‘You weren’t to know, son,’ said Kelly. ‘We didn’t think it would be so quick.’
He had no idea whether that was true or not. He didn’t remember at any stage ever discussing with anyone just how long Moira might have left. That had been one of those topics never to be broached.
‘I’d just like to have seen her one more time, Dad, that’s all …’
‘I know, son.’ Kelly did know too. Nick was another one who had always been extremely fond of Moira. She was a woman who had had in abundance the gift of making friends.
On the day, there must have been well over a hundred people, Kelly thought, crammed into the little crematorium chapel for the brief funeral service. It had been Moira’s wish to be cremated. Kelly didn’t like the idea of human bodies being burned, but, although he had known that her wish to be cremated was in her will, he had never tried to dissuade her. After all, if he was honest, neither did he much like the idea of human bodies rotting in a cemetery. At best, the way in which humans were disposed of, or laid to rest – the euphemism invariably preferred by those involved with the process – could only be the lesser of various evils in Kelly’s opinion.
It was, however, gratifying to see such a good turnout. Moira had been a gregarious woman at heart and Kelly knew she would have liked to think that so many people would attend her funeral.
Nick drove down from London to be there, as Kelly had known that he would, in his new, distinctively customised, silver Aston Martin, which on any other occasion Kelly would have demanded to be allowed to take for a drive. He and Nick shared a love of sports cars, particularly British sports cars in Kelly’s case, and Kelly unashamedly envied his son for being in a position to buy himself almost any car he wanted.
There were various members of Moira’s family present whom Kelly hadn’t met before and there were all her friends from Torbay Hospital where she had worked on and off for most of her adult life, and where she had remained as a night sister in the children’s ward until she had finally, just three months or so ago, become too ill to continue. One of the senior doctors, a long-time close friend, had given the address at the crematorium chapel, and he had done so with great warmth and affection. Kelly had been grateful for the way he had so accurately presented Moira’s character, for the stories he told about her, and how he had praised her for her humour and practicality, for her kindness and generosity, and above all for her humanity.
Kelly’s head was filled with his own memories. How he and Moira had first met, introduced by his matchmaking editor, and how they had first made love and he had been so nervous, after a long period of celibacy, and in such haste to remove his trousers, that he had actually fallen over because he had got them in such a tangle around his ankles. Like something out of a Brian Rix farce, Moira had said, and after that, all that followed had seemed totally natural.
He remembered as well her sense of humour, her willingness to laugh at even his most pathetic jokes, and, most of all, that great, big, rollicking roaring laugh of hers.
He also remembered Moira crying over the death of a child she and her colleagues at Torbay Hospital had fought so hard to save.
She had been a fine human being, and Kelly wished he had told her how much he had valued and appreciated her far more often. Indeed, he wished he had told her at all, other than when he had done something crass and offensive, which was about the only time he remembered doing so.
He sat in the little chapel next to Jennifer. She held onto his hand tightly throughout the brief service. Nick was sitting behind them. Kelly reckoned they were both rather exceptional young people.
He had looked around as he had walked into the chapel behind Moira’s coffin, but had somehow not been able to take a lot in. Certainly, he had recognised few faces that he knew among the congregation, but he had spotted Karen Meadows, sitting at the back near the door, and was glad to see her. She had been a good friend to Moira once, at a time when he had been anything but.
Moira’s daughters had invited everyone back to their mother’s house for a drink and a snack after the funeral was over; a tradition Kelly had never liked, but he did not even consider opting out because he knew that would upset the girls.
As they all made their way out into the crematorium car park, Karen Meadows approached Kelly and touched him lightly on the arm.
‘I really am so very sorry, Kelly,’ she said quietly.
‘I know,’ he said.
‘Yes. She’s going to be much missed, your Moira.’
‘Yes.’ These were just the usual platitudes, but Kelly knew she meant every word.
‘Look, I won’t be able to come back to the house, I’m up to my eyes, but I’ll be thinking of you, OK?’
‘Yes. Yes. Thank you.’ Kelly turned quickly away. He hated people to see him being emotional. For that very reason, he had chosen to drive his own car rather than travel with Moira’s daughters and other close family in the undertaker’s limos, and as he headed for his car he was glad of that.
On the way back to Moira’s house, he detoured to Babbacombe, and pulled off the coast road into a lay-by, where he sat quietly for a few minutes, looking out to sea, relieved to be alone. It was a beautiful day for the time of year. The sea sparkled. He thought about driving down the steep winding hill that led to The Cary Arms, one of his favourite pubs, right by Babbacombe beach. But he didn’t really have the time. Had he still been drinking he would have found the time, of course. And, by God, he fancied a stiff drink. But that would have been the final insult to Moira, who had given him such support when he had last kicked the habit. So instead he settled for a roll-up, which he smoked gratefully as he sat in his little MG, looking out through the open window at the luminous navy blue of the Atlantic Ocean to his right and the rows of seaside hotels to his left, barely thinking, barely functioning, barely seeing. He did not break down and cry. It felt almost as if he was beyond that. He just wanted to be on his own for a bit, before rejoining the rest of the mourners.
By the time he arrived at Moira’s house, just a few streets away from his own in St Marychurch, the place was packed solid with people. Kelly had no idea how many had turned up, as they were all in different rooms. A group of women, whom he vaguely recognised as nursing colleagues of Moira’s, were giggling together over glasses of white wine. There was already that kind of hubbub you always get when large groups gather over a drink, regardless of the circumstances.
Kelly reflected not for the first time how strange it was that so many people seemed to have such a good time at funerals.
He struggled through the hall and living room, exchanging greetings and accepting condolences – mostly from folk he didn’t know from Adam – until he reached the kitchen at the back of the house.
The girls had hired caterers for the occasion. None the less, all three of them were in the kitchen supervising the arrangements, as Kelly would have expected them to be. They took after their mother. Born organisers who liked to be in control. Poor Moira, thought Kelly for the umpteenth time. She had never been in control of him, not really. Not the way she would have liked to have been.
Jennifer pushed a tray of sausage rolls and sandwiches towards Kelly. He shook his head. He felt as if he would never eat again. Instead he touched Jennifer’s hand, holding on to the rim of the tray, and forced a small smile. She still looked unnaturally pale, and dreadfully tired. He felt a great pang of compassion for her. She had carried the burden of the last few months so magnificently. And she was so very young. It had been bound to take its toll.
‘You should get some rest,’ he told her.
‘I can’t sleep.’
‘I know. Neither can I.’
She put the tray down then and came to him for a hug.
‘You’ve been wonderful, you know,’ he told her. ‘Maybe you should get the doctor to give you something to make you sleep.’
‘Maybe.’
She pulled away from him and picked up the tray of food again.
‘I
was just going to hand these around in the other room,’ she said.
He watched her go, head high, back straight, and wished, as ever, that he could have found more words. The right words. Any that weren’t trite and condescending, any that might make it all just a little easier. But then, there was no way to make it easier.
He decided to go out into the garden for another smoke, and had to push his way through yet more mourners to get to the back door. Once safely outside, he leaned against the wall of the house, swiftly made himself a roll-up and took a long drag, pulling at it as if it had been days or weeks since he’d had a cigarette rather than just minutes, holding the smoke in his lungs and closing his eyes tightly on the world.
The sun had shone brightly all day, but Moira’s back garden faced north and the November air was crisp and chilly. However, Kelly barely noticed. He inhaled the nicotine gratefully and tried not to think about anything.
‘Great minds, eh, Dad?’
Kelly opened his eyes abruptly. Nick, holding the collar of his suit jacket closed against the cold with one hand and a cigarette in the other, was standing alongside him. His son was about the only person in the world, Kelly thought, whom he could possibly have been pleased to see at that moment.
‘Hello, Nick.’
‘How are you doing, Dad?’
‘Oh, you know. About how you’d expect, I suppose.’
Nick merely nodded and leaned against the wall alongside his father. For at least a minute they smoked together in companionable silence. Nick finished his cigarette first, threw the butt on the ground, pressed it into the concrete, then took the packet from his pocket and withdrew another one. When he had lit up, he passed the pack to his father who was now reaching the end of his roll-up. Kelly gratefully took one of the ready-made sort for a change, and lit it from his roll-up’s glowing end.
‘Not given up, then?’ queried Nick with a smile.
‘No bloody fear,’ said Kelly. ‘Anyway, you’re supposed to be the fit one.’
He glanced towards his son, who still looked every bit as much in shape as he had done during his time in the army.
Nick grinned, flashing even white teeth. He really was a handsome bugger, thought Kelly, reflecting that he certainly didn’t get his looks from his father.
‘There is a limit,’ said Nick. He stopped grinning and glanced at his father appraisingly.
‘You sure you’re OK, Dad?’
‘Oh, yeah. Course I am.’
There was so much Kelly would like to say to Nick. He would like to tell him how much it meant to have his only son there that day, and, indeed, how much it meant to him to have found again this young man whose childhood he had almost totally missed, both when he was still married to Nick’s mother, because he had been too busy playing newspapers – and playing around with other women too, if he was honest – and then later, after his marriage had ended, because he dared not look back. And he was so grateful to Nick for seeking him out after years of estrangement and making it so clear that he wanted to build a new relationship with him. The two men were now closer, Kelly sometimes thought, than many fathers and sons who had never had to deal with the disruption of families torn apart and trust destroyed. And Kelly couldn’t believe his luck.
He thought Nick understood what he felt, but he was much the same with his son as he had been with his partner. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Nick all that. Not properly, anyway. And neither could he bring himself to talk about Moira and just how totally devastated he felt. He had lost his greatest supporter, his rock, and he couldn’t tell anyone how it felt, how it really felt, not even Nick.
‘Perhaps you might like to come up to London and stay for a couple of days, in a week or two’s time, maybe,’ Nick began. ‘We could take the Aston out for a proper test run somewhere. I’m sure you’d like to put her through her paces.’
Kelly smiled. He didn’t think Nick had any idea quite how proud his father was of him. Kelly not only liked and respected Nick, but also admired him for the success he had made of his life, both as a career soldier and now as a business and IT consultant, even though he had never understood exactly what Nick did, except that his son was frequently employed by government departments and that his areas of expertise, particularly involving computers, came directly from his army training. Armies no long marched on their stomachs, but on their keyboards, Nick had once told him. And the secret of success in the modern world was to be multi-skilled, his son also maintained.
Kelly did understand that Nick’s work earned him bucketloads of money. He had actually helped Nick choose that special Aston he had only recently acquired, and the prospect of driving the Aston, coupled with the delight he always found in sharing Nick’s company, would normally have caused Kelly to become boyishly excited. But that day he could manage little enthusiasm.
‘Thanks, lad, I’ll see,’ he said.
As ever, Nick seemed to understand his feelings absolutely.
‘Of course, Dad,’ he said. ‘You’ve got other things on your mind today. I’ll call you from London. It’s just that, well, I wanted you to know the offer was there, because I’m afraid I have to leave to drive back to town very soon. I’m really sorry, Dad. I had been hoping to stay over, at least for tonight, but I’m in the middle of this big project. I have to be at a meeting in the City first thing tomorrow morning and I just couldn’t alter it.’
‘That’s all right son, don’t worry about it. I do understand. I’m just so grateful to you for coming all this way, and I know Moira would have been too.’
‘I couldn’t do any other,’ said Nick simply.
‘I know.’ Kelly studied him for a moment, so together and capable. Then, before he had really considered what he was going to say, he began to speak again.
‘It’s a pity, though, because there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.’
Nick’s eyes softened. Kelly realised at once that his son thought he wanted to touch on those areas he usually avoided, to talk about something concerning Moira, or maybe even about him. What Kelly actually wanted to talk about was Hangridge. Nick was a military man through and through, an ex-soldier who still had plenty of military contacts. He might be able to help considerably. After all, he had been at the cutting edge of the army and had even served with the SAS, possibly the most elite fighting regiment in the world.
Kelly reckoned that Nick might be able to shed all kinds of light on what could have been happening at the Dartmoor barracks. He was more than a little surprised at himself, however, for allowing his thoughts to wander along that road on the day of Moira’s funeral. And he had the grace to feel ashamed. He hadn’t intended to do this today, but now that the thought had suddenly shot into his mind, demanding his immediate attention, he couldn’t quite stop himself, and he was about to launch into an account of the Hangridge affair and to start asking his son questions, when he was interrupted by Jennifer.
‘John, Nick, will you come in?’ she began. ‘We thought we’d ask anyone who wanted to share their memories of Mum to say a few words. John, we wondered if you’d like to start?’
‘Of course,’ said Kelly automatically, even though his mind had immediately gone a complete blank.
He tossed his second cigarette onto the ground, and Nick did the same. He turned in silence to follow Jennifer, but Nick placed a big hand on his shoulder, momentarily restraining him.
‘Look, Dad, I don’t have to go straight away,’ he said gently. ‘I can stay at least another hour, maybe two. We can talk later.’
Kelly felt even more ashamed. He knew that to attempt to talk to Nick about Hangridge that day would be quite wrong, and he could hardly believe he had been about to do so. Nick, who was being so kind and considerate, and obviously making himself ready to hear emotional outpourings from his father, would be more than a little shocked to learn what had been going on in his father’s head on such a day.
‘Thanks, son, you’re a good man,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think thi
s is the time or the place.’
Nick did not even slacken his grip on his father’s shoulder. My God, he had strong hands, Kelly thought obliquely.
‘It’s all right to talk, you know, Dad,’ said Nick, and in stark contrast to the steel in his fingers his voice was very soft.
Kelly really did feel embarrassed then. Sometimes he wondered what was wrong with himself. He was genuinely overwhelmed with grief for a woman he really had loved, in his way, probably more than anyone else in his life, except his son, and yet Hangridge, his latest obsession, had, albeit briefly, taken over his head again.
He managed a small smile, one which he hoped was both appreciative and vaguely reassuring.
‘Maybe when I come to visit you in London, OK?’ he said.
Thirteen
Kelly went to bed very late, and even then he couldn’t sleep. He lay tossing and turning for what seemed like an eternity, until he could stand it no more. Wearily he dragged himself out of bed and set off for the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. On the way downstairs, he glanced at his watch. It was almost exactly 3.30 a.m.
His head ached and he really didn’t think that was fair. After all, he was probably the only person at yesterday’s wake who hadn’t had an alcoholic drink. He felt totally disorientated and very ill at ease. Even though Moira had not been spending most of her time in his home for several months, the knowledge that she was there, with her family, just a couple of streets away, had seemed to make things all right. And, in spite of her being so dreadfully ill, maybe he had been half conning himself that one day she would return and everything would be back to normal. But now he knew she wasn’t coming back. He felt empty. Bereft. Even the house felt different. Almost as if it had lost its soul.
While the kettle boiled, he rummaged in the kitchen cupboard where he kept the bulk of what passed for his medical supplies, and eventually found a packet of Nurofen with three pills left in it. He pushed two of the capsules through their silver-foil container and swallowed them dry, then he removed the third and swallowed that too.
No Reason To Die Page 20
