
Beth blinked back the tears and picked up Rose's favourite book, 'Precious Bane' by Mary Webb. A letter fluttered out from between the pages.
Dear Ma,
I think you already know we won't be back for Beth. It's no good, we're not cut out to be parents, you'll make a much better job of it. You won't hear from us again . . .