It’s not like that—
Well what is it like? Tell me, Tess, I really need to know. What happened?
What happened to what?
To us.
Nothing, I say, nothing happened.
I’m squatting by the freezer, trying to pull out two frozen pizzas without spilling ice and peas everywhere, when the phone rings. Fletcher nudges at me and I push him away.
I hear Mick talking for a moment, then he comes in and hands the phone to me.
For you.
I take it and feel him watching my face. Fletcher tries to poke his nose in the freezer.
Oi, says Mick and grabs his collar.
Good news, Lacey says, I just told Mick. They reckon they’ll release the body within maybe ten days—
Oh—I turn my face to the cold blank square of the window—that’s good.
I mean, they haven’t named a day, but they reckon it’s safe for Alex to make arrangements.
Arrangements?
For the funeral.
I take a quick breath.
Oh God, I say, I can’t believe it.
I know.
I’m silent for a moment.
It’ll be tough, Lacey says, especially for the kids. I mean now, after all this, to see her buried.
He wants that? Not cremation?
Yeah. I just don’t think he wants anything further done—to her—
He pauses and I hear his breath.
And you, he says more quietly, are you OK?
Oh yes, I say as brightly as I can. Fine, we’re all fine.
I meant you.
Yes.
You knew I meant that?
Yes, I say again.
Mick looks at me.
Yes, thanks, I say again.
Mick gets the airline to extend Bob’s ticket, for reasons of compassion, though a small supplement has to be paid. Which Mick says is totally out of order—he’ll probably write and complain when all of this is over. He says this, but we both know he won’t. He doesn’t let Bob know about the supplement of course. Bob phones his neighbour who says he is only too happy to take care of the dogs.
The boys won’t recognise me when I go back, Bob says sadly. I’ll be a stranger to them.
He shows Jordan a photo—two hefty, elderly chocolate Labs gazing at the camera from a driveway strewn with golden leaves and pine cones.
Give them lots of treats, Jordan advises. Spoil them. Mum and Dad always bring us something if they go away.
What do you mean if we go away? says Mick. We never go anywhere.
You did once, Jordan says. You went to London.
Oh, says Mick, yeah. For one night.
Get them some treats, says Jordan again and he goes over to Bob and puts a hand on his knee. Bob acts like it’s perfectly normal to be touched this way but you can see he likes it. He picks up the small, grubby hand and holds it in his own. Jordan leans against him.
Aha, he says, but I have to be careful of their teeth. And their weight, you see. Too many treats and the goddamn doctors would be onto them just as they are onto me—
You should never give a dog chocolate, Jordan says. Not human chocolate—
Is that so? Bob says. Well, I must say I didn’t know that. Where did you hear that, boy?
On the internet, Jordan says. You can find out all sorts of stuff on the internet, like do you know what the word for a girl dog is?
That’s enough, Jordan, says Mick, but it’s OK, Bob is already laughing.
Normally plots at St Margaret’s are expensive and extremely hard to come by, but Canon Cleve has somehow managed to get Lennie a place. She’s going to be buried on the west side, not far from the ancient yew whose dense black branches spread into the playground on Tibby’s Green.
Rosa seems exceptionally pleased. That yew is her favourite tree.
I once left something extremely precious in it, she says, and when I came back it was still there. After a whole week!
Really?
Yes—she looks triumphant—it’s the tree. It has these powers—
Powers?
She smiles.
You wouldn’t understand. But basically it looked after the thing for me.
Great, I say. So what was it? What did you leave?
My lucky stone, she says; the one with a hole in it. I left it in the hidey-hole. Lennie knows which one.
She talks about her in the present tense, I tell Mick later, as if she’s not gone at all.
I know, he says. I’ve heard.
But—isn’t it weird? Why’s she doing it? Do you think it’s OK?
It’s a habit she’s got into. Once the funeral’s over, maybe that will change things.
Maybe, I say.
Everything’s weird at the moment, he says. This is such a weird time—a time of nothing happening. Nothing and everything.
I look at him in surprise.
What? he says.
Nothing. Just—you’re right. I know what you mean.
The best thing, I overhear Rosa telling Jordan in the bathroom that evening as he cleans his teeth, is she can see the playground from there. There’ll be stuff to watch, she won’t be lonely.
Out on the landing, I stop and listen.
Jordan says something I can’t hear because his mouth is full of toothpaste.
And the tree will shelter her, Rosa adds with some authority. It’s always good, you see, to be under a tree.
I go into the bathroom. Rosa is standing naked except for her knickers, school clothes strewn around her on the floor.
She won’t actually be buried under the tree, darling, I tell her. Not right beneath it anyway.
Rosa’s face falls. Jordan looks at me carefully and then at her.
Oh? But why not?
You can’t dig under an old tree. Think about it. There are all these big roots and they spread a long way.
Rosa shoves her hand in her knickers and glances in an agitated way at Jordan. Jordan spits in the bowl and glances back at her. For a moment they don’t look like my kids at all.
What? I ask them. What’s the matter with you two? What is it?
Rosa is already shutting off from me, staring away out the window. But Jordan wipes his mouth on a towel and turns to me.
She says under it.
What? Who? Who says under it?
Rosa turns from the window and takes off her knickers, then flings them in the laundry basket as if she’s scoring a goal.
Shut up, she says to Jordan. He’s just being stupid, she explains. The thing is, we just want her to be buried in a happy place, that’s all.
She smiles at me in a cheery way. As if I’m stupid.
She will be, I tell her. I swear to you, she will be.
Rosa shrugs. But Jordan gazes at me and I hate how tired and grey his face is.
You’re a tired boy, I tell him and I hold out my arms and he comes.
Do I have to have a bath? Rosa asks. She bounces a couple of times in front of the mirror, watches the budding pouches of fat on her nipples jiggle up and down, watching us, too.
Not if you think you’re clean. I nestle Jordan on my lap even though he is too big.
I am clean.
Then don’t have one.
You don’t mind?
Not really. Not today.
Rosa looks pleased with herself.
But will we go to the funeral? Jordan asks me.
I look at his face.
Do you want to?
Yes, says Rosa quickly. Of course! Yes!
And you, I ask Jordan, do you?
Yes, he says.
Then of course you will, I tell them. If you want to.
Mawhinney clears a space for me to sit down. He looks pleased to see me.
Just the person, he says.
He takes an armful of papers and moves them out of the way—and then the files and dirty coffee mugs. The room is more chaotic and untidy than when I last came here.
Sorry, he says, indicating
the mess. We’re getting sick of this makeshift office.
I don’t blame you, I tell him.
Through the window, it’s a bright day, the sea rough and striped with sun.
I say no to his offer of coffee.
Look, I tell him, there’s something I left out, when you first came and talked to us. A small thing, or I thought it was. But I realise I should have told you—even though I shouldn’t think it will change anything—
Oh? Mawhinney looks at me pleasantly.
I’m really sorry, I tell him. In fact I’m embarrassed.
He smiles.
It’s this, I say. I have a beach hut on the front. I’ve had it for years—
Oh lucky you, he says quickly. They’re great, those beach huts.
I look at him, try to smile.
And hard to come by, he adds.
Well, yes.
I stop a moment. He picks a paper clip up off the desk, smiles cryptically. Why do I feel he’s playing with me?
Suddenly, he tips his head back and laughs. Then he leans forward and touches my arm.
It’s OK, he says. It’s just—I’m sorry, I’ve just spoken to Alex.
What?
I think I know what you’re going to say.
Really?
He just told me—
I stare at him.
Alex? Told you what?
I’m glad you’ve come in. I was about to come and talk to you myself.
I don’t understand, I say. What’s he told you?
That you were there in the hut that night. You and Alex. That you saw Darren—
Darren? Sorry—what—Darren?
Isn’t that what you were going to tell me?
Yes, I say. Well, no. I mean yes about the hut. But no, we never saw Darren.
You can see this foxes him. He puts down the paper clip he’s been fiddling with and looks at me, perplexed.
Darren Sims?
No. Definitely not.
He says you did.
Alex said that?
Well, yes.
Well, I didn’t.
You’re sure of that?
Absolutely. I never saw Darren, I tell him, definitely not. I don’t know when Alex could have seen him either. I mean we were together all that time.
Now Mawhinney looks displeased.
He told me he saw him outside, he says. That he was outside the hut hanging around as he left.
Well, I say, shaking my head, he never told me—
I have to say, Mawhinney points out stiffly, that this is quite important. I can’t go into details but we have stuff on Darren. One or two possibly crucial things.
I try to laugh.
But Darren didn’t have anything to do with all this.
Mawhinney looks at me sharply.
I can’t discuss it with you I’m afraid, he says, but I do need to know whether you saw him—
Well, I didn’t.
He folds his arms and looks at the clock.
Would you sign a statement to that effect?
Yes, I tell him. Yes, of course I would.
Lennie’s funeral is finally fixed for next Friday at two. Before then the church has got to be swept and waxed and polished. Rosa and I go along after school to help, taking Livvy with us.
Polly’s in charge of the flowers. She’s getting them in specially from Yoxford. Which has annoyed Lyn Hewitt, the florist from Winton’s. White lilies and Michaelmas daisies. The lilies have got to be cut as late as possible on the Wednesday in the hope that they’ll stay fresh till the Friday.
They won’t, Lyn tells Barbara Anscombe, who relays the information back to Polly. They’ll be brown around the edges by the start of Friday, you’ll see.
Liv is cutting a tooth and very scratchy, needing to be held all the time, but Rosa’s very good and helpful. She goes around with a soft yellow duster and does the back of every pew with Pledge and then collects up the kneelers to give them a good dust-bashing out in the porch.
Everyone notices how helpful she is.
I wish she could be like that always, I tell Polly. Or at least more of the time. I’d settle for that.
Oh, she’s a good girl, Ellie Penniston says. Reminds me of my niece at the same age, such a lovely girl. She died too, you know, asthma attack.
I’m not dead! Rosa shouts from the porch.
She carries five kneelers at a time back into the church, struggling under the weight. Then she trails a duster over the walnut chest by the altar.
Not you, darling, I tell her. She means Lennie.
Livvy starts to cry. I scoop her up.
Does everyone know someone who is dead, do you think? Rosa asks me as we stand and pile up the hymn books and prayer books and watch the pale band of sun slip through the plain glass of the altar window.
Not everyone, I tell her, but many people, I suppose, yes.
Maggie sees us and comes over and gives me a hug. She says she’s glad the funeral’s happening at long last.
It’s like everything’s been on hold for so long, she says. I feel we just need to let go and say goodbye.
Rosa stares at her but no one notices.
I don’t know, says Polly who’s sitting in the choir stalls, going through the rota. I just don’t know if I can face it all again. Just when life was finally getting back to normal. It sounds selfish, but I feel I’ve had enough grief to last me a lifetime.
If only they’d caught him, Sally says. You know they’ve been talking to Darren Sims again?
No, I say, I didn’t know that.
Why are they talking to Darren Sims? Rosa asks me. Do they think he’s the murderer?
Of course not, I tell her. It’s too grown up to explain.
In my arms Liv has fallen asleep. Her weight hurts my shoulders. I ask Rosa to get the buggy from where we left it at the back of the pews. Liv’s cheeks are scarlet and a glittery rope of dribble runs from the corner of her mouth to the bib around her neck.
As I lay her in the buggy she startles and her fingers fly up and grab at a handful of air.
Alex is opening a can of beans. The kitchen smells of burnt toast. Washing-up is piled in the sink and about a week’s worth of papers are on the table. He is trying hard to be a father on his own.
I don’t allow myself to feel pity, not today. I ignore the mess and pull out a chair, move a bunch of dirty dish towels off it and sit down.
Hey, he says, that’s Lacey’s chair.
I look at him.
Joke, he says.
I keep my eyes on him.
I went to see Mawhinney, I tell him.
He looks at me coolly. Oh?
Yes, I tell him.
And?
And I don’t understand—
Don’t understand what? He turns down the gas under the pan.
All this stuff I find you’ve been telling him.
He frowns and pulls the toast out from under the grill. Turns it over just in time.
Really? What stuff?
Yes. Really, Al.
What do you mean, Tess? What stuff?
That we saw Darren Sims. Hanging around The Polecat. Is that what you told him?
Oh that, he says vaguely, yeah, well I probably did.
Probably?
OK. Definitely did.
He gives a little laugh.
Why?
He leans against the counter and looks at me.
Well, he says, slowly as if I’m a little stupid, because I did see him, believe it or not.
And me? You told him I did too?
I don’t recall. Maybe. I might’ve said ‘we’?
You did.
Ah—
According to him you did.
He says nothing, stirs the beans. The back door opens and shuts.
Now that really is Lacey, he says.
But I don’t turn around. I don’t do anything. Behind me, I feel him come in.
Tess is just interrogating me, Alex tells him.
Lacey doesn’t
say anything. I turn and look at him. He is standing there holding his keys and a bunch of papers. Something inside me tightens, curves. I turn back to Alex.
So did you? I ask him.
Did I what?
Did you really see Darren that night?
Alex looks solemnly at Lacey.
Yes, Tess, I did.
And you never said anything to me?
I don’t know, he says, I really don’t remember everything about that night—
I’m telling you, you didn’t.
Do you want me to go? Lacey asks, still standing there.
No, I say quickly, of course not.
Alex puts two plates on the table.
Jesus, he says, I mean maybe I’m the one who should go?
Don’t be so fucking stupid, I tell him.
He blinks.
He butters toast. Scraping butter on, scraping it off.
Come on Tess, he says, what’s the big deal? You don’t have to protect young Darren from anything. The police are only interested in evidence. But if he was hanging around, then they need to know.
If, I say and look at Lacey. I fold my arms and watch as he sits down at the table. I am glad to find I don’t blush.
Alex goes to the stairs and calls the boys.
When I left you, he says, when I left the hut to go home. He was waiting on the shingle in the dark. I thought you saw him too.
Well I didn’t.
OK, so you didn’t. Sorry.
When I came out, there was no one there.
Alex shrugs.
So he’d gone—
Anyway, I tell him then, I don’t see what’s wrong with him hanging around there. I mean, so were you.
Chapter 13
SCHOOL WILL BE CLOSED ON THE DAY OF THE FUNERAL and so will just about every shop or small business in the town.
Alex is hoping that Lennie’s body will be released on the Wednesday and will spend that night and the following one at Sharman’s, the undertakers in Halesworth. From there it will be collected and brought into town, but it won’t go straight to St Margaret’s.
It will come in down Station Road, Alex says. But, instead of going straight down the High Street in the normal way, it’ll take a right across Barnaby Green and down Spinner’s Lane before taking the road out past the golf course and up to Blackshore. There, it will make its slow way along the rough shale track, past the black-tarred, paint-peeling fisherman’s huts and the chandlery stores, past the ferry and the crumbling harbour walls and the edge of the caravan site and, finally, across the sand dunes and onto the beach.
Something Might Happen Page 15
