Grave Concerns

by Rebecca Tope

  He stiffened defensively. ‘Not really,’ he told her. ‘I think people like it. It shows we’re human. I’m trying to take the fear and distance out of death and funerals. You know that – I shouldn’t have to keep saying it. What’s your problem with it?’

  She wriggled her shoulders. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s this business in the field. And Karen’s more depressed every day. Isn’t that enough to be going on with?’

  ‘Karen depressed?’ he repeated wonderingly.

  ‘Of course she is. Who wouldn’t be? Every time she tries to imagine this time next year, she must want to jump under the next train that goes past.’

  He sat down at the desk and stared unseeingly out of the window. He’d known, of course, but the knowledge had been kept hidden, while he distracted himself with other matters. With Genevieve Slater. ‘What am I supposed to do, then?’ he muttered.

  Before a reply could emerge, his eye was caught by a car coming through the gate. Two people occupied the front seats, and he watched them slowly get out, casting curious glances around the field.

  One was a woman, and she went to open one of the rear doors of the car. The other was a man, and he began to walk towards Drew’s office. ‘I’d better go and meet them,’ he said, heaving himself out of the chair.

  By the time he was out of the door, the woman was holding a small child over her shoulder and the man had almost reached the office door, so that he and Drew were only two feet apart. ‘Come in,’ Drew invited. ‘I assume you’ve come about the cremation that Plant’s are arranging?’

  ‘Right. Vicky and Nigel Gardner. It’s Vicky’s mother who died.’

  Drew experienced the familiar warm tingle of satisfaction that came with every new funeral. It was the feeling of rightness, of being invited to do what he’d been born to do, of being able to help another family through this great crisis in their lives.

  ‘And you’d like me to officiate – to conduct the actual ceremony for you?’ he supplied smoothly.

  ‘We’d like to discuss it with you, yes,’ said the woman. She was narrow-shouldered and fair, her eyes filmed from excessive weeping. Drew recognised the look. Even with make-up to hide the ravages beneath her eyes, the lids were unmistakably pink and the whites veined with red threads. Drew couldn’t avoid making a mental comparison with Genevieve, also coming to talk about a lost mother, weeping admittedly, but very far from ravaged by it.

  ‘Come into the office,’ Drew ordered, holding open the door for them. ‘Excuse my daughter. I look after her while my wife is at work.’

  Maggs was standing in Stephanie’s corner, looking down at the child. For a moment Drew saw a confused glance pass between the visiting couple, as they assumed he meant the dark-skinned teenager was his daughter. Then Stephanie stirred and began a soft babbling and they noticed her on the cushions.

  The woman made an inarticulate sound of pleasure, and gently pulled her own child away from her shoulder. ‘Look, Billy – there’s someone for you to play with,’ she chirped. ‘Can I put him down beside her? They might keep each other amused. How old is your little girl?’

  ‘Nearly eleven months,’ he said. ‘She’s not walking yet.’

  ‘Billy’s nine months. He’s getting to be quite a lump.’ She deposited her small son next to Stephanie and for a few minutes the four adults observed the comical wariness of the infants as they took full cognisance of each other.

  ‘This is nice,’ said the woman eventually. ‘Not like you’d expect an undertaker’s to be.’

  ‘Actually—’ the husband began, before checking himself and casting a questioning glance at his wife. Since she made no interruption, he continued, ‘Actually, we had thought of asking you to do the whole funeral. But – well – we heard some story about peculiar goings-on here, and it made us a bit nervous. I probably shouldn’t be telling you. It makes us seem a bit gullible, I suppose, but we couldn’t feel entirely comfortable after what we’d heard.’

  Maggs pushed forward. ‘What have you heard, exactly?’ she demanded. ‘I bet you it isn’t true.’

  Vicky Gardner replied. ‘We wouldn’t normally listen to gossip. But two different people have mentioned it to us. Ever since that body was discovered here, and the papers made such a big thing of it, they say you’ve been having … unwanted attentions from Satanists and witchcraft and stuff like that.’ Hurriedly she forestalled Maggs’s outraged intake of breath. ‘I’m sure it’s all been highly exaggerated,’ she said. ‘But look at it from our point of view. We just couldn’t live with the worry that the grave might be desecrated. I mean – we think this is a lovely idea, and we’re very keen to bury Mum’s ashes here. It’s just – well, you must see …’

  She tailed off, and Drew put a restraining hand on Maggs’s arm.‘Yes, I see,’ he said gently. ‘And it’s up to us to find ways of setting people’s minds at rest. It was courageous of you to explain it to us. We had no idea there was such widespread talk going on. Now, perhaps we should discuss how you want the cremation to be conducted.’

  When they’d gone, with the date and format of the funeral all arranged, after a swift confirmatory phone call to Plant’s, Drew heaved a sigh of relief. He’d agreed a package with them, whereby he would conduct the funeral service, collect the ashes afterwards and inter them in a special plot in the field, all for a hundred and twenty pounds. ‘That’s slightly less than you’d pay a Church of England minister for the same services,’ he told them, and they seemed more than happy.

  Maggs was still disgruntled. ‘We’ve got to sort out this gossip about Satanic rituals,’ she told him firmly. ‘Make a hundred per cent sure it doesn’t happen again. I know we’re fixing up security lights, but what about getting a dog which could live outside at night?’

  ‘Tricky,’ he demurred. ‘There are so many places people could get in, if they were really determined. A hedge isn’t the same as a high wall or barbed wire. And Karen doesn’t like dogs. But you’re right – we must do something. I’ll ask Jeffrey if he’s got any ideas. Where is he? I haven’t seen him all week.’

  ‘There hasn’t been anything for him to do,’ she reminded him. ‘He’s been ditching for the farm. I wondered when you’d notice he was missing.’

  Drew shook his head impatiently. ‘Don’t get at me, Maggs. I’ve got enough to worry about as it is.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she snarled. ‘I thought those lovely people would have put you in a better mood.’

  ‘Me!’ He stared at her. ‘Me in a bad mood? I thought it was you.’

  The negative atmosphere – or perhaps just plain hunger – set Stephanie off, and she started a whining complaint. ‘Lunchtime,’ Drew announced, glad of the diversion. ‘And after that we’ll talk about security for the field.’

  But things didn’t go according to plan; another phonecall interrupted the feeding of Stephanie. Maggs answered it, and passed it quickly to Drew without explanation. It was Dr Jarvis.

  ‘Genevieve asked me to phone you,’ he began. ‘She wants to thank you for everything you did yesterday. It was a miracle you were here. She’d led me to believe she’d got full medical back-up for the birth, as you’ve probably realised. I’ve only just found out that she hasn’t even got a GP. She hadn’t seen anybody at all, apart from me. It makes me tremble to think of it now. It really is miraculous that you were here,’ he repeated. ‘Your medical training really saved the day.’

  ‘I don’t think it did,’ Drew disagreed. ‘It was the easiest labour imaginable. I had no more idea than she did that anything serious was happening, until the waters broke. How are they?’

  ‘Fine. Unbelievably. It’s all quite bizarre. There’s no equipment – the baby sleeps on Genevieve’s chest most of the time. She’s got it wrapped in an old cashmere shawl that was Gwen’s, apparently. It’s feeding magnificently, and seems to find the whole business quite acceptable. It happens like this sometimes – the baby takes control, and everything falls into place. Makes you want to burn every book that’s ever
been written on the subject.’

  ‘What about Willard?’

  ‘He’s hiding in his study. It’s all too much for him – not surprisingly. I think he can be relied on for some basic shopping and that’s about it. The nephew’s still around, too, which is a big help. He seems very sensible.’

  ‘Where was he yesterday? There was no sign of him while I was there.’

  ‘He’s got himself a job at a local cinema. Works afternoons and evenings. Seems all set to stay until he starts his degree course, if they’ll have him.’

  Drew tried to think. ‘Dr Jarvis – what about Gwen? What am I supposed to do now? Have you spoken to Genevieve about it?’

  ‘Not since the baby arrived, no.’

  ‘You were aware, of course, that she was worried that Willard might have killed her mother,’ Drew ventured. ‘At least, that’s what she told me. But now it looks as if he’s got an alibi.’

  The doctor made a sound which came over as scornful dismissal. Drew changed the subject swiftly. ‘Has she chosen a name for the baby?’

  ‘Not as far as I know,’ the doctor said stiffly. ‘When I saw her she was considering Apricot – but I think I talked her out of that.’

  Drew laughed. ‘Well, thanks for phoning,’ he said easily. ‘Give her my best wishes when you see her.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ the doctor said urgently. ‘She wants you to go and see her – today. As soon as you can. That’s what she wanted me to tell you.’

  ‘Let me go instead,’ Maggs suggested. ‘I’ll say you can’t get away, and I’d love to see the baby.’ She grimaced at the blatant untruth. ‘I’ll tell her she can give me a message for you.’

  ‘She won’t like it,’ Drew warned her. ‘She’d be furious if she knew I’d told you everything.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be better than nothing. And I might pick up some clues that you’ve missed. I might get a chance to chat with the nephew.’

  ‘He won’t be there. He works at a cinema – probably won’t be home till eleven or so. You can’t stay that long.’

  ‘No,’ she agreed regretfully.

  ‘In fact, I’m really not sure about you going at all,’ he persisted. ‘Genevieve isn’t likely to want to talk to you. She hardly knows you.’

  ‘Can’t I just ask her if she wants you to continue with your detective work? I can easily say you’re tied up here, running the business, but you thought it would be rude if nobody showed up.’

  Drew was handicapped by his conscience. The birth had changed things substantially and the aftermath with Karen had fixed his resolution not to see Genevieve again. ‘Oh, all right then,’ he said snappily. ‘You can go after we close this evening – if you don’t mind doing it in your own time.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The rest of the afternoon was unusually full of activity. An enterprising travelling salesman for a coffin manufacturer found his way to Peaceful Repose Funerals, and did his utmost to persuade Drew that he had a need for a stock of oak veneer coffins with satin linings. Drew pointed out the lack of storage space; the ideology of his business, which favoured less substantial containers for the deceased; the unrealistic prices he’d be expected to pay. The man had an answer to everything, but he eventually left unsatisfied.

  Maggs drafted more advertisements for the pets’ cemetery, to be inserted in the county magazine and a local newsletter. ‘We ought to fence off another corner for ashes plots,’ she suggested. ‘And do some special ads for them, as well.’ Drew agreed, bolstered by the prospect of another as yet untapped source of income.

  As if to confirm the feeling of progress being made, someone then phoned with an enquiry about natural burials; his old mother was fading slowly away in a nursing home. Drew assured the caller that they could provide a full service at low cost, and that he could be contacted at any time.

  ‘I’m going to have to get a mobile phone,’ he concluded afterwards. ‘Otherwise I can’t guarantee to be there to answer queries like this. Nursing homes won’t even wait till morning, usually. And it would be nice to think I can go out in the evening sometimes.’

  When Karen collected Stephanie, Drew made a special effort to greet her with a smile. ‘How was your day?’ he asked, grasping her by the shoulders and kissing her. ‘It’s good to see you,’ he added.

  She looked at him suspiciously. ‘Why? Has she been playing up?’

  ‘Not at all. She’s been fine. She had a little friend to play with this morning. I’m officiating at another cremation next week. Nice people.’ He stopped himself, having resolved to keep the conversation on Karen, rather than his own concerns. ‘How was school?’

  She shrugged. ‘Heavy going,’ she admitted.

  ‘We’ll have to do something about it,’ he assured her. ‘You’ll get ill at this rate.’ Remembering Maggs’s comment about depression, he wondered whether he was already too late to save the situation.

  Karen shrugged again. ‘Not much we can do about it, is there,’ she said gloomily. ‘Come on, then, nuisance. Let’s get your tea.’ She lifted Stephanie slowly, wincing as she did so, and left the office.

  The customary sense of freedom hit Drew as soon as she was out of sight. It was as if a great ball and chain had been disconnected from his leg. He wanted to run outside and dance, or go for a long drive in the van, just because he could. And yet he was still supposed to stay in the office and work at being an undertaker. He eyed the telephone blankly, wondering who he might call to further his own prospects. With a recurring sense of self-disgust, he could think of nothing and nobody but Genevieve Slater.

  He tried again to concentrate on other things. Restless and angry with himself, he got up abruptly. Outside, in the last few hours of daylight, spring was growing more rampant by the day. There was blossom on the hawthorn and primroses along the edges of the field. Birds were inexhaustibly preparing for parenthood. Drew decided to go for a circuit of his domain.

  From the office, he turned to his left, walking alongside his western boundary until reaching the fence around the pets’ area. The grave of the labrador was still very visible, a solitary hummock amongst the thickening grass. Drew tried to calculate how many similar graves he might fit into the space, and how they ought to be arranged. Even a dog or cat needed to be recorded properly, and he would have to devise a grid reference system, similar to the one for the rest of the field. Knowing the British passion for pets, families would visit the grave of an animal at least as often as that of a deceased relative.

  The fence came to an end at the top of the field, where the railway ran along the far side of the hedge. As Drew reached it, a train passed by; he stood watching it, feeling the age-old excitement that everyone experiences at the sight of passengers hurtling along to an unknown destination. The glamour of travel, of movement at speed, never faded. The woman who had witnessed what had almost certainly been the unauthorised burial of Gwen Absolon, at this very spot. The hedge had grown appreciably since then – there were few sections of it now where anyone inside the train could see into the field, unless they stood up. Last August, he had only just made his intentions public, in his campaign to win planning permission and community approval for the new cemetery. The people who buried Gwen must have been quick to seize the opportunity.

  The original resting place, where Jeffrey had made his discovery five weeks earlier, was now just a patch of earth; the grass was beginning to grow over it once more. The woman had been reburied lower down the field, further to the east. Drew stood beside the first grave, and tried to imagine the sequence of events. What a struggle it would have been to carry the dead woman from the road, how nerve-wracking, trying to dig quickly in case a car or train went past. Why, he wondered, hadn’t they waited until later? Until the last train had gone? Did they have to be somewhere else, to achieve an alibi, or to avoid being missed?

  He recalled again the snug way the body had been lying, the cloth wrapped tidily around it, the ground tamped firmly down. Perhaps he was being fa
nciful, but it seemed to him now that there had been something almost compassionate in the way it had been done. They had taken care not to allow any soil on her face – something that Drew himself had always found very distressing. Even when burying the labrador, he had made sure it was well wrapped up first.

  The presence of the Egyptian necklace had to be significant. It would have been so much more sensible to remove it, if the identity of the body was to remain undiscovered. He ran once more through the clues and connections, searching for the one that would give him the key. For some nudge he could give the mechanism that would bring everything clicking into place.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Karen’s voice penetrated his musings, an unwelcome interruption. She was standing at their back door, a hundred yards or so distant. He frowned, trying to hold onto his thoughts and raised a hand to wave assurance to his wife that all was well. Something prevented him from calling back. You didn’t shout in a cemetery. You didn’t disturb the ghosts lying all around you. He remembered reading in a book of folklore that a buried corpse was likely to walk again, if given enough provocation. Some were so persistent in their refusal to lie down that their exasperated survivors dug them up again and burnt them. This, Drew suspected, was one strong but unacknowledged motive behind the wholesale swing towards cremation. It left the living free and clear to get on with their lives.

  He slowly returned to the office, where Maggs was about to leave. ‘It’s five o’clock,’ she told him. ‘Are we locking up now?’

  The odd look she gave him chimed with Karen’s call from the kitchen to check on his wellbeing. He was evidently behaving strangely, but there didn’t seem to be much he could do about it. He nodded agreement, before locking the front door and exiting through the back with Maggs.

  ‘Try and keep an eye out for any more goings-on in the field,’ she lectured him. ‘Listen out for cars late at night – there can’t be much traffic through here after dark. I think you should make the gate harder to open. Put a chain round it with a padlock. We need to do something ourselves until the security lights and new locks are fitted.’