11 The Teashop on the Corner by Milly Johnson Page A

taken from him since day one and – to be fair
– he’d been happy to give it, and never asked for anything back, which was lucky, because she never gave anything back. Only on one day had he truly needed something from her – a
kind word, support, a hug on the day when Mrs Williams had closed down negotiations with him, and she hadn’t even been able to manage that.
    He turned towards the door again.
    ‘That’s us quits, then, yeah? You won’t be claiming against me in court?’ Nicole called to his back.
    He didn’t answer as he walked away from her and her parents and out to his van. He belted himself in as he watched the canopy of his four-poster bed being carried from the furniture van
and he surprised himself with a laugh. He had the clothes in his wardrobe, the food in his cupboard, a couple of thousand quid in cash hidden in the bath panel and a van with old wind-down windows.
But at that moment, with the box of his family’s jewellery in his hand and with the certain knowledge that his ex-wife was stamping her feet on the family three-inch shag pile, he felt like
the king of the jungle. No, it wasn’t all over for Will Linton. There was still some fire left in the old dog yet.

Chapter 15
    Carla had made seven tissues soggy by the time Theresa put the cup of coffee down on the table in front of her.
    ‘Right, start from the beginning,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t phone me.’
    ‘And spoil your holiday? What sort of friend would that have made me?’ sniffed Carla.
    ‘I’m so cross with you,’ said Theresa in her very posh accent, whilst fluttering her hand as if to waft away her annoyance. ‘But I’m here now, so tell me.
Everything. Don’t leave a single detail out.’
    Carla began at the beginning: Martin going out to the garage to carry in the dressing table, then Carla finding him flat out on the floor after checking why he was taking so long. The ambulance,
the hospital, the doctor telling her that Martin had suffered a massive heart attack and would almost certainly have died instantly and not suffered. Then the funeral and Julie. Theresa’s
mouth dropped open by more and more degrees with every sentence.
    ‘Have you checked this woman out?’ she asked. ‘You haven’t just accepted that what she says is true?’
    ‘Her solicitor has sent a letter.’
    ‘Right.’ Theresa slapped her hand down on the table. ‘We need to validate both her and this so-called solicitor then. That’s the first thing we have to do. She might have
composed that letter herself.’ She took her smartphone out of her handbag and scribbled down reminder notes on the screen. ‘You need your own solicitor. She might be a nutter. Have you
given her Martin’s ashes?’
    ‘I haven’t picked them up yet.’
    ‘Jonty knows a solicitor. He’ll come out to the house and see you if you aren’t up to going into town. What about insurance policies?’
    ‘I haven’t looked at them yet.’
    ‘Go and get them now,’ commanded Theresa. ‘Jonty and I will look at them and sort them out for you. Have you checked your bank account? If this woman is who she says she is,
she may have access to Martin’s cashpoint card. Don’t tell me – you haven’t checked.’ She growled with upmarket frustration. ‘Go get the policies.’
    Dear Theresa had always been so wonderfully bossy, ever since Carla had met her eighteen years ago when they both worked in the regional office of the DIY chain Just The Job. Theresa, ten years
Carla’s senior, had been her section head in Purchasing and the two women had hit it off from day one. Theresa had been the poshest person Carla had ever met, but also the kindest. The
friendship had long outlasted the job. Theresa was now a private elocution tutor. Carla fetched her box of paperwork from the cupboard in the dining room and Theresa began pulling documents out and
separating them into relevant and irrelevant piles.
    ‘Martin has a life insurance policy,