Table of Contents
Recent Titles by Anthea Fraser from Severn House
Title Page
Copyright
The Families
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Recent Titles by Anthea Fraser from Severn House
The Rona Parish Mysteries
(in order of appearance)
BROUGHT TO BOOK
JIGSAW
PERSON OR PERSONS UNKNOWN
A FAMILY CONCERN
ROGUE IN PORCELAIN
NEXT DOOR TO MURDER
UNFINISHED PORTRAIT
A QUESTION OF IDENTITY
Other Titles
PRESENCE OF MIND
THE MACBETH PROPHECY
BREATH OF BRIMSTONE
MOTIVE FOR MURDER
DANGEROUS DECEPTION
PAST SHADOWS
FATHERS AND DAUGHTERS
THICKER THAN WATER
SHIFTING SANDS
THE UNBURIED PAST
THE UNBURIED
PAST
Anthea Fraser
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
First published in Great Britain and the USA 2013 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of
9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.
eBook edition first published in 2013 by Severn House Digital
an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited
Copyright © 2013 by Anthea Fraser.
The right of Anthea Fraser to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Fraser, Anthea.
The unburied past.
1. Brothers and sisters–Fiction. 2. Alienation (Social
psychology)–Fiction. 3. Suspense fiction.
I. Title
823.9’14-dc23
ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8111-3 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-481-3 (trade paper)
ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-414-0 (epub)
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
This ebook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited,
Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.
The Families
Harry Carstairs
Lynne Carstairs
Charlotte Carstairs ) their children
Claire Carstairs
Mark Franklyn, Lynne’s brother
Emma Franklyn
Adam Franklyn ) their children
Kirsty Franklyn
Roy Marriott
Janice Marriott, Emma’s sister
Bob and Thelma Franklyn, Mark and Lynne’s parents
Clive and Louise Grenville, Emma and Janice’s parents
ONE
June/July, 1986
Lynne Carstairs glanced up from the list she was making. ‘I’m beginning to dread this party,’ she remarked. ‘It’s bound to be emotional – the last time we’ll all be together.’
‘Oh, come on!’ her husband protested. ‘No one’s going to die!’
‘Mum’s dreading our going; I just hope she doesn’t break down in front of everyone.’
‘No reason why she should,’ Harry said. ‘We’re not leaving for another six weeks, and with the buyers wanting immediate possession, we’ll be with her and your dad for the last four of them. Plenty of time for tears then.’
Lynne put down her pen. ‘We are doing the right thing, aren’t we, Harry?’
‘Hey, it’s too late for cold feet! Of course we’re doing the right thing! We’ve a lovely new home awaiting us, a job with considerably better pay, excellent schools for the kids and a fantastic country! What more could you ask? And there’ll still be family on hand – just the other side of it. My folks can’t wait to have us there!’
‘I’m only just realizing what a wrench it must have been, for you to up stakes and come over here.’
He shook his head. ‘Not so – I couldn’t wait to do my own thing. And if I hadn’t come, I’d never have met you, would I? I’ve had eight great years in the UK, but now I’d like the kids to get to know Canada and their other grandparents. They’re half-Canadian, after all.’
‘I know, I know, and I’m looking forward to it really. It’s just the thought of all the goodbyes …’
‘Well, as I said, we’ve six weeks to go so don’t let it spoil Claire’s party. Mark at least will enjoy himself, recording the event for posterity!’
Lynne smiled. Her brother, an enthusiastic photographer, insisted on preserving every occasion on film. ‘He’ll be in his element!’ she agreed.
Five miles away, Mark Franklyn’s mind was, indeed, on photography, though specifically the competition he was about to enter.
His wife glanced over his shoulder at the entry form. ‘Have you decided which class to go for?’
‘Well, black and white, certainly. And I’d been leaning towards landscape, but Graham mentioned yesterday that’s what he’s picked.’ Graham Yates, who’d been best man at their wedding, was also a keen photographer, and the rivalry between them added an extra dimension to their hobby.
‘So what? It’d make for an even keener contest.’
‘True,’ Mark conceded, ‘in which case the timing of the holiday couldn’t be better – mountains and lakes galore.’
‘Uh-oh! If it would mean you waltzing off with your camera leaving me with the kids, you can opt for still life!’
He grinned. ‘As if I would!’
‘Just saying, it’s my holiday too. I’ve been checking what we need to take and they don’t provide towels or bedding, which is a pain considering everything else we have to pack into the car.’
‘Were you able to arrange cots?’
‘Only one, unfortunately. We’ll have to push Adam’s bed against the wall and put a chair or something on the other side, to stop him falling out.’
‘It’s not his falling out I’m worried about,’ Mark answered grimly, ‘it’s being woken at some ungodly hour by his jumping on top of me.’
‘One of the joys of parenthood! So, this Saturday is Claire’s birthday party, and the next we’re off to the Lakes.’
‘And when we get back, it’ll be only a couple of weeks before Lynne and Harry leave.’ Mark shook his head despondently. ‘It’ll be odd, not being able to phone when the mood takes us to suggest going out somewhere. Adam will miss playing with Claire.’
‘Once he starts playschool he’ll have lots of new friends. It’s your parents w
ho’ll miss them most.’
‘True. I’ll take a photo on Saturday and frame it for Mum’s Christmas present.’
‘It’ll produce floods of tears,’ Emma warned.
‘Par for the course – she cries at everything!’
Emma laughed. ‘That’s a bit harsh! She’ll be losing not only her daughter, but half her complement of grandchildren.’
‘Then she’ll have to make the most of ours.’ He gave her a quick glance. ‘Will Janice and Roy be there?’
‘I should think so. Charlotte’s in Jan’s class and they’re family, after all.’
Emma’s family, not Lynne’s or Harry’s, Mark thought privately. He always felt ill at ease with his sister-in-law, her colourless face and pale shoulder-length hair, suspecting that a will of iron lay behind that self-effacing exterior. Added to which, with no children of their own, Jan and her husband seemed out of place at a child’s party. Still, as Emma had reminded him, she was Charlotte’s teacher at primary school, not to mention being his own daughter’s godmother. It seemed politic to change the subject. ‘What have we got for Claire?’ he asked.
Emma gave a short laugh. ‘It was a challenge, I can tell you, to think of something they could take on the plane. In the end I went for a fairy outfit: wings, spangles, wand – the lot.’
He nodded absently, turning back to the entry form. ‘I’d better fill this in and post it before the expiry date.’
‘You’re settling on landscapes, then?’
‘Yep, and I promise they won’t monopolize the holiday!’
Emma patted his shoulder and went to prepare supper.
It was Saturday afternoon and Roy Marriott ran up the stairs two at a time.
‘Ready for the gathering of the clans?’ he asked, putting his head round the bedroom door. Then, seeing his wife’s face, his smile faded. ‘Oh, love, not again?’
Janice nodded, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I was so sure this time. Damn it, I’m five days late, Roy!’
He put a sympathetic arm round her shoulder. ‘Never mind, honey, perhaps next month. At least we have fun trying!’
‘I can’t go to the party,’ she said, ignoring his attempt at humour. ‘Lynne and Emma will be playing Happy Families and I just couldn’t bear it.’
‘But we have to go, love,’ he said gently. ‘It’ll be the last time we’re all together.’
She turned in the circle of his arm, burying her face in his chest and gripping his shirt with both hands. ‘Oh, God, Roy, why can’t we have a little girl of our own?’
‘Or even a little boy?’ he asked, smiling, but she shook her head.
‘No, it must be a girl. I see more than enough boys at school.’
‘Well, we’ll face that when it comes. In the meantime, wash your face like a good girl and put on your glad rags. We owe it to Lynne and Harry to put in an appearance.’
Lynne stood in her kitchen surveying the pink and white birthday cake with its three candles. The children were playing Pass the Parcel, and occasional shrieks of excitement reached her from the sitting room. Once the game was finished she’d call them in for tea.
So far, she reflected thankfully, the party seemed to be going well. Mum, bless her, was putting on a brave face, and it was Janice who looked subdued, God knows why. Since she was always quiet, Lynne mightn’t have noticed if Roy hadn’t been extra hearty, as if to compensate.
She sighed, wishing she could feel better disposed towards Janice. They’d met at Mark and Emma’s engagement party five years ago, and even then Lynne had surprised herself by feeling grateful it was Emma rather than her sister whom her brother was marrying. But it was only when Charlotte started school and was assigned to Janice’s class that they met on a regular basis, and the awkwardness between them intensified. Lynne concluded it was the possessiveness in Jan’s voice that raised her hackles, the implication that she knew better than herself and Harry what was best for their daughter.
Charlotte, on the other hand, adored her, and had begged for her to be invited to her own birthday party in April, thereby making the invitation to Claire’s almost obligatory. Well, this was the last time, Lynne reflected, her stomach lurching at this reminder of their impending departure.
‘Need any help?’
She turned as Emma came into the room. ‘Don’t think so, thanks. How far have they got with the parcel?’
‘Depends how small the prize is!’
‘It’s a set of felt tips. They’re water-soluble, so I hope they won’t be too unpopular with the parents.’ Lynne hesitated. ‘Is Janice OK? She seems a bit quiet.’
‘She’s fine. She came to the rescue a few minutes ago, when someone had to be stopped from opening more than one layer and promptly threw a tantrum. Jan sat on the floor with her and peace was restored.’ Emma slipped an arm round her sister-in-law. ‘We’re going to miss you, you know – having you just on the end of the phone and those spur-of-the-moment picnics.’
‘Frankly, I’m trying not to think about it. I know it will be great once we’re there, it’s the in-between bit I’m dreading – particularly, though it sounds ungrateful, the last four weeks with Mum and Dad. When we’ve been more or less in each other’s pockets, the wrench when we go will be all the harder.’
‘We’ll do all we can to fill the gap,’ Emma promised. ‘And I give you fair warning, we’ll be out next summer to see you!’
‘It’s a date,’ Lynne said.
The game had ended, the prize was claimed and Janice returned to her chair. A room full of little girls! Her eyes moved fondly over them – crumpled party frocks, flushed faces, bows askew in their hair. Even fifteen-month-old Kirsty was enjoying herself.
As Janice watched, the baby started unsteadily across the floor, intent on a discarded ribbon from one of the presents. But as she bent to claim it one of the children, unaware of her proximity, turned suddenly and knocked against her. For an agonizing moment Kirsty teetered, before falling sideways and banging her head on a chair leg.
Janice jumped from her chair, scooped her up before the first roar and held her close, her face in the dark curls. ‘All right, darling, Auntie Jan’s got you. It’s all right!’
‘What happened?’ Emma had appeared in the doorway.
‘It’s nothing,’ Janice said quickly. ‘She just banged her head.’
Her arms tightened round the child, but Kirsty, hearing her mother’s voice and still crying lustily, twisted in her hold, reaching out her arms, and Janice was compelled to surrender her. Bereft, she stood for a moment looking at mother and child before, catching Roy’s anxious gaze, she summoned a reassuring smile.
So it was over. Mark had taken a succession of photographs – of the cake, of the little guests, of the entire family, and of the four who were emigrating. Duty done, he, Emma and their children were driving home.
‘Pity there wasn’t a little boy for Adam to play with,’ he commented.
‘I doubt he even noticed,’ Emma replied. ‘And your mother didn’t cry, bless her!’
‘No, that was a relief. When are they moving in with them?’
‘The removal van’s booked for a week on Monday. Jan’s collecting Claire from the childminder and taking both girls back to her house for tea. I feel guilty not helping, but of course we’ll be away.’ She paused. ‘Poor Lynne – she’s not looking forward to the next few weeks. It’s not even as though they’ll be in another part of this country; the customs, the climate, the whole way of life will be different over there. She’s bound to feel lost at first, even with Harry’s parents nearby.’
Emma was right, Mark reflected as he turned into his own gateway. The extended family all lived within a ten-mile radius of the country town of Westbourne, and the departure of Lynne and Harry would leave a noticeable gap. A sudden sense of foreboding washed over him, as though their going signalled the beginning of the end of their comfortable, integrated life, and bigger, more sinister changes lay ahead.
He got out of the car and, st
ill unaccountably uneasy, waited for Emma to liberate the children from their car seats, taking Kirsty from her as she bent to release Adam. Then, as his daughter smeared a chocolatey hand down his shirt, he impatiently dismissed such fancies.
‘Bath time with Daddy tonight,’ he announced and, with his son trotting at his side, he led his family into the house.
‘It’s beginning to look like rain,’ Roy remarked as they, too, reached home. ‘I was hoping to give the lawn a quick once-over; with luck, I’ll just make it.’
They went upstairs together, Roy to change into his gardening clothes, Janice into something less formal than the dress she’d worn to the party. Then, as he clattered back down the stairs, she turned on impulse into the little room that, ever since they’d bought the house, she had thought of as the nursery. It was warm and bright in the evening sunshine, though beyond the window the massing clouds that had alerted Roy were piling up.
Her eyes moved over the primrose-painted walls, the white wooden cupboard and neat single bed that had been her own before her marriage. It was ready made up with yellow blankets and a white cotton spread. She’d tried her hardest to persuade Lynne to allow her to keep the children overnight on removal day. ‘Your parents’ house will be going like a fair – it’ll be much quieter and more restful for them here, and I can take Charlotte to school with me the next morning.’
But Lynne, though she’d accepted the offer of tea, had rejected an extension of the visit – unnecessarily sharply, Janice felt. So Charlotte wouldn’t be sleeping in that little bed, nor Claire in the inflatable one, and all too soon they’d be leaving for good. Thank God she’d still have Kirsty.
She closed her eyes, reliving the moment she’d held the child close, smelt her baby smell of talc and damp nappy, felt the hot tears against her own face. Why had her sister come back at just that moment? Perhaps, she thought, brightening, when Kirsty was a little older Emma would let her spend a weekend with them. But by then, Janice reminded herself, irrepressible hope resurfacing, there might be another occupant in this little room, one who really belonged here.
And as a handful of rain rattled against the window, she closed the door behind her and went downstairs.
The Unburied Past Page 1
