by Rebecca Tope
‘Did anybody help you?’ asked Drew, who now went outside to help him. ‘Are you all right to back in?’ The van needed to be carefully reversed around the side of the house to the door into the cool room that had been constructed for the storage of bodies.
‘No,’ said Andrew decisively. ‘It’s agony if I twist. I’m not going to try and lift him, either.’
‘Let me, then.’
Andrew and Thea both watched as Drew took his place. In the driving seat Thea was waiting to see if she would be needed. A wheeled trolley stood beside her to receive the body. The whole process was practised and efficient, the need to be quick and inconspicuous taken for granted. Whilst there had never been any direct complaints from the neighbours on either side, there was every reason to maintain discretion. The hearse was tucked further down the garden, out of sight until in use. Recently Drew had asked himself why he’d ever needed such a striking vehicle anyway. A large van would have been a lot more economical, used for all stages of the business, and probably more in keeping with his preferred way of doing things. But somehow a funeral seemed to demand at least some of the traditional accoutrements. A van would lack the side windows or the purpose-built platform for the coffin and the flowers. While it might be suitably adapted, there would still be an air of casualness and lack of dignity that offended Drew’s sense of rightness. There was a deep-seated need to celebrate the person’s last journey, to give it an element of display and ensure that there was no hint of secrecy about it. A proper hearse provided a defiant counter to the abiding taboos around death with its generous windows and Drew was foolishly fond of the big black thing.
It was only the second time Thea had been actively involved in transferring a body and she found herself flinching more than expected. She had the feet, invisible in the dark green body bag, but still very tangible. ‘Hold him under the knees,’ Drew instructed. ‘His legs aren’t stiff any more.’
The weight was considerable, and Thea was small. The whole operation was cumbersome, though blessedly fast. It had only been a matter of swivelling the body around at ninety degrees to be dropped onto the waiting trolley, once Drew had slid it out of the van. ‘Urghh!’ she said when it was done.
‘Sorry,’ came Andrew’s voice behind her. ‘I’ll make sure you don’t have to do that again.’
‘Don’t worry. I don’t mind really,’ she assured him. ‘It’s just that I’m not built for this sort of work. We’ve got a whole lot more to come this week, haven’t we?’ The details that she had worked out so carefully with Drew that morning had grown as hazy as the names of Lucy Sinclair’s adversaries. ‘But the families are going to do most of the heavy lifting,’ she finished optimistically.
The day ended with all four of them feeling exhausted. Timmy had admitted that there had been a scuffle at school, but insisted it was nothing to worry about. Nobody had picked on him specifically, just the usual pushing and punching. Drew was obviously unhappy about it, not least because he already knew that he would consign the whole episode to the very bottom of his list of priorities.
Stephanie was in full diplomatic mode, pleased to see the adults in such harmony, and teasing Thea lightly for her enforced participation in funeral matters.
‘I’m only waiting until you grow a bit more, and then you can do it,’ her stepmother told her.
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ said Stephanie calmly.
‘Poor girl was born to it,’ said Drew. And he recounted yet again the story of his daughter’s early years, which were largely spent with him in his office, or following him and Maggs up to the burial ground just outside their house.
Tuesday passed much more smoothly than either Thea or Drew had expected. Mr Waters was buried with the exact right level of ceremony, his relatives enthusiastically participating. Afterwards they clustered around Drew with shining faces and told him how real it had been, and how enormously much they appreciated his style. They had no aversion to seeing the open grave waiting for Penelope Allen next morning, asking with genuine interest about schedules and procedures and workloads. When they’d gone, Drew dug the second grave for Wednesday and spoke at length to the family of Susan Westcott who was to be buried there.
‘So far so good,’ he puffed, when he finally joined the family for the evening meal at six. ‘And you know what? One of the Waters daughters said I charged much too little, and they were adding two hundred pounds because it was all so wonderful.’
‘Well done,’ said Thea. ‘That’s fantastic.’
‘Did you ask Mike if he could help?’ Stephanie enquired.
‘I left a message on his phone,’ Drew told her. ‘But he hasn’t come back to me.’
Thea’s thoughts turned increasingly to Northleach and the new cast of characters she was hoping to meet. A brief exchange with Lucy during the day had resulted in a decision to go over there early next morning and stay at least two nights. ‘It won’t hurt to change the plan if you want to. It might be a good idea to keep everyone guessing,’ said Lucy ominously.
When Thea had looked after Lucy’s house in Hampnett, she had been paid seventy pounds a day for a month, which had been very generous. ‘I got a good divorce settlement,’ Lucy had said. The husband was still around some years later, although on what basis remained entirely obscure.
Timmy had come home from school with a bruised elbow after what had obviously been another scuffle. When Thea examined it, she could see it must have taken an exceptionally hard knock. ‘What happened?’ she asked. This time, Timmy revealed a more worrying situation, with two Year Six boys throwing their weight about, and mocking the undersized son of the undertaker.
‘Don’t tell anybody,’ he begged her. ‘That’ll only make it worse.’
Thea sighed. For all the pious words about bullying, with study days and earnest homilies and mantras delivered constantly, little had actually changed. Adults could never hope to monitor the subtle cruelties and tortures that went on right under their noses. For some reason, it seemed to Thea that teachers more than most people had forgotten what it was like to be a child. The terror that could be inflicted by a big sister or even an enraged smaller brother was beyond description. If you were born into a big family, every day could be a war, with deep scars and real fear. Blackmail, extortion, malicious teasing and extreme mind control could all emanate from curly-haired little cherubs. Quite how anyone made it through to adulthood without serious damage seemed quite miraculous at times.
‘I hate to say it, Tim, but your only hope is to fight back,’ Thea told her stepson. ‘Maybe you could try scaring them with stories about dead bodies. Make them think you know all sorts of dark secrets about what happens when you die. Give them some good nightmares and see how they like that.’
‘Thea!’ Drew protested. ‘What are you saying?’
‘It’s good practice for adulthood,’ said Thea, who had begun to understand that this was precisely true. People with siblings were better equipped to deal with conflict in later life. Arguments amongst committee members would always feel trivial in comparison with childhood battles. Lucy Sinclair had all the signs of an only child, it seemed to Thea.
‘She’s right,’ said Stephanie, to everyone’s surprise. ‘Come on, Tim – I’ll help you think of what to say.’
‘If the teachers hear about it, we’ll be even worse social outcasts than we are now,’ worried Drew.
‘The teachers won’t hear about it,’ said Stephanie. ‘Teachers are idiots.’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ said Thea.
But Drew had the last word. ‘It’s wrong to generalise,’ he argued. ‘I’ve known some magnificent teachers in my time.’
Later, with the children in bed, he reproached her again. ‘I’m all for a bit of healthy scepticism,’ he said mildly, ‘but deliberate undermining of authority can’t be good, surely?’
‘You’re right, I know. And I don’t really think all teachers are idiots, exactly. It’s the system. And all the impossible efforts not
to offend anybody. That must be paralysing for the poor things.’
‘Let’s not get started on that,’ said Drew and fell instantly asleep.
Chapter Five
Thea left for Northleach before nine next morning, having first delivered Stephanie to school and given Timmy some bolstering remarks about dealing with his unpleasant schoolmates. No way could she have taken Lucy to Oxford, she assured herself. She was far too indispensable at home for a dawn drive of that sort. The fact that the family would have to manage without her the following two school mornings had entailed considerable forward planning as it was.
The route took her through an estate called Sezincote, the name alone enough to fascinate her. It was part of a short cut from the A424 to Stow-on-the-Wold, which had become popular thanks to GPS systems seeking the shortest route regardless of conditions. In fact, the road was reasonably good, with an added bonus of sudden immense vistas over the eastern stretches of the Cotswolds. Great trees clustered here and there beside the road, adding to the beauty of the landscape in exactly the right measure. At the centre of the estate was a grand house built in the Mughal style two centuries ago. Thea had never gone through the gates for a look, even though the gardens were open to the public. Tours of the house were impossibly expensive. She knew there were statues of elephants and snakes and Brahman bulls, the whole property a shameless folly, as bonkers in its own way as the ridiculous-but-fascinating Snowshill. There were numerous eccentric properties scattered around the region, many of which she had encountered in her house-sitting days. From Winchcombe to Bibury they survived, protected by the National Trust and admired by Americans.
Sezincote had thousands of acres of farmland, with outbuildings and cottages, and a similar secretive atmosphere to many other large estates, despite the public road running through it. She never saw any signs of life there.
Northleach was some distance to the south of Broad Campden, the drive taking a good half-hour. From Stow she took the familiar A429, redolent with memories from recent years. She passed turnings to Cold Aston and the Slaughters where she had become embroiled in troubles that had touched her closely. Not far beyond them lay Temple Guiting where another crisis had drawn her in. The very road itself carried echoes and associations that filled her head, even in the short stretch between Bourton-on-the-Water and Northleach. She characterised it as ‘Roman-straight’ when describing it to herself, along with other highways which also gave witness to the invaders of two thousand years ago.
Lucy’s house appeared entirely unmolested as Thea parked in the street outside and unlocked the front door, feeling very conspicuous. There were no sheltering trees or walls to conceal her from observers in the houses opposite or passing cars. It was dramatically different to her own home in Broad Campden, which was down a dead-end track where hardly anyone passed. Already she had a glimmer of comprehension about Lucy’s paranoia. Anyone would feel edgy in such a situation.
Inside it was shadowy, but warm. The thick walls kept out any cold winds, as well as virtually all external sounds. The rooms were small, but well proportioned, with little sense of being cramped. Even in her converted barn, Lucy had erected several walls, avoiding too many of the huge rooms that many people favoured. There had been one big central space, and several much smaller ones on either side. She had been frugal in this current home, with minimal furniture, but had hung pictures everywhere. There were rugs and skins on the floors. Upstairs Thea found two bedrooms and a tiny third room made even tinier by shelving covering two of the walls. Here was a version of the office Thea remembered from the Hampnett days – smaller but every bit as busy. There was evidently work to be had as a website designer. ‘Nice,’ Thea murmured to her dog, who had come with her as much-needed company.
The spaniel sniffed a few corners and then jumped onto the sofa in the front room. The window onto the street was behind and above her, covered in a gauzy material that was the contemporary version of a net curtain. It admitted a yellowish light from the street outside that was just enough to obviate any need for further illumination.
There was no sign of a landline phone, and only a very small television was tucked onto a corner shelf. Beside it was a sound system that was evidently of greater importance. The kitchen was at the rear of the house; a narrow space with nowhere to sit. Behind the living room was a dining area that opened onto the further end of the hallway that began inside the front door. Everything was neat and economical, tidy and efficient. A very persistent and observant detective might have concluded that the same person had designed this interior as had done the Hampnett barn conversion.
‘So what are we going to do?’ Thea asked Hepzibah. ‘It’s too cold to sit in the garden.’ She had brought a book with her, as well as her phone and a small bag of mending. Buttons to be reattached and a torn hem on Stephanie’s favourite top. Thea’s grandmother had talked a lot about mending and darning and patching, but only in very recent times had people begun to relearn these ancient skills. Thea found it remarkably satisfying, to the point of actively seeking out garments in need of repair.
As had happened many times before, a knock at the door sent everything in a whole new direction. A young woman stood there on the wide pavement, her face full of urgency and excitement. ‘Hi! You’re the house-sitter, right? Well, I’m here to tell you that Lucy’s got trouble. She’s in a coma. The hospital just called me.’
American. It had to be Bobby, according to Thea’s calculations. Just how and why she had become the harbinger of awful news was yet to be understood – probably quite a long way down the line of explanations. ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘Or the dog’s going to escape.’
It was a calumny against poor Hepzie, who hardly ever felt any need to escape from anything. But it worked and her visitor stepped hurriedly into the hall, and then turned left into the living room with no further invitation. ‘Explain,’ Thea ordered.
‘Right. Fine. They never started the surgery this morning because Lucy had some kind of reaction to the medication – the stuff they give you to get you woozy before the real thing kicks in.’
‘Pre-med,’ said Thea.
‘Okay.’ The woman sat down in a chair beside the fireplace. ‘Sorry. I’m Bobby Latimer. I live just over the street, a couple of doors from the pub. I’ve got two kids. Lucy gave my number to the hospital – as well as yours, I guess. She’s more my husband’s friend than mine, as it happens.’
Aha! Thea seized this detail with her habitual relish.
‘Not that I ever thought she’d have them call me. Must be a mix-up. I mean, if she’s unconscious, she wouldn’t be able to tell them it was best to call you, not me – right? Because there’s no way I can drop everything and go visiting. I told Lucy I could only manage one or two evenings, if that. Why, hell – it’s all the way to Oxford.’
It crossed Thea’s mind that an American could be expected to find a thirty-five-mile drive little more than a moment’s work. ‘Have you left the kids on their own?’ she asked.
‘Yeah. Just for a couple of minutes. They’ll be okay. Millie’s five now, going on twenty-two. And Buster’s asleep.’
Not Buster! Thea’s inner voice protested. That’s too much.
Bobby read her thoughts and grinned. ‘He’s actually called Burgess, but that’s no name for a baby, let’s face it. Anyway,’ she said again with emphasis, ‘someone’s got to go over there and check out what’s what. I couldn’t work out if they think she’s likely to die, or what. I mean – it sounded pretty bad. The woman said “She’s quite poorly, Mrs Latimer”, which wouldn’t mean too much in the States, but I guess it’s different here. British understatement and so forth.’
‘It doesn’t sound good,’ Thea agreed, her mind whirling. All of a sudden she recalled Lucy saying, ‘Now they seem to want to kill me.’ Had somebody somehow invaded the hospital and tampered with the medication? Was that even remotely possible? And if so, where did it leave her, Thea Slocombe? ‘But I’m just the house-sitter. Nobody�
��s going to tell me anything, are they? She must have some relations.’ Knowing as she spoke that the only people Lucy had mentioned were three male cousins and an ex-husband.
‘She hasn’t. You could pretend to be me,’ said Bobby Latimer carelessly.
Thea loved this girl from that moment on. How rare, how delicious, to have somebody actually voice such a transgressive idea. She ought to have known already, of course, from the neglectful parenting and the easy grin. Here was a kindred spirit, unbowed by being in a foreign land with two small children and an invisible husband. And what’s more, Detective Superintendent Sonia Gladwin would love her too, if they ever chanced to meet.
‘I doubt it,’ she said with regret. ‘They probably check ID before they even let you in the building, the way things are these days.’
‘Hm,’ said Bobby Latimer. ‘I guess I should get back to my kids. Do you want to come over and meet them? No sense in staying here.’
There never had been very much sense in staying in Lucy’s cottage, Thea decided. Whatever dangers lurked in the shadows, they had directed their malice at the Radcliffe in Oxford, and not in Northleach at all. ‘Can I bring the dog?’ she said.
‘No problem. What’s his name?’
‘It’s a she, called Hepzibah. Hepzie for short. She goes everywhere with me.’
‘Like a daemon,’ said Bobby. ‘You know – in the Philip Pullman books.’
Luckily, Thea had become familiar with the concept of a daemon, thanks to Stephanie. ‘She is a bit like that, yes,’ she agreed. ‘We’ve had some exciting times together.’
They crossed the street to a cottage similar to Lucy’s in age and colour, but larger. Inside it seemed impossibly spacious. Essentially it had been transformed into one enormous room with expensive wooden flooring and very little colour. In no way did it match the character of Thea’s new friend. ‘I know – it’s awful. Bunch had it done before Millie was born, without even coming over to see it.’
