by Rebecca Tope
‘Calamities?’
‘People demanding their money back because they never saw a tiger, or the right sort of gazelle. Lost luggage, broken ankles. I never heard all the gory details, but she packed a fair amount onto her postcards. The worst was what happened at Giza, of course.’
‘Giza?’
‘You know. Where the Great Pyramid is in Egypt. Near there, anyhow. I can never remember the name of the actual spot. There was a shooting and one of my mother’s group was killed. A girl. It was about a year ago – terrorists targeting tourists to get their views aired. Very bad publicity all round and disastrous for the tourist industry, which was only just getting over the massacre at the Valley of the Kings.’
‘I think I missed it,’ said Drew vaguely.
‘Well, it’s not important. The point is, she came home rather chastened. Arrived on our doorstep one evening and was welcomed in by my devoted husband. I was out at the time. She told him she was in need of some company, and when I got home she was installed in the spare room for a little holiday and he was like the proverbial dog with two tails. I freaked out. I insisted she couldn’t stay for long. Then even Willard seemed to turn against her. She was only with us for just over a week and I never saw her again.’ Drew watched for emotion, and was rewarded by the slightest tightening of the nostrils.
‘That’s it?’ Drew verified. ‘That’s all you can tell me?’ Guilt! he told himself triumphantly. All this is because she’s consumed with guilt at throwing her own mother out. Presumably she had to go back to the grotty bedsit. At last, something seemed to have a rational explanation.
‘More or less,’ she nodded. ‘Hasn’t she been good!’ She changed the subject, clearly keen not to dwell on her actions. ‘Is she always as easy as this?’
‘Pretty well,’ said Drew modestly, allowing himself to be diverted. ‘As long as someone’s around, she seems contented enough to amuse herself.’
‘Sounds as if she’ll be a doddle. I can have her any day this week, if you want to get on with it.’
‘Give me that address, and I’ll get started tomorrow,’ he said. No, he couldn’t abandon Genevieve now. Perhaps both of them were being manipulated by the ghost of Gwen Absolon. There had always seemed to be an unacknowledged but irresistible power to the fact of an unexplained death, with all the unfinished business that attached to it. Mysteries existed to be solved – like Everest; it wasn’t in his nature to walk away from this one.
But he wasn’t looking forward to it. He didn’t anticipate any astonishing success. He was going to have a great deal of explaining to do, for one thing. Karen would want to know why he was helping Genevieve – the money wouldn’t be enough to convince her. And the police – God help him – would be more than a little reproachful if they ever learnt the truth.
The sooner he started, then, the sooner he could claim his two thousand quid, and get back to his ordinary life. Whatever that might mean he thought glumly.
Genevieve had another visitor, half an hour after Drew departed. When she opened the door and realised who it was, she went instantly onto the attack. ‘What the hell are you doing here again?’ she demanded. ‘Isn’t it a bit soon for another fight?’
‘I don’t want to fight,’ he said calmly. ‘And it certainly wouldn’t do you any good in your condition. I had hoped to find you in a more rational frame of mind today.’
She stared at him for a moment, and then stepped back to let him in. ‘Willard’s not here,’ she said.
‘Good. We can have a nice uninterrupted chat, then.’
‘I’ve just had that nice undertaker round,’ she told him. ‘He’s going to do a bit of investigating. I’m paying him,’ she added defiantly.
‘What is there to investigate?’ he asked warily.
Genevieve’s face seemed to shrivel, and she sat down heavily in the same corner of the sofa she’d occupied most of the morning. ‘I really do have to know what’s happened,’ she said miserably. ‘It’s haunting me. I can’t sleep. I pretended to think Willard might have bumped Ma off – just to give Drew some reason to listen to me.’
Dr Jarvis laughed. ‘I said I was convinced she’d killed herself, with the same general intention,’ he admitted.
She looked at him, grey eyes filmy with self-pity. ‘But why did you go to him? He must think we’re in cahoots. That we’ve got something to hide.’
He looked at her kindly. ‘I did it for you,’ he murmured. ‘I knew how you must be feeling.’
She sighed. ‘You’re retired now, you know. You don’t have to keep trying to cure everybody. I’m a hopeless case, anyway. You’ve had nearly thirty years to sort me out, and see where it’s got you.’
‘I don’t think doctors ever really retire,’ he said. ‘After all, you’ve asked for my services in another context, haven’t you?’ He looked meaningfully at the pregnant bulge.
‘Oh, don’t!’ she pleaded. ‘We’ll talk about that in a minute. But only if we can be sure not to start fighting again. You might as well admit you haven’t a hope of winning. Willard’s been on at me for months, as it is.’
He dropped his hands limply between his knees, as he sat on the edge of an armchair. ‘So – is this amiable young Drew going to come up with anything? What did you find to get him started?’
‘Her last known address. That seems to be where detectives usually start. And I told him the whole story of Nathan.’
‘Ha!’ he said. ‘So did I. I hope the stories tallied.’
‘I told him the truth, for what it’s worth,’ she said primly. ‘I don’t think he really understood the relevance. I’m not sure I do myself.’
‘Oh, it’s relevant,’ Jarvis told her solemnly. ‘Very relevant indeed.’ He paused. ‘And I hope your young friend is trustworthy, because I shared some little facts with him that could land me in a certain amount of hot water.’
‘He can’t go to the police now,’ she said, triumphantly. ‘He’s left it too long. I must say, I think I was quite clever there, sucking him in so slowly. He fancies me, which helps.’
‘Everybody fancies you, Genevieve,’ said the doctor sadly.
They shared a long wordless moment of eye contact, with Genevieve struggling to conceal the confusion she was feeling, and Dr Jarvis drawing it out of her. He knew her too well, she felt, her heart beginning to thump wildly. It was frightening, having someone so totally apprised of all one’s weaknesses. It was like being in love, without any of the mutuality, so that it was all pain and fear and intense misery, and no euphoria. He knew the gaping holes in her character, the inconsistencies and evasions. He knew why she had to learn the truth about her mother, while being terrified of what she might discover. He knew she was utterly dependent on Willard. He knew she was virtually paralysed by her pregnancy, every trip outside the house an ordeal, every forced acceptance of what was shortly to happen to her a vicious thrust of panic. ‘Stop it,’ she moaned. She fell back against the cushions, and put a hand to her heart. It was thundering wildly, filling her chest with breathless terror. ‘You know I can’t stand it when you do that,’ she complained weakly.
He smiled thinly, still with his eyes on hers. ‘I can’t help it,’ he sighed. ‘You shouldn’t be such a fascinating creature.’ He smiled again, more warmly. ‘You haven’t changed a bit, you know,’ he said wonderingly. ‘Not since you were twelve.’
‘Of course I haven’t!’ she spat back. ‘Isn’t that the whole problem?’
He shook his head, and stood up abruptly. ‘I’ll go and make us some tea,’ he said. ‘Or do you want something to eat? It must be lunchtime by now. I’ll have a hunt in the fridge, shall I?’
‘Do what you like,’ she flapped a hand at him, and he disappeared into the kitchen. She stared blindly at the pile of debris left over from Stephanie’s visit. She supposed she should clean it up before Drew brought his daughter back next morning – and find more stuff for the kid to play with. It felt like a Herculean task.
Dr Jarvis came back in u
nder ten minutes, with a pot of tea and some sandwiches on a tray. ‘Cheese, Marmite and some cucumber and coleslaw,’ he said. ‘The bread’s a bit stale, but I cut the crusts off for you.’
He put the tray down beside her, and poured two mugs of tea. Genevieve took the food and drink without comment. ‘Now,’ he proceeded, rubbing his hands together. ‘What about you? While I’m here, would you like me to have a look? When did you last visit your GP? Are you having visits from the midwife? Are they still happy about the home delivery?’
Genevieve turned her face away from him. ‘Everything’s under control,’ she muttered. ‘I’m feeling perfectly well.’
‘That’s good to hear. You’re looking fine, I must say. No giddy spells? Swollen ankles? Headaches? You’re bloody lucky, you know, to be allowed your own way. Hospital phobia isn’t generally taken seriously. But you always were a rebel.’ He spoke fondly, cajolingly. ‘Could I just have a glance at your record card? See if the BP’s behaving itself?’
‘It’s upstairs,’ she told him, still with her face averted. ‘But I told you – everything’s absolutely fine. Don’t fuss.’
‘It’s a big event you know,’ he pursued, letting in a note of reproach. ‘A lot of organising to be done. Have you got the cot and buggy and all the other stuff?’ He looked curiously around the room. ‘I don’t see any sign of any preparations. It could all happen in another two or three weeks, you know.’
‘Two or three weeks?’ Her voice was startled and she threw him a look of pure horror. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Experience, my dear,’ he smiled. ‘Something an old-fashioned family doctor can lay some claim to. You’ve never been able to establish an exact date, and since you refused to go for a scan, it can only be guesswork. From the look of you, I’d say the head’s already well down in the pelvis. Now I don’t want to say anything to alarm you – just reassure me that you’ve been seeing the GP or midwife regularly, and that you’ve at least got the basic essentials standing by.’
‘Yes, yes,’ she said firmly. ‘Everything’s under control. I told you. But … you will come as well, won’t you? I can’t do it without you. You’re not going away anywhere, are you?’
‘Nothing planned,’ he assured her. ‘I’d be privileged to attend, so long as your own GP has no objection. You’ll have to introduce me as a friend of the family. He’d be within his rights to feel intimidated by having a retired doctor breathing down his neck.’
‘No problem,’ she smiled bitterly.
His sandwiches finished, he got up to go. ‘It’ll be all right,’ he said vaguely. ‘We’ll find out what happened to Gwen, one way or another. Don’t forget – that body might yet turn out not to be her at all.’
‘A wild goose chase, you mean?’ she said gloomily. ‘No – I’m sure it’s her. The Egyptian thing, the age and height. But why do they say she had white hair? Mum’s hair was a dark grey.’
The doctor shrugged. ‘I’ve heard of it happening – the acids in the soil leach out the pigment, and leave it white. Or maybe she dyed it.’
‘Why would she dye it white? It would make her look so old. The last thing my mother admitted to being was old. I sometimes think that’s another reason why she steered clear of me and Brigid – she wanted to pretend she was fifty, and having daughters less than ten years younger than that would rather give the game away.’
‘Well, we’ll probably never know now,’ he said dismissively. ‘Bye, then, Gen. I’ll see you soon. Look after yourself, won’t you.’ And he leant over her for a paternal kiss on the cheek. The tickle of his moustache sent shivers through her. Just like a real father, she thought to herself, wriggling slightly.
Stephanie was to spend the next day with Genevieve – Drew had been careful not to disclose the ‘Slater’ – after he had stoutly endorsed her suitability for the task of childminding. ‘She’ll be fine,’ he insisted. ‘Genevieve was bored, sitting about all day doing nothing much. She’ll be happy to have somebody to play with. She said it would be good practice.’
‘Can she do nappies, and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?’ Karen demanded.
‘Anybody can do nappies,’ said Drew impatiently, ignoring the other part of the question.
‘I suppose it’ll be OK,’ said Karen grudgingly. ‘I just feel irresponsible, letting Steph go to somebody I’ve never met.’
‘Stephanie can look after herself,’ he said.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ she snapped. ‘She’s ten months old.’
‘Joke,’ he defended lamely. ‘I was joking.’ He tried to make amends. ‘I won’t leave her there all day – not at first, anyway.’
‘We should have asked for references,’ gloomed Karen, as a final word. She was going to break the news of her pregnancy to the Head of the school that morning, with the warning that this time she was unlikely to be coming back, and was not looking forward to his reaction. ‘But then we’re desperate, aren’t we?’
Maggs’s attention to publicity for Peaceful Repose Funerals included trying to get Drew more bookings as a speaker. Not only did some groups pay well for the talk, it was a key way of generating more business. She was also planning to have a good think about other services they might offer. ‘Flowers, for example,’ Drew suggested. ‘Could we have a garden area with dahlias and sunflowers that could be cut and sold for funeral tributes? That’d provide some colour, too.’
‘Could do,’ shrugged Maggs. ‘Gardening isn’t really my thing.’
‘And the pets’ area. We’ve got to publicise that. Draft an ad for the paper, and I’ll look at it this afternoon. I should be back about three. I’ll phone in every couple of hours to see if there’s been any news. Pity we can’t afford a mobile, but there it is.’
‘Can’t afford anything, mate.’ For a girl of eighteen, Maggs had a remarkable grasp of financial matters. ‘The Smithers haven’t paid up yet.’
‘Pity. That’d keep us going for a bit. It’s so galling,’ he burst out. ‘There’s Daphne Plant swimming in money. Makes about four hundred pounds clear profit on every funeral. And we’re counting every penny.’
‘Give us time,’ she said. ‘You’ve gotta have faith.’
‘Maggs, you’re a marvel,’ he said for the thousandth time. ‘Now I’m off. See you.’
His first visit was to Gwen Absolon’s basement bedsit. ‘I don’t expect you’ll find anything,’ Genevieve had warned him. ‘All her stuff will have been chucked in the dump by now.’
He found the house quite easily in a small side street in Shepton Mallet. The basement rooms had their own entrance down a flight of steps. A very large woman who appeared to be in her early sixties answered his knock. Her girth filled the doorframe, so he could see almost nothing of the passage behind her. ‘Oh, hello,’ he said. ‘I’m looking for a Mrs Absolon. This was the last address we had for her. That was around July or August last year.’ He raised his eyebrows and waited, knowing his boyish looks almost invariably charmed women of this sort of age. Regrettably, they didn’t seem to be having much effect on this one.
‘Never heard of her,’ said the woman. She wore an iron grey two-piece outfit, her hair a similar shade. Drew couldn’t help thinking of a battleship. Something about the jut of her breast, the solid stance as well as the colour tones.
‘Could I ask how long you’ve been here?’ He treated her to his most charming smile.
She pushed out her lips in an unselfconscious pout of indecision. ‘Almost eighteen months,’ she said grudgingly, going on to reveal further detail almost in spite of herself. Drew thought he recognised the signs of loneliness. ‘Heard about it in the corner shop,’ the woman confided, ‘and snapped it up. Suits me very nicely, too.’
‘And you don’t know anything about the person who was here last summer?’
‘I know quite a lot about her, as it happens. If we’re talking about the same woman. And one thing I know is that her name was not Gwen Absolon.’
‘Forrester!’ Drew remembered. ‘She som
etimes called herself Forrester.’
‘Well, that’s different,’ said the woman comfortably. ‘Wendy – Gwendoline – Forrester occupied the room behind mine – at the back. Not there very much, though. And what business might it be of yours?’ There was little of challenge or suspicion in her voice. She seemed in no hurry to move, either to admit or to exclude him.
‘Gwendoline!’ Drew murmured. ‘I’m sure it’s the same person. But I don’t know anyone who calls her Wendy.’
‘Oh, that’s just me. I’m funny about the name Gwen, that’s all. Long story. And my question still stands.’ She fixed him with small sharp eyes, and he began to wonder whether she was somehow well ahead of him in the direction their exchange was taking. He wished he’d made more time to prepare a convincing cover story. As it was, he’d got no further than a faint hope that he’d find some of Gwen’s possessions left behind in the room. He struggled to be inventive.
‘You see, I’m her only living relative. She’s my aunt, and we haven’t heard from her for a long time. She sent us this address, and nothing since then. My wife insisted I come in person, to try and find out what’s going on. We didn’t have a phone number or anything.’
The woman made herself even bigger, puffing out like a toad. ‘Left it long enough, haven’t you,’ she accused, with implacably folded arms. ‘The room’s been relet long since. There’s a Mr Lawson in there now. He works nights, so we can’t disturb him.’
‘Can I just ask – did my aunt leave suddenly?’
She considered for a full minute. ‘Well, as it happens, she did disappear rather abruptly. I assumed she’d gone away on one of her trips, but then the landlady came to me in September, asking if I knew why no rent had been paid for the back room. We went in together, and found it left neat and tidy, but with quite a lot of things still there – as if she’d intended to come back. Now don’t you go thinking we’ve helped ourselves,’ she continued, pointing a stubby finger at Drew’s chest. ‘It’s all in a cupboard out in the back passage. We were going to keep it for a full year before taking it to a charity shop.’
