No, I tell myself. My problem-solving days are over. Rather than looking for a challenge, I should stick to yoga and knitting for the new baby.
23
‘Hi, is that Mel? It’s Fran here. From the canal. Buddy’s owner.’
I’ve plucked up the courage to ring her, but I’m having second thoughts already.
‘I remember. Is there a problem?’ Her voice sounds breathy and distant.
‘No, there’s no problem. Look, this is going to sound silly, but I was wondering if you would mind me coming to Tyler’s funeral. If you only want family and friends there, I completely understand. It’s just, I, er, um… It’s just, er, you know, me being there when he died…’
I haven’t rehearsed in my head what I want to say, and now I could kick myself. I’m making such a hash of it she’ll probably hang up on me, and it will serve me right.
It’s gone quiet, and I’m about to hang up in embarrassment when I hear what sounds like a sniffle on the other end of the line.
‘Mel, are you still there? Are you alright?’
‘Yes, I’m fine. It’s just that it’s been so bloody awful.’ Her voice is shaky. I’m almost certain she’s crying.
‘What’s happened?’
‘They have released Tyler’s body, and I can’t face having to see him again lying there in a coffin. They are going to ask if I want to view his body at the funeral place, and I don’t know what to say. It’s been really bothering me. It was bad enough having to go to the mortuary. I had to identify him, and he was so still and cold. It wasn’t my boy anymore. They are going to think I’m a terrible mother if I say I don’t want to see him for the last time to say goodbye.’
She sniffs again, and I can hear her blow her nose.
‘It’s been so horrible. I’ve been having nightmares thinking about what they did to him during the post-mortem. He’s been through so much.’
I feel for her, I really do. You’d have to have a heart of stone not to be moved by her predicament. I’m not sure why she’s confiding in me, but I suspect it’s not just for sympathy. She’s probably had that in spade loads since Tyler’s death. It’s obvious she has friends. There were plenty of people with her at Tyler’s shrine, and hundreds of responses on her Facebook page. Of course, social media contacts are not necessarily close friends, but she must have a family supporting her. What I suspect is that Mel has a network of loose connections, but very few people in her direct orbit whom she trusts. I take a punt on how useful I can make myself to her and go into practical mode.
‘I really don’t think there’s any right or wrong in this sort of situation, Mel. It’s up to you to decide. If it doesn’t feel right, nobody is going to judge you. The staff handling the funeral are very used to dealing with people who are grieving. They won’t think any less of you if you choose not to see him.’
‘But everyone keeps telling me I should, and that I’ll regret it if I don’t,’ she wails. I can hear her sobbing steadily. Every now and then she takes a shuddering breath.
‘That’s everyone else, Mel; it’s not you. We all grieve in our own way, and what works for one person is not necessarily right for another. It’s a very individual experience. It’s good that people care and want to offer advice, but you have to find your own way of coping with it. There’s no template to follow.’
‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’ She sighs, and I can hear the tiredness in her voice. ‘Thank you for listening. It’s been a big help.’
‘It’s really no problem. I know it was nothing like you have endured, but I have been through a bereavement myself recently. It’s so difficult to think straight and organise everything when you are in emotional turmoil.’
‘Yes, it is. It’s exhausting. Was it a relative of yours that died?’
‘It was my mum,’ I say. ‘She was a huge part of our lives, and it’s been difficult without her around.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m not close to my mother, and my dad is dead, but I can imagine that it must be hard.’
She sounds calmer, and I presume she wants to bring the conversation to a close. I’m not in any way prepared for her next question.
‘By the way,’ she says, almost as an afterthought, ‘it’s a big favour to ask, I know, but will you come to the funeral director’s with me when I go to make the arrangements?’
It’s so unexpected that I almost drop the phone in shock. I was looking for a way in to get to know her, but this catches me completely off guard.
‘Don’t feel obligated,’ she is saying. ‘It’s just that everyone I know has their own agenda, and they’ve been bombarding me with ideas for the funeral. I need space to plan it without having all their baggage to deal with as well.’
I’m flattered she’s asked me, but cautious, too. I suspect I will be dropped like a hot potato once I have no further use, but this opening is a gift and more than I could have anticipated.
There’s a knock at the front door, and Buddy barks wildly. I can hardly hear myself think.
‘I’ve got to go, Mel,’ I say. ‘There’s someone at the door, but I’d be more than happy to go with you. Give me a ring when you make the appointment and let me know the details.’
‘I will. Oh, and thanks again.’ There’s a click as she ends the call.
Lifting a slat, I see through the blind that Jenny is standing in the porch. She is holding a bunch of rust-coloured chrysanthemums and has a newspaper tucked under her arm. Buddy waits expectantly until I slide back the chain, then throws himself through the door at the object of his affection.
‘I’m sorry, Jenny. He’s such a pain.’ I grab him by the collar and signal to Jenny to step inside.
‘Come and have a cuppa. I haven’t got anything nice to go with it except shop-bought biscuits, I’m afraid.’
‘The tea will be fine, thanks.’ She perches unsteadily on a bar stool and looks out across the garden. Buddy is at her feet, giving her adoring glances. ‘Such a lovely view now you have put in those doors.’
She places the flowers on the countertop. ‘I hope you like the chrysanths. I picked them from the garden this morning.’
‘They’re gorgeous. The colours are so autumnal.’
I put them in a vase and place it on the dining table.
‘And I was wondering if you had seen this?’ She hands me the local paper, open at the page with the headline about the release of Tyler’s body for the funeral.
‘I hadn’t heard,’ I say. ‘Not until I met Avis at the hairdresser’s. She told me about it. Do you know her?’
‘Oh, yes. We are on some of the same committees. Awful woman. Such a busybody.’
Jenny is a dependable confidante and such a stalwart within the community that it’s on the tip of my tongue to mention my call to Mel. I stop myself before blurting it out. The fewer who know, the better. I’d hate Laurie to find out before I speak to him myself, and I have no intention of mentioning my recent interaction with Mel to him anytime soon.
Jenny is beginning to look uncomfortable on the stool, so I suggest we take our cups into the lounge. Buddy claims his place on the sofa at her side.
‘You do realise we are going to nominate you as his next of kin if anything happens to us, don’t you, Jenny?’
Jenny strokes the top of his head, and he snuggles in close to her.
‘Have you ever thought of getting a pet? They are good company. Perhaps a little cat? They are easy to manage,’ I say.
‘We did have a cat many moons ago. She was called Suzy, and Jack loved her. He spoiled her rotten. The little madam had the best of everything, including fresh fish four times a week. Sadly, she disappeared one day. We searched everywhere and put up notices, but not a sign. Not even a body at the roadside. I really couldn’t face having another one.’
‘That’s the worst bit,’ I say. ‘Not knowing. Laurie and I would be so upset if anything happened to old cheeky chops here. If he disappeared without a trace, it would be even more traumatic. You do hear of pe
ts being abducted and horrible things happening to them.’
Thinking about it, I feel sick at the prospect. Perhaps I should heed the warning from the woman at the hairdressers and not leave Buddy tied up in public places. Living in a quiet village tends to give you a false sense of security. If the stuff I’ve seen on Facebook is to be believed, dogs can be snatched within seconds and never seen again, and that’s in all locations, including rural areas.
‘Have you heard anything from the police?’ Jenny says. ‘Do you know if they are making any progress in the search for the boy’s killers?’
‘I’ve heard nothing apart from what’s already in the public domain and what’s being reported in the media. I don’t think they have to keep witnesses updated, only the family.’
‘And no other alarming incidents since the parcel?’ Jenny had been especially upset by the toy dog episode.
‘No, thank goodness,’ I say. ‘Even though it might be pranksters, the police took our accounts very seriously, which was a relief. They are keeping an eye out in the village for any unusual activity. You may have seen the marked car driving around and the presence of the PCSOs? They’ve also offered us a panic alarm, which seems a bit over the top.’
‘Oh my goodness. Whatever next? It’s a sad indictment of our society if you have to resort to such measures to feel safe in your own home. I can only assume the investigation is ongoing, and you will just have to bide your time and let the police do their job.’
‘Yes, I will.’ Even though the last thing I intend doing is biding my time.
24
The security company rings on Monday morning, and by Wednesday lunchtime, I have in my possession two wireless key fobs. If activated, they connect to a member of staff at a call centre, who will then contact the police directly in an emergency. The fobs are neat and unobtrusive. I place one in a kitchen drawer and the other upstairs on my bedside table.
We now have a secure garden, police-approved locks, a sophisticated burglar alarm and a high-powered outdoor lighting system. Apart from a fireproof letterbox, which the engineer suggested for additional security, we live in a house that is beginning to closely resemble Fort Knox. Despite this, on returning to the house, I still pause momentarily on the doorstep before entering, palms sweaty and heart fluttering. The age-old saying is certainly true in my case. Old habits die hard.
My phone rings, and I rush to pick it up, half expecting it to be Mel.
‘Hi, Mum. How are you?’
‘Alice, it’s nice to hear from you! I’m great, thanks. Is everything alright?’ I’m surprised by the call. She rarely rings me when she’s at work.
‘Yes, don’t worry. I was just wondering if you wanted to come up to town. I’ll treat you to lunch for your birthday.’
With all that’s been going on, I’ve completely forgotten about my birthday, which is a week on Friday. It will be just my luck to arrange to meet Alice and then find Mel wants me to go to the funeral director’s with her on that day.
‘Would you mind if I ring you back to let you know for definite?’
I hear a hiss of irritation on the end of the line.
‘But why can’t you tell me now? It’s not as though you have a packed social calendar. Honestly, Mum, I try to do something nice for you, and look what happens.’
‘It’s just that I might be doing something next week and…’ I start to say.
There’s a sharpness to her voice as she interrupts me. ‘Well, if you’ve got a better offer, that’s all right with me. There’s a really nice bistro opened up just around the corner from work. I thought I’d take you there as a special treat, but if you are doing something else, we can arrange it for another time.’
I’m starting to feel guilty for stalling. Normally, I would have jumped at Alice’s offer. She doesn’t often initiate a meeting, and it’s been a while since we did something together as mother and daughter.
Throwing caution to the wind rather than risk my daughter’s displeasure, I agree to meet her. She tells me she will text to confirm the details after the weekend.
I used to worry about the bond, or lack of it, with Alice. She’s fiercely independent, and unlike Flynn, who is open and straightforward, she can be sly and secretive about what is going on in her life. She seems to interpret any overtures I make as meddling. She was a daddy’s girl from the start; Laurie has never been on the receiving end of her wrath and seems to know what to say and do to avoid conflict.
Looking back, it was a bit pathetic of me, but I committed the classic parenting error. The one where you make comparisons with those who appear to enjoy the perfect relationship. I couldn’t help but envy other mums who enjoyed fun-filled shopping trips and pamper days with their daughters. It seemed to me they were more like friends than parent and child. Shopping with Alice for clothes and shoes was always a battle of wills, invariably resulting in one of us getting frazzled and weepy.
Once she reached fourteen and was firmly entrenched in her Goth phase, Laurie and I ended up giving her an allowance, thus avoiding a war of attrition.
I can’t say this made her happy, for she remained a morose teenager, but it was one less battle to be fought, and the household was more harmonious as a consequence.
Now the house feels empty, as though the oxygen has been sucked out from within, leaving it stale and lifeless. Looking back, it all happened gradually. Without the volatility that created the sparks of incandescent energy when Alice and Flynn lived at home, the house began to contract, as though drained of its lifeblood.
There was a time when Laurie and I, navigating the emotional peaks and troughs of parenting, craved the tranquillity associated with having an empty house. But, as the saying goes, careful what you wish for.
Moving here was the closest I ever got to that most fanciful of notions, the dream home. It seemed inconceivable back then that I would ever consider leaving the place where I felt at my happiest and most secure. Now, with Alice and Flynn gone – and following Tyler’s murder – everything has changed. What was once my sanctuary is starting to feel like my prison. I have to ask myself the question: What exactly am I going to do about it?
The garden is looking less than its best. I haven’t been out there in weeks, and the leaves that have already drifted down are scattered across the lawn. They litter the paths, accumulate in piles at the corners of the patio, and mount up in front of the garden gates. As the month progresses, the high winds will bring down further flurries, which, if not collected, will turn into a slippery mulch with the arrival of the heavy winter rains. Pulling on an old waxed jacket and a pair of wellies, I step outside.
Buddy is overjoyed to have company in the garden. He hurtles around in ever-widening circles, stopping only to pounce on an eddy of old leaf litter lifted by the breeze, or to sniff at an especially interesting patch of moss. The sun is high and bright in a sky that is a deep chromatic blue. It feels good to be outside on such a beautiful autumn afternoon. Throwing myself into raking and sweeping, I soon have a number of neatly stacked piles ready to transfer into the incinerator bin. Our neighbours on either side are at work during the day. Out of courtesy, one of us will call round at the weekend to check they haven’t put washing out or are planning a meetup with friends for drinks in the garden, before we light a bonfire.
It’s warm work, and I pause to take off my coat and survey my handiwork. At this point, Buddy seizes his opportunity. Barking wildly, he runs through the largest of the piles, scattering leaves in all directions. I find an old tennis ball and throw it to distract him while I start to shovel spade loads of dried leaf litter into the bin.
It is close to 4 p.m. when I finish. To amuse Laurie, and as proof of my efforts, I want to take a photo to show him how hard I have worked. It will be dark by the time he gets home, and by the weekend the garden will no doubt look as leaf-strewn as it did before I started.
I’ve left the phone in the house, and when I locate it, I have had three missed calls and a text message. T
hey are all from Mel Ingram.
‘‘Shit,’ I say out loud before retrieving the message.
Hi, Fran. I have made an appointment at the funeral place on Tuesday. It’s at 11 a.m. Let me know if you can make it. Mel.
I’m annoyed with myself for not taking my phone into the garden, and I’m also in a bit of a quandary. Should I call her back or just send a return text? I decide on the latter.
That’s good for me, Mel. Shall I meet you there or come and pick you up? I will need an address and postcode if I’m going straight there. Fran.
I keep checking the screen, waiting for a response. When there’s no reply after twenty minutes, I decide to have a shower. I’m tired and dusty and my muscles ache, stiff from lack of use. Before I do, I nip outside and take a quick photo of the garden for Laurie.
It’s still early. Laurie won’t be back for at least another couple of hours. Plenty of time to light the fire and prepare food. Not wanting to get back into my old clothes after my shower, I put on pyjamas and a dressing gown and fasten my freshly washed hair into a turban.
Once the fire is blazing, I start preparing vegetables for supper. I’m going to have a go at making a vegetable chilli. Having listened to Alice lecture us on the merits of being vegetarian, despite continuing to eat meat herself, I am going to experiment with having a few meat-free days. It will be good for us to eat less meat, and if it helps the planet, I am all for it. A message alert pings on my phone as I am chopping an onion. Rinsing my hands, I click to read it. It’s from Laurie, telling me he is making good progress and will be back before seven.
The meal is ready on the hob when Laurie arrives home. He hugs me and kisses the top of my head. ‘Mmm, showered and with freshly washed hair. What have you been up to, Mrs Hughes?’
In A Deep Dark Wood: A psychological thriller Page 13
