Dark Undertakings (17 page)

‘Oh, I don’t care.’ He was jigging up and down with tension or rage. ‘What does it matter?’

She put the kettle on, and sat down. ‘It’s at moments like this that I wish I smoked,’ she said, with a tight smile. ‘High emotion, I think they call it.’

David circled the room once, tapping the fingers of his left hand against all the surfaces, working his mouth as if trying to eat his own lips.

‘It isn’t really about the coffin coming home, is it?’ she said. ‘That’s just an excuse.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he muttered, his head bent awkwardly away from her, one shoulder raised.

Monica was alarmed at his demeanour. ‘David, calm down,’ she ordered, sharply. ‘Sit there and talk to me properly. What did Philip say to you?’

‘It wasn’t Philip,’ he corrected her. ‘It wasn’t anybody. I want to ask you about what I found.’

‘Found? When? What are you talking about?’ After the previous day’s encounter with him, she had thought there would be a breathing space before he demanded any more of her. At least in his drunken state, he’d been easier to deflect from the subject.

‘Adoption papers,’ he said accusingly. ‘Birth certificate.’ He glared at her. ‘How did you think I discovered that I’m adopted? I saw them in his desk, years ago.’

She sat back, stubbornly uncooperative, a deep frown grooving her brow. ‘David, do you actually remember what happened yesterday? Were you so drunk that the whole thing’s slipped your mind? You agreed to leave this business until we’ve got the funeral over with. I’m perfectly happy to tell you everything, but not while you’re in such a state. And not so soon after … what happened to Jim.’

His glare intensified. ‘I haven’t forgotten,’ he said. ‘But I can’t wait any longer. You don’t know what it’s like. People always think they can keep secrets from their kids. They think it won’t matter, and that living in the same house, growing up calling you Mum and Dad is all that counts. But I’m grown up now, and I need to have it straight. You can see what it’s doing to me.’ He held out a shaking hand, exposing a painfully thin wrist.

Monica closed her eyes for a moment. ‘I’m sorry, but this is much too melodramatic for me. I can’t just splurge the whole thing out, not knowing how you’ll react. It should be done calmly, with someone else here. I’m sorry, Davey. I want to trust you, and come clean with you.
But you’re too wrought up, just like yesterday.’

He dropped into Jim’s chair, throwing his head back. ‘I take it Jim wasn’t my father? At least tell me that much.’

Despite herself, Monica saw no alternative to answering this direct question. ‘He was your father … officially. We legally adopted you, when you were nearly two. We had you with us from a small baby.’

‘
Adopted
, yes,’ he spat. ‘You’ve
got
to tell me, Mum. It’s your duty.’

‘I was ready to tell you yesterday,’ she said severely. ‘But you got yourself drunk by the middle of the morning, and probably wouldn’t even have understood me. I’m not playing games with you over this. I want to make sure the whole truth comes out properly, when we’re not distracted by the funeral and people talking about poisoning—’

His eyes widened until she could see clear whites all round the iris. ‘
What
did you say?’ he choked.

Wryly, she realised that she had just successfully diverted him from his demands, only to plunge them into even murkier waters. She wished she could tell him everything she knew about his origins – she’d wanted to for years, but Jim would never allow it. Now she didn’t dare.

‘Oh, it’s silly,’ she laughed unconvincingly. ‘Cassie died yesterday. Did I tell you?’

He shook his head muzzily. ‘I can’t remember,’ he said. ‘But go on.’

‘Well, I think she just pined away – or she might have been ill before, and we didn’t notice. Anyway, I asked the undertakers to see to her. I thought she could be cremated with Jim.’ David was trying to interrupt, but managing no articulate intervention. Monica carried on. ‘The same young man who came to take Jim away came back, and he tried to suggest that Cassie had somehow got poisoned by licking Jim’s face on Tuesday. It’s stupid, of course—’

‘But she did lick his face. You said so.’

‘So what? That doesn’t prove anything.’

‘And now they think somebody poisoned Dad. Is that right?’ He gripped his head tightly between both hands, and pressed inwards. ‘This is ghastly,’ he muttered. ‘They’ll think it was one of us. There’ll be police, and questions and statements. Christ, Mum, you don’t know what it’s like when they get some idea into their heads. They don’t leave you alone until they’re satisfied.’

Monica went white. ‘Then we must make sure they’re not called in, mustn’t we?’ she said faintly but firmly. ‘And that means no more nonsense from you.’

He laughed harshly. ‘You don’t have to remind me that I’m the unstable one around here. And can you blame me, when I don’t even know who my real parents are? Don’t you think that little fact explains rather a lot?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’ve always hoped that wasn’t true.’

‘You mean you hoped that if nobody said anything, I would just
fit in
as if I was your own natural child. I assume that Philip wasn’t adopted too? You really think you’ve ever behaved as if I was just as good as him? As much a part of the family? Get real, Mum.’

‘I think you’d better go home, now, and see if you can salvage your job. How many days have you missed? This must be the fourth.’ The steel in her voice shifted him, and he stood up obediently. ‘And,’ she added, ‘let me just say this. Jim might not have been your natural father, but he was as close to it as a man can get. He loved you as much as any father could. When we first had you, he loved you
more
than Philip.’

David’s lip curled. ‘You’ll never get me to believe that,’ he sneered. ‘Not the way he treated me ever since I was nine or ten.’

‘He did his best,’ she insisted, almost pleading. ‘You were such a difficult child. You would never show us any affection, pushing
us away – especially Jim. Oh, I know—’ She put her hands up to interrupt him as he drew breath. ‘I know you couldn’t help it. But at the time it just felt as if you hated us, after all we’d tried to do for you. It never occurred to us that you might have something physically wrong with you. In those days nobody ever suggested anything like that. Now, they’d probably label you right away.’

He walked the length of the room restlessly, a scowl on his face. ‘And that would have been better, would it?’

‘I’m not sure that it would,’ she admitted. ‘We’d still have had to live with you and your tantrums and bad behaviour at school.’

‘I tell you something,’ he burst out. ‘It might have been better if you’d
told
me – and everybody else – that I was adopted. That might have settled me down. I always knew something wasn’t right. I knew I was some sort of freak. Didn’t it ever occur to you that might have been at the back of it all?’

Monica stared at him, remembering the impossible little boy, possessed by some inner demon which forced him to scream and kick and then sulk for hours in his room. She shook her head. ‘I don’t see how you work that out. We knew you from the start, even though you were two when you came to us permanently.
Jim was there when you were born. You were as close to being his as can be.’

Tears gathered in David’s eyes, and his mouth twisted. ‘Don’t say he loved me
now
,’ he choked. ‘For God’s sake – that’s the last thing I want to hear, now he’s dead.’ And shaking his head, he stumbled to the door.

‘Mind how you drive!’ she called after him, from long habit. A parental mantra, designed to keep him safe.

Lorraine had waited with growing urgency for Frank and Cindy to leave the house. She threw breakfast at them, hustled them into jackets and shoes, and promised Cindy she’d be at the school gate promptly to collect her at three o’clock. She kissed them both absently, and tried to ignore the persistent taste of metal at the back of her mouth.

She knew where Roxanne lived. Everybody did. There’d been a fuss when she set up home in a field, with the Council objecting to her putting her caravan there without planning permission. She’d moved it around, from one field to another, until they got tired of her. She said she had her rights and wasn’t hurting anybody. Lorraine had actually felt rather favourably disposed towards her; it was a stand against bureaucracy. Why shouldn’t a person live independently, in their
own caravan if they wanted to? It wasn’t as if she was using services paid for by others – she had to collect water from someone’s outside tap, and cope without any electricity. The farmer who owned the field didn’t mind, so long as his cattle weren’t upset.

She stood up. This had to be faced. She couldn’t carry on without knowing the truth. It would eat away at her, and without being able to demand to know from Jim himself, the only option seemed to be to go directly to the woman in question. She’d know from the look in Roxanne’s eyes whether or not the rumour was true.

Without the car, she had a thirty-minute walk, out of town and down towards the river. She didn’t care who might see her. It didn’t matter now, after all. But it was with a slight flush of embarrassment that she met Jodie, who had worked with Jim at the printworks. The girl was walking purposefully towards her on the pavement outside the last few shops before the fields began. Lorraine didn’t know where Jodie lived, but assumed she was walking to work. Jim had said something about her being mad keen on walking. They’d seen each other at the pub, and round about town, but had seldom spoken. There seemed no real reason to say anything now, but Lorraine hesitated, just the same.
Ought she to acknowledge the implications of Jim’s death for Jodie?

But Jodie must have been late; she merely nodded, without breaking stride. Lorraine swallowed down her sense of offence and ploughed on, wishing she could be there, instantly, by teleportation, without this tedious journey. Too many thoughts crowded into her head, encouraged by the rhythm of her stride. Phrases formed themselves, unbidden:
What gives you the right to be jealous? You were just his bit on the side. His bimbo. It’s his wife that should be doing this, not you.
Pictures of Jim making love with Roxanne tried to invade her mind, but she kept them out. Which secrets had he told her? Was he just a lying bastard, who took his fun wherever it was offered?

At the field gate, she hesitated, staring at the caravan, wondering whether Roxanne was inside it. She was running low on determination, suddenly nervous. Was she being a complete fool? What was she going to say?

The Hereford bullocks didn’t bother her; even if they had, she would not have given Roxanne the satisfaction of betraying any nervousness.
Everyone thinks I’m silly and empty-headed,
she thought crossly.
Just because I’m blonde and pretty.
Even Jim hadn’t expected much in the way of intelligent conversation.

Roxanne opened the caravan door and stood at the top of the steps, waiting for her, as she covered the second half of the field. Something ancient and strange struck Lorraine. It was unusual to be observed so closely as you approached a person’s home, Lorraine realised. Nobody stood or sat at their doors any more, waiting for whoever might come by. The first thing you knew was a knock or a ring at the door, which sent you into a fluster of curiosity and apprehension. The patient scrutiny which Roxanne could give her visitors was witchlike, almost predatory. A female spider waiting for someone to walk into her web. Lorraine forced herself on, increasingly self-conscious and unprepared for the encounter to come.

The face that greeted her was smiling. Not in any kind of scorn or mockery, but kindly, even sympathetically. A sadness in the deep-set brown eyes gave the smile sincerity. Lorraine felt a sudden urge to throw herself into this woman’s arms, so great was her relief.

‘Hi!’ said Roxanne, as if the meeting had been long arranged and anticipated.

‘You know who I am?’

‘Course I do. Lorraine. You drink at the King’s Head. Married to Frank Dunlop. His auntie Mary was my mum’s best friend.’

‘I never knew that.’

‘Small town, Bradbourne. Coffee?’

‘Okay. Oh – maybe not, actually.’ The anticipated taste of coffee was suddenly repugnant to her, reinforcing the conviction that she was pregnant. Barely three weeks and already all the same old unpleasantnesses were returning. ‘I’ll just have water or squash or something, if you’ve got it.’

‘You’ve come about Jim.’ Roxanne was matter-of-fact.

‘Yes.’ Tears filled her eyes. Was it possible that she would be able to cry with this woman, openly grieving for a relationship which was meant to be a secret?

‘Unusual man, our Jim,’ Roxanne added quietly. ‘A lot of people are going to miss him.’

‘Oh dear.’ Lorraine sat down on a narrow seat under the caravan window and gave up the struggle against her emotion. She sobbed noisily, tears trickling abundantly down her face. She rummaged for a hanky, finding only a small ladylike one in a pocket of her jeans. Roxanne poured something from a stoneware jug into a glass and handed it to her.

‘Elderflower,’ she said. ‘My speciality.’

Lorraine took it, and sipped awkwardly. ‘Sorry,’ she said, waving the damp hanky in explanation.

‘No need to be. Nothing wrong with a good cry.’

‘It’s just—’

‘Yeah. I know. Bloody rotten business. Leaves everything up in the air.’

‘I came – actually – to ask you—’

‘I know,’ said Roxanne again. ‘Funny how the rumours get going once a person dies. There we were, thinking our secrets were safe. Now I bet the whole town’s talking about both of us.’

‘Oh, no! Not me. I mean – we were terribly careful.’

‘I knew,’ said Roxanne flatly. ‘And so did Pauline. Can’t believe it’d just be us two. The thing is, lovey, most people don’t care. They’re having their own little carryings-on, and it makes them feel better knowing it’s not just them.’

‘Pauline?’

‘My sister. Monica Lapsford’s friend.
Best
friend, she likes to think. You’d know her by sight, probably. She’s always out and about, collecting lame ducks.’