Dark Undertakings

by Rebecca Tope

  ‘Susie’s got enough to worry about already,’ he pointed out. ‘But I’ll watch out for any chance to get this whole business straight. Now I’ve got to go. We’re taking Lapsford home for his last night. I’ll come and collect you after that, okay?’

  She nodded. ‘Thanks,’ she said again.

  ‘See you, then,’ he said, kissing her lingeringly. ‘Don’t do anything silly now, will you?’

  ‘Don’t you worry about me,’ she told him.

  On an impulse, he turned in the opposite direction from the car park, outside the main entrance, and headed for the hospital mortuary. Sam, the attendant, was eating a large chicken and tomato sandwich in the partially walled-off area that was his office. He nodded a casual greeting to Drew, his mouth full. He was thin and small, with nothing to betray his daily tasks apart from a greyness under the eyes which had little to do with weariness. It was as if all the noisome smells and evidence of pain and misery accumulated there, having passed through his retina and optic nerve. Sam saw the suicides and the sudden devastating heart attacks and the car crash victims. Children and women in their prime, vagrants who’d lain for weeks in a ditch, and young lads shattered by coming off their motorbikes at ninety miles an hour.

  ‘All right?’ Drew asked him, routinely.

  ‘Rawlinson’s not ready for you,’ Sam said. ‘Should have been by now, but it was a heavy morning. Typical Monday. They’re not doing him till tomorrow now.’

  ‘I’m not here officially. My wife’s upstairs, so I just dropped in to say hi.’

  ‘Nothing serious?’ Sam cocked his head on one side, unsure how much more to ask.

  ‘Could have been. My boss’s car tried to kill her.’ Drew hadn’t known how angry he felt with Daphne until this moment: Karen might have been killed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘One of those crazy coincidences. It was raining, and Karen started to cross the road without looking properly. Daphne was coming along, much too fast, and skidded sideways. No real harm done, thank goodness.’

  ‘And the car?’

  ‘Did a brilliant ram-raid attempt on a shop and is unlikely to recover. Daphne’s okay, though.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘She was in here this morning. Had a look at young Rawlinson. Passed the time of day with His Majesty and Stanley. Never misses a trick, that boss of yours. They say the local Post Office is the place to get all the gossip in a small town. Well, if you ask me, the local undertaker’s even better.’

  ‘I’m beginning to think you might be right about that,’ Drew nodded thoughtfully. His Majesty was the epithet used to refer to the Pathologist, Mr Metherington, and Stanley was the Coroner’s Officer, to whom all sudden deaths were to be reported. Drew had so far only met the latter.

  ‘Does the name Jim Lapsford mean anything to you?’ he asked on a sudden impulse.

  Sam pursed his lips. ‘Saw it in the paper. I gather the doctor signed him up and convinced the Registrar that there was no need to take it any further. There’s been talk, of course, behind the scenes. Officially, we’re all relieved it didn’t come to us. As I say, it’s busy, and the taxpayer’s bill is growing all the time.’

  ‘That’s about what I thought,’ nodded Drew. ‘But unofficially?’

  ‘It’s one that got away. There’s a dozen or so every year, signed up when they shouldn’t be. It’s not worth worrying about. The odds must be a thousand to one that it was his heart. When does he go?’

  ‘Tomorrow. It’s been getting to me, just between you and me. Too many loose ends. The family’s acting strangely. Even our Sid doesn’t seem happy about it. Embalmed him right away.’

  Sam shrugged. ‘That’d make our job pretty hard, then, even if someone did throw a spanner in the works. You’ll get used to it, mate. Just get the job done and don’t rock the boat. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow, if you come for Rawlinson.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Drew. He found that he wasn’t ready to think about tomorrow, for a variety of reasons.

  Philip and David let themselves into the Primrose Close house at three o’clock that afternoon. Monica was on the sofa with a mug of coffee, her feet stretched along its length. She didn’t budge when her sons came in.

  ‘Mum? Are you okay?’ asked Philip. ‘Look, I’ve brought David to see you. Nerina sends her apologies. She couldn’t face it after all.’

  Alerted by the stilted care in his voice, she inspected her younger son comprehensively. He looked tired, but determined. He wore a clean sweatshirt and his hair was well brushed. He’d shaved recently and was making an effort to square his shoulders and be a reliable support to her. She gave him a grateful smile and patted both her sons on their arm. ‘You look very smart, both of you,’ she said. ‘We’ve got an hour or so before they arrive. If you could just move a few things out of the way for me – take the coffee table up to the spare room, and probably Dad’s big chair will have to go.’ All three cast uneasy glances at the chair, in which Jim had reclined, and which carried the marks of his body still. Taking it out of the room would be awkward both physically and emotionally.

  ‘Are you really sure you want to do this, Mum?’ Philip asked. ‘There’s still time to change your mind. It might be okay this afternoon – but what about tonight? How will you feel in the early hours, knowing he’s down here? I must say, I wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘I’m not frightened of my husband’s dead body,’ she said gently. ‘And don’t forget, I’ve seen it already. I’ve slept in bed beside it. I’ve got to make my peace with him, and I think this is one way to do it. Don’t worry about me, darling. It’s sweet of you, but there isn’t any need.’

  ‘Make your peace?’ demanded David, a warning harshness in his voice betraying his unease. ‘Why? What have you done?’

  ‘Nothing that need concern you. Jim and I were married for twenty-nine years. We haven’t always played it by the rules – middle age isn’t as quiet and boring as it used to be. But we understood each other, and I don’t mean that I’ve anything to feel guilty about. I just want to tell him – to tell him—’ Without warning, she broke into a storm of tears, taking herself by surprise. It felt as if the knowledge that Jim was really and permanently gone for ever had been waiting behind a thin veil of calm, which had now torn and released a tidal wave of unexpressed misery and loss.

  To tell him I loved him was all she’d intended to say. Little words which amounted to something uncontrollably vast.

  ‘Oh, Mum,’ sighed Philip, with something close to satisfaction. ‘Here.’ He handed her a large white hanky, and put his arm around her shoulder. David hovered, outside the circle they made, watching with a mixture of anger and grief.

  She was still crying when Vince rang the doorbell, having parked the hearse outside. Pat, Drew and Sid were climbing out and moving to the back of the vehicle. Monica recoiled at the sight of the hearse and the coffin inside. It seemed enormous, filling the whole street and signalling death in all its most Victorian splendour. Inappropriately, the sun was shining, glinting on the polished black surface and the brass handles of the coffin as they began to carry it in.

  ‘We weren’t sure about the lid,’ said Vince. ‘Whether you wanted it on or off.’

  Monica closed her eyes. ‘Off,’ she said, much more firmly than she felt. It wasn’t a difficult decision – what would be the sense of having Jim home if she couldn’t look on his face again?

  She watched as they lowered the heavy box onto the trestles which they had brought with them. The manoeuvre was deftly choreographed, but cumbersome nonetheless. They must have very strong arms and shoulders, she thought, remembering how Vince and Drew had carried Jim downstairs on the stretcher, sliding him around corners with genuine skill.

  The coffin lid, held in place by large screws with decorative brass-effect tops, was removed and propped against the wall. Inside, Jim’s body was covered with a neatly-folded sheet of white material, which made Monica think more of a pram than a
bed; something to do with the care with which it had been laid over him, and his helpless acquiescence in what happened to him. The difference, horrible and intensely sad, was the square of thin but opaque white satin covering his face.

  With a fingertip delicacy, Vince leant over and took the cover away. He laid it on Jim’s chest and stood back. Without thinking, Monica reached out both hands sideways, to grasp a son in each, and together the three took a few hesitant steps forward. Despite her earlier brave words, Monica was afraid.

  Since waking up to find him dead beside her, Jim had undergone a mysterious absence which had removed a lot of his familiar identity. His face was pinker than she remembered it, his hair brushed at an angle that was very slightly wrong. His chin was tilted up just too much, making him look uncomfortable and oddly defiant. And yet the features were all too obviously those of her husband. Those lips had kissed her, talked to her, eaten the food she cooked. The face had been animated by the powerful force of Jim himself. The endlessly insoluble mystery of where that Jim had gone was terrible in this moment. ‘Oh dear,’ she said.

  Watching her, Drew cast away any slight lingering doubts that she might have deliberately killed her husband. Even though she was obviously agitated, even afraid, he felt sure she was genuinely sorry that the man was dead. Slowly she advanced until her hands rested on the side of the coffin and her sons stood at either shoulder. She stared as if fascinated at the cold face, but made no attempt to touch it. Vince made a slight movement, trying to catch Drew’s eye. Having succeeded, he tipped his head very slightly towards the door in a familiar signal. Pat and Sid were ready to leave, working their shoulders slightly and swinging their arms.

  ‘Will you be all right, madam?’ Vince asked, with impeccable formality.

  ‘What? Oh, yes, of course. Thank you very much. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll be fine now, won’t we boys?’

  Philip and David reacted in their different ways. Philip nodded briefly, with a vague smile. his head turned stiffly away from the sight of his dead father. David pulled a grimace of mocking agreement. ‘Oh yes,’ he said, in a choked voice. ‘Just fine.’ Unlike his brother, he could hardly take his eyes off the body. He seemed greedy for the sight, avid to understand what his eyes were seeing.

  Sid opened the door, and Drew’s attention was quickly drawn by a shocked intake of breath. Coming up the garden path were two people. Drew recognised them as the girl Jodie, and one of the men from the printworks; the man who had brought flowers to Monica; he had forgotten his name. Sid had gone pale, his light blue eyes bulging, but he quickly recovered himself. ‘You gave me a shock,’ he said with a laugh, before turning back to Monica. ‘You’ve got visitors, Mrs Lapsford,’ he said.

  ‘Jodie! Jack!’ she said, with little discernible pleasure in her voice. ‘I didn’t expect to see you two so early.’

  Vince determinedly tried to shepherd his crew out of the house, before they could get trapped by the greeting of the visitors and their unpredictable reactions to the sight of their dead colleague in the middle of the living room.

  Drew, however, was very curious to observe exactly that. He had taken little notice of the man – Jack, he now remembered – during his visit to the printworks, but now he gave him more attention. Lean, in his early fifties, he seemed to wish himself somewhere far away. Jodie was clearly in charge of him, flapping a firm hand at him to direct him into the house ahead of her.

  As Jack passed Sid, Drew happened to notice a look that passed between the two men. He could see Jack’s face more clearly, but the awkwardness of the clustering on the doorstep necessitated that both men turn slightly sideways, so Drew could see three-quarters of Sid’s face, too. Each man ducked his head in a complex exchange, suggesting recognition, agreement, reassurance.

  It was not on the face of it surprising that they knew each other. Bradbourne was a small town, and the men of roughly the same age. Doubtless Jack too drank in the King’s Head. But the suggestion of complicity, Sid’s shock at seeing Jack – or was it perhaps Jodie? – coming up the path, had been strange. The peculiar nods were definite grounds for misgivings. Once again Drew felt a surge of helplessness, having no idea how to make use of his suspicion. How did police detectives ever manage, going into a strange community, interviewing complicated families who were determined to hide a morass of dark secrets? It was impossible. Despondently, he followed Vince, Sid and Pat out to the hearse.

  Sarah and Dottie watched the hearse drive away. They looked at each other doubtfully. ‘She did ask us to go over,’ said Dottie. ‘I think we’d better get on with it, before we lose our nerve.’

  ‘But those other people are there. We can’t barge in when she’s got guests already.’ Sarah was annoyed with herself for feeling fluttery and unsure. She was supposed to be the firm and capable one, and here she was getting into a real state over paying her last respects to a neighbour. ‘Let’s leave it for half an hour.’

  ‘But Monica won’t mind us being there with other people,’ Dottie argued. ‘She made it sound rather like a little party, in her note. I expect there’ll be more arriving soon.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right. It all feels very awkward, somehow. I mean what if that man turns up? I don’t think I could look him in the face.’

  Dottie stared at her incredulously. ‘Isn’t it a bit late for that? Wasn’t it you who said we shouldn’t jump to conclusions? Assuming you mean the dentist, that is. Sarah, I wonder at you, I really do.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, but I feel uncomfortable going round there now. There are things being hushed up, and it feels all wrong to me.’

  Dottie laid a stern hand on her friend’s arm, and looked her full in the face. ‘Now Sarah, we really can’t have this. I know you – you like everybody to think you’re so strong and sensible, but really you all too easily get yourself into a state. I heard you last night, pacing up and down. It isn’t good for a woman of your age. I don’t understand what you’re worrying about. Whether or not Monica’s been having a little fling doesn’t change the fact that Jim’s had a heart attack. Does it?’

  ‘Well, dear, it depends how you look at it,’ said Sarah. ‘It depends on your views about responsibility. I’m not sure I can control my tongue, if he were to turn up.’

  ‘Sarah, this is nonsense. It isn’t our business. We’ve done everything we can by speaking to that young man. We can leave it all up to him now. If anything needs to be done, then he’ll be the person to do it.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ said Sarah, giving herself a little shake. ‘Well, the sooner we go, the sooner we can come home again, as my mother always used to say.’

  ‘That’s right,’ sighed Dottie. ‘Though why we should be in such a hurry to get home, I can’t imagine.’

  Roxanne was weary by five o’clock. The emotional demands of dealing with Pauline’s grief had been compounded by a visit from a hysterical Lorraine, flying over her field that afternoon, only five minutes after Roxanne had dragged herself home from Pauline’s flat. The girl’s story was predictable, but none the less affecting for that. In the course of spilling it all out, Lorraine had scarcely paused from her own outpouring of self-pity to acknowledge the disaster of Craig’s death. The sense of the world collapsing all around them was increasing by the hour, and they sat in the caravan surveying the wreckage.

  ‘I shouldn’t have said what I did in the canteen,’ Roxanne admitted flatly. ‘I jumped to completely the wrong conclusion, and wasn’t thinking straight at all, with all the trouble over Craig. I should have kept my mouth shut.’

  ‘It wasn’t just you,’ Lorraine soothed. ‘Somebody said something in front of Frank at the pub on Saturday. He’d have worked it out sooner or later.’

  ‘I can help you,’ Roxanne offered, as a thought struck her. ‘We can prove the baby isn’t Jim’s.’

  Lorraine blinked. ‘Oh yes, with blood tests, I suppose. But Frank won’t wait for any of that. He says I’ve got to abort it right away.’

 
‘No, no,’ Roxanne interrupted. ‘It can’t be Jim’s because he had a vasectomy years ago. Funny he never told you. I mean – how did you go on for contraception?’

  Lorraine blushed. ‘I always put my cap in. After the first time, anyway. And we didn’t ever talk about it – not in proper words – you know?’

  Roxanne smiled, seeing how it must have been. She could well understand how Jim wouldn’t have wanted to utter a word like vasectomy, with its clinical mechanical overtones. Quite a romantic, was Jim.

  ‘Look, why don’t we both go to Jim’s wake?’ she suggested suddenly. ‘We might as well. Don’t you think we owe it to him to say a last goodbye? And you could give me a lift, she thought. Otherwise I’ll have to get the bus, which wouldn’t be a very stylish entrance.

  Lorraine wiped her hand childishly across her eyes and stared at the older woman. ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘The Lapsfords’ house. Monica has got Jim there for the evening – and all night, I suppose – until the funeral tomorrow. So people can go and pay their final respects to him. I rather like the idea of you and me turning up together, don’t you?’

  It was a pivotal moment for Lorraine. The instinctive recoil from the idea of coming face to face with her dead lover lasted only a few seconds, as she looked at Roxanne. She remembered that she had very little left to lose. She was going to need a large dose of courage from here on, whatever happened. Maybe this would teach her a useful lesson in how to be brave. ‘Do we dare?’ she wondered. ‘Does Monica know about us? Everything’s in such a mess, with David and Frank and now your sister’s boy. Won’t they refuse to let us in?’

  ‘We won’t know till we get there, will we?’ shrugged Roxanne. ‘But this is our last chance – I can’t see either of us turning up at the cremation.’

  ‘I was thinking about that,’ Lorraine admitted.