The Chemistry of Death dh-1

by Simon Beckett

  A nagging tension headache had developed by the time I reached Henry's. But it wasn't so bad that I didn't appreciate the smell of roast beef as I walked into the house. As usual I didn't knock, just called out as I went in.

  'Through here,' Henry's voice came back from the kitchen.

  I went through. The kitchen was hot even though the door was open, giving a view onto the secluded back lawn. Henry was whipping batter in a dish for Yorkshire puddings, an empty wine glass close to hand. Not ideal fare for a hot afternoon, perhaps, but Henry was a traditionalist when it came to Sunday lunch.

  'Nearly ready,' he said, spooning the batter into a baking tray. The hot fat hissed and sizzled. 'Soon as these are done we can eat.'

  'Can I do anything?'

  'Pour us both some wine. I've already started some plonk, or there's a bottle of decent stuff I've opened to breathe. Should be OK now. Unless you'd rather have a beer?'

  'Wine's fine.'

  He was already wheeling himself over to the oven. He opened the door, recoiling a little from the blast of heat, then slid in the baking tray. He didn't cook often, usually quite happy to let Janice take care of his meals, but when he did I was always impressed by how adroit he was. I wondered how well I'd have coped in his position. Still, it wasn't as if he'd had much choice. And Henry wasn't the sort to simply give up.

  'There,' he said, slamming shut the oven door. 'Another twenty minutes and we're away. Good God, man, haven't you poured that wine yet?'

  'Coming up.' I was looking in a drawer. 'Have you got any aspirin or anything? I'm starting with a headache.'

  'If there's nothing in there you'll have to get something from the drugs cabinet.'

  The drawer yielded an empty packet of paracetamol but nothing else. I went down the hallway to Henry's study, which doubled as his surgery since I'd taken over his old room. We kept the drugs stored there, as well as much of Henry's other paraphernalia. He was a hoarder and had kept all manner of ancient powders, bottles and medical instruments he'd inherited from the previous doctor. Keeping them probably broke any number of health regulations, but Henry had scant regard for red tape and bureaucracy.

  His collection gathered dust in an elegant Victorian glass-fronted bookcase, a marked contrast to the unlovely steel drug cabinet and small fridge where we kept our vaccines. The pair of them looked totally out of place among the fine wood and leather furniture, despite Henry's unsuccessful attempt to camouflage them with framed photographs. There was one of the two of us in the dinghy, taken the year before, but most were of him and his wife Diana. In pride of place on top of the cabinet was a picture taken at their wedding. They made an attractive couple as they smiled at the camera, young and happily oblivious to the fate that awaited them.

  I looked at the pair of walking sticks gathering dust in the corner by the desk. When I'd first arrived he'd still tried to use them. I would hear him grunting as he struggled to take a few steps. 'I'll prove those buggers wrong,' he'd said, on more than one occasion. But he never had, and gradually he'd given up trying.

  I turned from the reminder of human frailty and unlocked the cabinet. I rummaged through the boxes until I found some paracetamol, then locked the cabinet and went back to the kitchen.

  'About time,' he grumbled as I returned. 'Hurry up with that bloody wine. Thirsty work, this.' He fanned himself, moving towards the open door. 'Let's go and cool down a bit.'

  'Are we eating outside?'

  'Don't be barbaric. Do I look Australian? And bring the bottle with you. The Bordeaux, not the cheap stuff.'

  I washed the paracetamol down with water, then did as I was told. The garden was well kept without being fussy. Henry had been a keen gardener, and it was yet another source of frustration for him that he was no longer able to look after it himself. We went over to the old wrought-iron table and chairs that sat under the hanging shade of a laburnum. Beyond the willow-weave fence, the sparkling lake gave the illusion of relief from the heat. I poured us both a glass of wine.

  'Cheers,' I said, raising mine.

  'Good health.' He swirled the ruby liquid around before sniffing it critically. Finally, he took a drink. 'Hmm. Not bad.'

  'Local supermarket?'

  'Peasant,' he scoffed. He took another drink, savouring it before setting it down. 'So, come on. Out with it. How did dinner go the other night?'

  'It was a barbecue, actually. Outdoors. You'd have loved it.'

  'Eating al fresco is acceptable on a Friday night. Sunday lunch requires proper appreciation. And you haven't answered the question.'

  'It was fine, thanks.'

  He cocked an eyebrow. 'Fine? That it?'

  'What else can I say? I enjoyed myself.'

  'Do I detect a little coyness here?' He grinned at me. 'I can see I'm going to have to prise this out of you. Tell you what, let's take the dinghy out this afternoon and you can tell me all about it. Not much breeze, but we can row off some of the lunch.'

  I could feel my embarrassment burning my face.

  'Of course, if you don't want to it's quite all right,' Henry said, his smile fading.

  'It's not that. It's just… Well, I told Jenny I'd take her out in it.'

  'Oh.' He couldn't hide his surprise.

  'I'm sorry, I should have said something sooner.'

  But Henry had recovered his poise, concealing his disappointment behind a grin. 'No need to apologize! Good for you!'

  'I can always-'

  He waved away the offer before I could finish it. 'Sunny afternoon like this, you're much better off going out with a pretty girl than an old fogey like me.'

  'Are you sure you don't mind?'

  'We'll do it some other time. I'm delighted you've met someone you seem fond of.'

  'It's no big deal, really.'

  'Oh, come on, David, it's high time you started enjoying yourself! You don't need to justify it.'

  'I'm not, I'm just…' I trailed off, lost for words.

  Henry was entirely serious now. 'Let me guess; you're feeling guilty.'

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

  'It's been, what? Three years now?'

  'Nearly four.'

  'It's almost five for me. And you know what? It's long enough. You can't bring the dead back, so you might as well carry on with the business of living as best you can. When Diana died… Well, I don't have to tell you.' He gave a half-laugh. 'Couldn't understand why I'd survived and she hadn't. In fact, for a long time after the accident…'

  He broke off, staring out over the lake. But whatever he had been about to say, he changed his mind.

  'Anyway, that's another story.' He reached for his wine. 'Changing the subject, I gather there was a bit of excitement last night.'

  There wasn't much about the village that Henry didn't hear. 'You could say that. Some of James Nolan's neighbours paid him a visit.'

  'How is he?'

  'Not good.' I'd phoned the hospital earlier. 'They gave him quite a beating. He'll be in hospital for a week or two yet.'

  'And I imagine no-one saw anything?'

  'Apparently not.'

  His thick eyebrows knitted in disgust. 'Animals, that's all they are. Bloody animals. Still, I can't say I'm surprised. And from what I've heard you've fallen foul of Manham's rumour mill yourself, haven't you?'

  I should have known he'd have heard the talk about me by now. 'At least I've not been beaten up so far.'

  'I wouldn't shout about it just yet. I warned you what it could get like. Just because you're Manham's doctor doesn't mean you'll get any favours.'

  I could see he was sliding into one of his black moods. 'Come on, Henry…'

  'Trust me, I know this place better than you. Push comes to shove, the people here will turn on you the same as they did Nolan. Doesn't matter what you've done for them in the past. Gratitude? Not in this bloody place!' He took a gulp of wine, forgetting to savour it in his anger. 'Sometimes I wonder why we bother.'

  'You don't mean that.'

&n
bsp; 'No?' He stared broodingly into his wine. I wondered how much he'd had before I arrived. 'No, perhaps not. But there are times I wonder what either of us is doing here, I really do. Don't you ever ask yourself what the point of it all is?'

  'We're doctors. What other point is there supposed to be?'

  'Yes, yes, I know all that,' he said, irritably. 'But what good do we actually do? Can you honestly tell me you never feel you're wasting your time? Keeping some old wreck alive, just for the sake of it? All we're doing is putting off the inevitable.'

  I looked at him with concern, noticing his fatigue. For the first time I saw he was starting to show signs of age.

  'Are you OK?' I asked.

  He gave a dry chuckle. 'Don't take any notice of me, I'm just feeling cynical today. Or even more so than usual.' He reached for the bottle. 'All this business must be getting to me too. Let's have another glass, and then you can tell me what you've been up to all week that's so mysterious.'

  That was something I hadn't been looking forward to, but now I was glad to talk about something else. Henry listened, quizzical at first as I told him the truth about my career before I came to Manham, then incredulous as I gave him a rundown of how I'd been helping Mackenzie.

  When I finished he shook his head, slowly. 'Well, I think the phrase "dark horse" springs to mind.'

  'I'm sorry. I know I should have told you before, but until this week I really thought it was all past history.'

  'You don't have to apologize,' he said. But I could tell I'd upset him. He'd taken me on at a time when I was at my lowest, only to find out now that I'd been less than open with him. All this time I'd let him believe my experience as an anthropologist had been entirely academic. Even though I hadn't actually lied, it was a poor repayment of trust.

  'If you'd like me to resign, I will,' I offered.

  'Resign? Don't be ridiculous!' He looked at me. 'Unless you're having second thoughts about working here?'

  'No, of course not. I didn't want to get involved in the first place. I wasn't deliberately keeping it from you. I just didn't want to think about it myself.'

  'No, I can see that. It's just a bit of a surprise, that's all. I'd no idea your career had been so… rarefied.' He gazed reflectively over the lake. 'I envy you. I always regret not going into psychology. I had ambitions to once upon a time, you know. Didn't work out, obviously. Too much extra training. I wanted to marry Diana, and being a GP brought in the money faster. And it seemed glamorous enough back then.'

  'There's nothing glamorous about what I've been doing.'

  'Exciting, then.' He gave me a knowing look. 'And don't deny it. There's been a definite change in you over the past week. Even before the barbecue.' He gave a short laugh, fishing his pipe from his pocket. 'One way or another it's been a hell of a week. Any news on who this second body might be?'

  'Not yet. But hopefully dental records will provide an ID.'

  Henry shook his head, filling and lighting his pipe. 'You live somewhere for all these years, and then…' He made a visible attempt to shake off the mood that had descended. 'Well, I'd better go and check how lunch is coming along. Things are grim enough without burning the Yorkshires.'

  We kept the conversation lighter after that. But Henry was looking tired by the end of lunch. I reminded myself that he'd been carrying most of my workload for the last few days. I tried to insist on washing the dishes, but he would have none of it.

  'I'm fine, really. Most of them'll go in the dishwasher anyway. I'd much rather you get off and meet your friend.'

  'There's plenty of time.'

  'If you insist on doing them, then so will I. And frankly, what I'd like to do right now is pour myself the last of the wine and perhaps have a nap.'

  He regarded me with mock-severity.

  'Now, do you really want to ruin my Sunday afternoon?'

  I'd arranged to meet Jenny at the Lamb. It was neutral territory, whereas going to her house again would have made seeing her seem like too much of a date. I was still trying to tell myself that we were only going sailing. It wasn't like I was taking her out to dinner, with all the sexual politics that would involve. There would be no worry over picking up or giving out the wrong signals. Nothing to it, really.

  Except the anticipation I felt said otherwise.

  I'd been careful not to have too much wine with lunch, and although I felt like something stronger I stuck to orange juice now. There were the usual nods as I went to the bar. I couldn't read anything in any of them, but I was glad to see that Carl Brenner wasn't there.

  I took my drink outside and leaned against the stone wall at the front of the pub. Nerves made me drink the orange almost straight away. I realized I was looking at my watch every few minutes. Resolving not to do it again, I looked up as a car came down the road. It was an old Mini, and a moment later I recognized Jenny behind the wheel. She parked and got out, and at the sight of her I felt a sudden lift. What's going on here? I wondered, then any questions were brushed aside as she came over.

  'I thought I'd be idle,' she said, smiling as she pushed her sunglasses up onto her head. But I knew the real reason she'd driven was that few women were prepared to walk any distance alone any more. She wore shorts and a sleeveless blue top. There was a faint scent of perfume, hardly there at all. 'Not been waiting long, have you?' she asked.

  'Just got here.' I saw her glance at my empty glass, and shrugged, embarrassed. 'I was thirsty. Would you like something?'

  'I'm easy either way.'

  I could feel us drifting into that zone of tension that makes every sentence ring false. Decide. Now, I told myself, knowing this could set the tone for the rest of the afternoon.

  'How about getting something to take out with us?' I asked, surprising myself. But as soon as I'd said it I knew it was the right choice.

  Jenny's smile broadened. 'Sounds great.'

  She waited outside while I went back into the pub to buy a bottle of wine. I tried to ignore the odd looks as I asked to borrow glasses and a corkscrew, kicking myself for not having thought about this sooner. But I knew why I hadn't. I'd avoided anything that would have made this seem like anything other than a casual outing. And it looked as though Jenny had done the same.

  'Hang on,' she said when I returned, and disappeared inside herself. She came back a few minutes later brandishing packets of crisps and nuts. 'In case we get the munchies.' She grinned.

  The tension disappeared after that. We left her car in the square and walked back to the lake. We could have walked through Henry's garden to the jetty, but rather than disturb him we followed a little-used access track that ran past the house from the road. The dinghy was motionless on the still water. There wasn't a breath of wind as we climbed aboard.

  'Don't think we're going to manage much sailing today,' I said.

  'Doesn't matter. It'll just be nice to be out on the water.'

  Without bothering with the sail, I took the oars and headed out into the lake. Its surface shone like glass in the sunlight, so bright it hurt. The only sound was the melodic plash of the oars as they dipped in and out of the water. Jenny was sitting facing me. Our knees brushed as I rowed, but neither of us moved away. Jenny let her hand trail over the side as I headed for the opposite shore, her fingers leaving a widening trail in their wake.

  The water grew shallower as I approached the far side, made impassable in parts by dense thickets of straw-coloured rushes. A low outcrop of land protruded from them, its banks overhung with the shaggy branches of old weeping willows. I let us drift under one, loosely tying the boat to its trunk. Sunlight dappled through the leaves, turning them a translucent green.

  'This is lovely!' Jenny exclaimed.

  'Do you want to have a look around?'

  She hesitated. 'I don't want to sound like a wuss, but do you think it's safe? I mean, with the traps and everything.'

  'I can't see anyone going to that much trouble. Nobody comes out here any more, so there wouldn't be much point.'


  We left the wine to cool in the lake and set off to explore. There wasn't very much to the outcrop, just a mound of rocks and trees linked to the shore by a rush-choked strip of land. In its centre were the ruins of a tiny building, roofless and overgrown.

  'Do you think this used to be a house?' Jenny asked, stooping to go through a low stone doorway. Old leaves crunched underfoot. Even in the heat there was a mustiness of damp and age.

  'It might have. All this used to belong to Manham Hall. Could have been a groundsman's house or something.'

  'I didn't know there was a hall around here.'

  'There isn't now. It was knocked down just after the Second World War.'

  She ran her hand across the mossy lintel of an old fireplace. 'Don't you ever wonder who used to live in places like this? What sort of people they were, what their lives were like?'

  'Hard, I imagine.'

  'But did they think that themselves, or was it just normal for them? I mean, in a few hundred years from now will people look at what's left of our houses and think, "Poor devils, how did they manage?"'

  'More than likely. Everybody always does.'

  'I always wanted to be an archaeologist. Before I was a teacher, I mean. All those past lives we know nothing about. And everyone thinking their own is the most important, just like us.' She gave a little shudder and grinned self-consciously. 'Makes me feel all shivery. But it still sort of fascinates me.'

  I wondered if she'd somehow heard about my own involvement with past lives. But this wasn't contrived. 'So what stopped you? From becoming an archaeologist, I mean.'

  'I can't have wanted to do it badly enough, I suppose. So I ended up in a classroom instead. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy it. But sometimes, you know, you think, "What if…?" '

  'You could still train.'

  'No,' she said, hand still smoothing the stone lintel. 'That me's gone now.'

  It seemed an odd thing to say. 'What do you mean?'

  'Oh, you know. You get certain chances at certain times. Crossroads, or whatever. You make your decision, you end up going down one track; you make the other, you end up somewhere else entirely.' She gave a shrug. 'Archaeology was one of those tracks I didn't take.'