by Aidan Thorn
Graham had watched the scene unfold from the warmth of the funeral car. He probably wasn’t the first man to smile while sitting in the back of a funeral car but he’d be one of only a few—he couldn’t help himself though, his plan was ticking along nicely.
Chapter Eighteen
The graveside was cold. A wind howled through the churchyard making it difficult to hear the vicar conduct his service. The ground was soft from a typically hard Scottish winter of rain and frosts mixed with the heavy footfall of Violet Gordon’s many mourners. A black clad sea surrounded the Gordon family as they sat with a few of the older, frailer attendees close to the hole that Violet’s dark mahogany casket would shortly be lowered into. Nobody had said a word to each other in the car. Emma had sat between Zoe and Kyle, holding hands to both sides of her. Graham and Frank sat in silence in the back seat, both men looking out of their window, neither wishing to watch Violet’s casket pulled along in the carriage in front.
At the graveside, words were exchanged, but still not between the Gordon family. Mourners and well-wishers approached to pay their respects. Frank stood broken as men and women he once ran or ruled over with fear approached to offer their condolences. He managed occasional responses, more grunts than words, but mostly just stood and shook hands or accepted kisses as people did what was expected of them, despite many of them having no time for the man himself. Graham drew similar attention from those present. He was more vocal in his response. But of course, most attention was focused on Kyle, the boy who had run away to the army and returned all grown up with a family of his own. Kyle was polite as he acknowledged people’s condolences and suggestions that they’d catch up with him afterwards at the wake, but the truth was he didn’t want to know any of these people. There were faces in this crowd that he hated as much as those of his father and brother. The faces of men that enabled Frank Gordon’s reign over the town in which they lived. Violent men who’d stood by Frank’s side and gone out and done his bidding for him. Many of them had wives at their sides, and Kyle hated them too—they knew who their husbands were and yet they stood by and watched them terrorise the area, people they relied upon and had probably counted as friends. But Kyle saw the faces of those people there too, the shopkeepers and farmers, the landlords and mechanics that had all had to pay for Frank Gordon’s so-called protection for fear of the consequences. He found their eyes the hardest to look into, as he stood mourning the loss of a mother who’d been just as culpable in what Frank had done to them, and yet still they arrived to mourn her. Kyle had always considered his mother to be a popular woman; despite what her husband was, people went out of their way to be nice to Violet, and she was always nice back. But, as Kyle stood at what would become his mother’s final resting place, he saw something else in many of the attendee’s faces. The words were of sorrow for the loss, but the faces suggested they were there for another reason. They wanted to see Frank Gordon broken, they wanted to see Graham’s tears. They may not have been glad that Violet Gordon was dead, although some surely were, but they were glad to see the suffering in Frank’s body and disappointed that Graham didn’t appear to be suffering like a son who’d lost a parent should be. Graham may have been upset by his mother’s death, but if he was, he was hiding it well.
The wake made it clear that most people had come just to see the family’s pain. The sea of people dressed in dark clothing had thinned and very few people came back to the Gordon family home. Those who did were largely older versions of the men who had passed through while Kyle and Graham were growing up. The coats were still leather and the shoes expensive, but the frames that filled the clothes were either bloated and grey or withering and balding. Kyle didn’t want to be in a room with any of these people and a glance across the room towards his daughter who’d found a corner to crawl into showed for once they had something in common—albeit for different reasons.
“We just have to leave her to it for a few days,” Emma said.
She’d approached her husband from behind and read his thoughts. She held a drink for both of them and handed Kyle his.
“How are you bearing up?” she asked.
“I’d rather not be here right now.”
“I know, we’ll just do an hour or so and I’ll call a taxi.”
The room buzzed with conversation. Kyle had shut down questions about what he’d been doing for the past couple of decades as quickly as possible, as he didn’t want to talk about it, or with any of the people that were asking. He heard snippets of talk around the room, people harking back to the ‘good old days’ as was often the way on such occasions—even when those days hadn’t been so good. Kyle had been to his share of funerals for men taken too young by war, afterwards the conversation always turned to what a great time they’d all had together on this deployment or that. If those reminiscing had been less selective with their memories, they’d probably remember the outright fear and stress of their situations—there really were no good moments in war. Yes, there was a brotherhood and sense of humour, but it was born out of the situation, forced by the terror of knowing each day could be the last. But at such times people only ever looked back fondly.
Across the room, Graham was talking with a couple of guys. Kyle recognised one as the big lump he’d knocked out a few weeks ago in the pub. They didn’t appear to be at the same event as everyone else in the room. For them it could have been New Year’s Eve or a couple of pints before going to watch the Auld Firm derby. They were laughing and slapping each other’s backs as they drank.
“I’m going outside for a smoke,” Kyle said.
Kyle hadn’t smoked in twelve years, but Emma wasn’t saying anything, not today.
“I’ll come with you.”
Zoe stared at her phone. She’d lost count of the unacknowledged messages she’d sent to Ryan: text, WhatsApp, Facebook, Snapchat, Twitter—she’d tried them all. He hadn’t even been online. She looked at her call log, one-hundred and two outgoing calls to Ryan’s number. She sent another text message, the same one she’d sent numerous times already, ‘Please call me xxx’.
“It’s Zoe, right?”
Zoe looked up to see Graham stood over her. There was an attempt at warmth on his face that he wasn’t capable of pulling off. She didn’t acknowledge her uncle’s question, returning her attention to her unanswered phone.
Graham pulled over a chair and took a seat next to Zoe.
“Grandma going seems to have hit you hard. It’s tough on all of us, right. But I guess it’s really tough on you, having only just got to know her. I’m sorry your dad kept you away from us for so long. You know, I’d like to try to be an uncle to you, if you like? I can help you deal with the loss of Grandma. We could help each other, I’m struggling with this too.”
“This isn’t about Grandma,” Zoe snapped without looking at Graham.
“Oh, OK, sorry, I just assumed,” Graham said, the mock surprise almost convincing. “Look, whatever it is, if you need to talk, I’m here. We’re blood, right. You don’t have to tell your dad we’re talking, but maybe it would help to talk to someone you don’t know so well.”
“There’s only one person it’ll help to talk to, so just fuck off.”
Graham’s natural instinct was to slap Zoe hard across her face. People didn’t tell him to fuck off. He fought it.
“OK, I get it, boy trouble. Look I’m going to leave you be, but you know where I am.”
Graham stood but lingered.
“Look, I wouldn’t usually do this, but you’re family,” he said. “Take this, it’s a little pick-me-up. If it all feels it’s getting too much, I guarantee this will help you feel better, forget things for a while, you know.”
Graham held his hand palm open in front of Zoe’s face. He was offering her a small bag of pills. She looked up at him, disgust etched on her face.
“Fuck off.”
“Fair enough, your loss. But you know where I am if you need anything.”
&nbs
p; “What are you doing talking to my daughter? Go back over there and enjoy the party with your pals.” Kyle had come back into the room as Graham was about to do exactly what Kyle had told him to do anyway.
“Keep your wig on bruv, I was just trying to cheer my niece up, she looks a little down and alone over here is all.”
“That’s not your problem. I’ll take care of my family.”
“Cracking job you’re obviously doing.”
Graham gestured sarcastically at Zoe who was paying neither man any attention, staring vacantly back at her phone.
Both men felt the fire of adrenalin prick at their ears and flush through their bodies. They wanted to fight, but knew they couldn’t—not today.
Emma had followed her husband across the room.
“Right, I think it’s time we made a move,” she said. “Come on Zoe, we’re off.”
“The trousers suit her, don’t they, Kyle?” Graham mocked.
The fire burnt more fiercely, and Kyle shook with unspent aggression. Emma grabbed her husband’s hand and guided him from the room.
Zoe hadn’t needed telling twice.
Zoe hadn’t changed from her funeral clothes. She’d got home, headed straight to her room and thrown herself on the bed. Her mother’s calls to join them for dinner had gone ignored. Emma had brought a plate up and put it beside the bed, she hadn’t spoken—she just stroked her daughter’s hair.
The lights from the landing went out, Kyle and Emma went to bed. Zoe continued to check her phone but the only thing it told her was the time—23.42. The battery was low, she could get up and plug it in but that would mean moving. She locked the screen and slipped it into the pocket of the coat she still wore, promising herself she wouldn’t look for at least an hour—a promise she knew she wouldn’t keep.
As she put her hand in her pocket she felt something. She pulled it out and reached for the bedside light. It was the bag of pills Graham had offered her. She hadn’t taken them, she thought; he must have slipped them in her coat. She took the phone from her pocket; it had been there for at least a second—no messages. She sobbed and looked at the bag of pills. There were three inside. She sat herself up, wiped at her eyes and dry swallowed the contents of the bag.
Chapter Nineteen
It was barely light when Emma knocked on Zoe’s door in the morning. There was no response. Emma cracked open the door and saw last night’s dinner untouched on the floor where she’d left it. The bedside light was on and the room smelled stale and acrid. Zoe’s back was to the door. She was still dressed, she hadn’t even removed her shoes. Emma approached her daughter, the smell got worse and Emma panicked. She called to her daughter. Nothing. She rolled her over and screamed.
Blood from Zoe’s nose had dried onto her face along with the vomit that was causing the smell. Her eyes were open and glazed. Emma couldn’t make sense of the scene. Her daughter hadn’t moved from her room since she’d seen her the night before. How was this possible? She crouched at Zoe’s bedside and cradled her lifeless body in her arms.
“Kyle!” She cried out.
Kyle was taking a final run around the abandoned farmland that now made homes for vagrants. It was the one part of his day he’d enjoyed during his stay in his hometown. He hated seeing this land that would have once been being worked even at this ungodly hour now going to waste, but he enjoyed the solitude of the run. The peace, even the cold and rain were a comfort as he worked up less of a sweat than he would have running south of the border.
He saw the now familiar shapes of the rough sleepers as he travelled by at pace. The two stags that he’d seen rutting in the abandoned field on that first morning run were here again. This morning they stood a safe distance apart, aware of each other’s presence but keeping themselves to themselves.
With his mother now in the ground there really was nothing about this place that he would miss. Today he would get everything packed and they would be back in England before the day was out. There would be no goodbyes, they’d just pack and be gone. The thought etched a smile across his face that disappeared as he turned onto the street on which he’d lived for the past couple of months. There was an ambulance outside his home, the flashing blues barely penetrating the dense morning fog. He picked up his pace to a sprint and ran through the open door of the house and straight up the stairs calling both Emma’s and Zoe’s names.
Emma stood red-eyed at Zoe’s bedside alongside two paramedics. Kyle couldn’t see his daughter for bodies in the way.
“What’s going on?”
Emma ran to her husband and threw her arms around him. She sobbed into his chest as steam rose from his clothing, the heat from his run escaping.
“What’s going on?” Kyle repeated his question, this time looking at the paramedics. Their inaction told him everything he needed to know, but he still needed to hear the words.
“Mr. Gordon, I’m afraid, there was nothing we could do. Your daughter was dead before we got here,” one of the paramedics said.
“Dead? What are you talking about dead?”
“We’re really sorry for your loss Mr. Gordon.”
Emma’s sobs grew as she heard the words again.
“What happened?” A voice from the bedroom doorway asked.
Kyle looked over to see Frank stood there.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Kyle snapped. “Get the fuck out!”
Kyle tore towards his father, all of the years of hate etched across his face. He was swinging his arms. He was rabid with anger and loss. Both paramedics leapt to restrain a man that it was near impossible to stop. They struggled against his grief and anger. Emma put herself in harm’s way between her husband and Frank.
“Kyle, I called him,” Emma said through sobs. “I didn’t know who to call. I kept trying your phone, but you must have left it here. I called Frank, I needed someone to go out and look for you, to bring you home.”
Emma’s logic was all wrong; the last person Kyle wanted to see in any situation was Frank Gordon. But she hadn’t been thinking.
Frank was shaken but he repeated his question to the paramedics.
“What happened?”
“Can I suggest we all go and take a seat downstairs,” the paramedic said. “In circumstances like this we have to inform the police. They will be here shortly.”
“We’ll need to get Zoe to the hospital where an autopsy will be carried out. We can’t say conclusively what’s happened to her until that has taken place, but can I just ask, did Zoe have a history of drug use?” the policeman said.
“Drugs?” Kyle snapped. An hour later and as the numbness swelled inside, on the surface he was still shaking with rage, disbelief and indignation. “Of course not, my daughter isn’t a fucking druggie.”
As the words left his mouth, he wondered how many parents of the young men and women sheltering in barns on the abandoned farmland that he’d run past each day had said the same thing when they’d first heard of their child’s problem—or if they’d even known.
“Sorry Mr. Gordon, I don’t mean to cause further distress. It’s just that Zoe displays signs of having overdosed. Do you have prescription or over the counter drugs in the house that she might have got her hands on?”
He lowered his head into the cup of his clammy palms. “Of course we do.”
“OK, it would be helpful if one of you could show me where they’re kept and let me know if you think anything is missing. It seems silly to ask in the circumstances, I know you buried Violet yesterday—I was sorry to hear about her passing, Frank, and I’m sorry I couldn’t be at the funeral— but was Zoe upset about anything that might have pushed her to do this?”
It had been obvious as soon as the policeman had arrived that he and Frank knew each other. They’d greeted each other by first names, Frank calling the officer Ben.
“She was a moody seventeen-year-old girl, but that’s normal, right?” Kyle said. “She wasn’t suicidal.”
>
Emma had sat in shock the whole time, like she was watching someone else’s nightmare unfold in front of her.
“She was upset about a boy,” she said vacantly.
“A boy? Do you know his name or where he lives?” Ben asked.
Emma had returned to her state of shock and didn’t respond.
“We don’t,” Kyle said, “We’ve never even met him.”
“Well, we’ll look into her phone records and social media activity, see if we can find out who he is. Not that I’m expecting him to know anything about what happened here, of course.”
There were a few more questions to which nobody had answers and the officer said he’d be in touch before handing Kyle a card with his details on and leaving.
“I thought you should know, I’ve just been out to a house where a young girl OD’d. Frank Gordon was there, looks like she was his granddaughter—I guess that makes her Graham’s niece.” Ben hung up his phone and put his police vehicle into drive.
Chapter Twenty
Ian had seen the call from Ben Edwards come in, but he’d let it go to message. He always did if it wasn’t Graham or Jim calling—especially if it was the police. He listened to the message and hung up from it as if he’d just heard news that someone he was supposed to be meeting would be five minutes late— he wasn’t bothered by it. He grabbed his keys from a bowl on the coffee table and headed for his front door. He glanced across the street to Frank and Violet Gordon’s home, where the lights were on and the front door was open. A quick jog across the road took his breath in the cold air. He needed to start exercising again, he was a big man but even he had to admit he’d let himself get out of shape.
“Frank, you alright in there, pal?” Ian called into the open doorway. There was no response, and so Ian walked inside. He checked all the rooms, no sign of Frank and no sign of a robbery—but then who’d dare. Frank must have gone for a walk and forgotten to shut the door. Grief does funny things to people, or so he’d been told. He pulled the door shut and headed for Graham’s to pass on Ben’s message.
