Death is a Word

by Hazel Holt

  ‘Bob! I haven’t seen you for ages, how are you, and how is your father?’

  ‘I’m fine and so’s Dad. He’s been a different person since he had that hip operation. That was thanks to you persuading him.’

  ‘I’m so glad he decided to do it.’

  There was a pause and then he said, ‘I was so sorry about that young friend of yours. Hit-and-run driving is particularly bad – especially for the relatives.’

  ‘Is there any hope of finding who did it?’ I asked.

  He shook his head. ‘Not so far. The road conditions weren’t any help in identifying the car, and on a country lane at that time of day – well, there’s very little chance of any witness. We’ve put out appeals, of course, but nothing so far, and, to be honest, there’s very little chance of anything now. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Was there any chance of identifying the car from Daniel’s injuries?’

  ‘Not really. It was almost instantaneous. It must have been a large vehicle, possibly a four-by-four, and there were no fragments of paint on the body so he was probably struck by some metal part on the front of the vehicle, one of those bull bars they have on large Land Rovers, perhaps. It may not have left any very noticeable marks on the vehicle.’ He paused. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he repeated.

  ‘It’s been particularly painful,’ I said ‘because his mother, Eva, Eva Jackson, died so recently – that was dreadful because she shouldn’t have died.’

  ‘Eva Jackson, that name rings a bell.’

  ‘She died in a diabetic coma, but no one knew for days. There was an inquest.’

  ‘Yes, of course, I remember it now. That was a tragic thing to happen. So she was this boy’s mother?’

  ‘She was an old friend of mine and had just come back to Taviscombe after her husband died. So you see, it’s been one terrible thing after another.’

  ‘I’m really sorry. I wish I could be more positive about the hit and run. We’ll keep it open, of course, and I’ll let you know if anything turns up.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I turned towards the display of DVDs. ‘Are you looking for anything special?’

  ‘Dad wanted to see that series about a Victorian kitchen garden. He missed it when it was on TV. But I don’t think they’ve got it here.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve got a copy of that,’ I said. ‘I’ll take it round – it would be nice to see him again.’

  I was pleased to see Bob’s father looking quite spry.

  ‘Made all the difference, that operation,’ he said. ‘Glad you made me see sense about it. I can do all sorts now, out in the garden too – one less thing I’ve got to ask Bob to do.’

  ‘That’s splendid.’

  ‘He’s so busy nowadays; I don’t like bothering him all the time. That’s the trouble about getting old, having to rely on other people – it’s not fair on the children.’

  ‘I’m sure they want to help,’ I said.

  ‘They’re willing enough, but it’s having to ask. That’s why that operation was a marvel, it gave me back a bit of my independence.’

  ‘I know. You don’t like to keep asking the children to do things, although they always say they want to help. But young people lead such busy lives now and have so much on their mind. You must feel that with Bob, especially with his job.’

  ‘That I do. He and Molly will do anything for me, and always so cheerful about it. But Bob’s always been a worrier and this job really takes it out of him sometimes. Only the other day – well, he never talks about his cases to me, but I could tell he had something on his mind and when I asked him, he said it was nothing, just he felt there was something not right with one of his cases, couldn’t put his finger on it. He shut up then, like he always does. But I could see it was bothering him.’

  ‘That must happen quite often,’ I said. ‘Especially with someone as conscientious as Bob.’

  ‘He’s always been a thoughtful lad, one of the quiet ones.’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’

  He picked up the DVD. ‘And it was very thoughtful of you, Mrs Malory, to bring this. It’s something I always wanted to see, how they did things in the old days, and I missed it when it first came round. I’ll watch it straight away and get it back to you.’

  ‘No, you keep it. I’ve got so many things I mean to watch and never seem to have the time. Anyway, it’s worth looking at more than once!’

  Rosemary and I were driving over the moor to have lunch in Exford, something we do sometimes when we feel in the need of a little break. It was bright and sunny, not too hot, as we drove over Porlock Common, and, when we stopped to look at some foals in the group of Exmoor ponies grazing near the road, there was a refreshing breeze.

  ‘It really is a perfect day,’ Rosemary said, looking at the view in front of us, steep wooded valleys and stretches of moorland dotted with sheep. ‘You can see for miles.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘I couldn’t bear to live anywhere else. I mean, other places are fine to visit, but this – well, this is where I belong.’

  ‘I think Eva felt that, that was why she came back, and I think Daniel was beginning to feel a sort of pull …’

  I was silent for a moment, then I asked, ‘What about Patrick, is he going back to London?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, not yet, anyway – he hasn’t said anything. He doesn’t seem to be thinking beyond the next day. I know he’s so composed and together but he seems somehow lost without Daniel. Not surprising, they were very close. Of course the cottage belongs to him now.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, Eva left everything to Daniel and apparently Daniel made a will ages ago leaving everything to Patrick.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘There’ll be two lots of death duties, but I don’t think he’d need to sell the cottage to cover them, so he could stay on here if he wanted to.’

  ‘How would you feel about that?’

  ‘We’ve had a lot to do with him lately and I’ve grown very fond of him, and he’s been amazing with Mother. I suppose it’s because he’s a link with Daniel.’

  ‘But what about his life in London?’

  ‘I suppose Daniel was his life there. He doesn’t seem to have any family and I think his friends were people he knew through Daniel. He’s already cancelled all Daniel’s commitments – his column and television stuff, all the business side of things. He did that straight away – efficient as always. Sometimes I wish he’d show some sort of emotion – I’m sure he’s grieving, and perhaps he gives way when he’s alone. I don’t know. I just wish I could help him.’

  ‘It may be a help for him to stay on here. In a way, you’re the only family he’s got.’

  Chapter Twelve

  I was having a quick snack in the Buttery when Donald appeared beside me.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ he said. ‘A sympathetic ear.’ He put his tray down and sank heavily into his chair.

  ‘What on earth …’

  ‘Anthea. Need I say more!’

  ‘What particular horror has she perpetrated this time?’

  ‘She’s trapped me into giving another Little Talk. I did struggle, believe me, I really did, but she just tanked over me. Wore me down – I’m absolutely shattered.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘it had to happen sometime. You’ll feel better when it’s over.’

  ‘That is not the sympathy I was looking for.’

  I laughed. ‘We’ve all been there, and you’re a bigger catch than most. Apart from that, how are you?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. A bit lost, I suppose; I’d just arranged my life and then it fell into pieces. I don’t really know what I want to do.’

  ‘But you don’t want to leave Taviscombe?’

  ‘In some ways – make a clean break. But I’ve settled here, made a few friends, as well as …’

  ‘I know. It must be hard.’

  ‘Thank you. Since Eva … went, I haven’t been able to think clearly. There’s nowhere else I need to be. No family, well
, no close family. I suppose I might as well be here as anywhere.’

  ‘We’d miss you if you did go. You do seem to have become part of the community.’

  ‘Giving a little talk at Brunswick Lodge?’

  ‘You brought a bit of fresh air from the outside world to our little circle. Not just that, you’re on the committee and, if you wanted to, there are masses of things you could be involved in.’

  ‘I don’t know that I’m a committee sort of person – I only got involved because of Eva.’

  ‘What would you do if you went somewhere else? Travel?’

  ‘I don’t know what I’d do. I was sick of travel, that’s why I came here when I more or less retired, to get some sort of stability.’

  ‘Well, then. No, seriously, you’d be missed, and not just for committees and things. Anyway, you’ve promised to play golf with Jack, that’s a sort of stability.’

  ‘He and Rosemary are nice people – I’d like to get to know them better.’

  ‘And there’s Mrs Dudley.’

  ‘Yes. Poor soul, she must be dreadfully upset. First Eva and now Daniel.’

  ‘Daniel’s death hit her very hard – they’d become very close. He was beginning to show an interest in the family and she loved getting out the old photos and telling him stories about past family members, usually to their disadvantage. They had a high old time.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘She was quite ill for a while, but then Patrick took to going to see her and that seemed to help a lot.’

  ‘Oh yes, Patrick. Eva used to say how good he was for Daniel, but I never really got a picture of him, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone does,’ I said. ‘He’s always polite and charming in an understated sort of way, but you don’t ever know what he’s thinking or how he’s really reacting to things. We’re used to him as Daniel’s shadow, without any sort of personality of his own, which is ridiculous because I do feel that there’s a great deal there, under the surface.’

  ‘What will he do now?’

  ‘I don’t think anyone knows. Daniel left him the cottage, so he seems to be staying on there.’

  ‘Left him the cottage?’

  ‘He left everything to Patrick. There weren’t any close relations – well, there’s Rosemary and her family and Mrs Dudley, but they’re not exactly close. And he and Patrick – well. Anyway, I gather he’d made the will ages ago.’ I sighed. ‘He was so young, such a waste of a promising life.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Donald said, ‘we should be grateful that Eva wasn’t alive when it happened; it would have destroyed her. But then, if she’d still been alive he wouldn’t have been at the cottage and that dreadful accident would never have happened – oh, I don’t know. It’s all so complicated!’

  ‘You must never say “what if”, I said, ‘it only leads to useless regrets.’

  ‘You’re right, but sometimes you can’t help dwelling on it.’

  I was thinking of what Donald had been saying about the sequence of events and the cottage as I walked down towards the harbour. I stopped abruptly when I saw a young man leaning on the sea wall precisely where I’d seen Daniel all those weeks ago. As I drew nearer I saw that it was Patrick. For a moment I hesitated, then I went towards him.

  He greeted me with his usual half smile and said, ‘This was one of Dan’s favourite places.’

  ‘I know,’ I replied. ‘I saw him here not long ago and he told me about the Shipping Forecast. We discovered we shared an addiction to it.’

  Patrick smiled – a genuine smile this time. ‘I was very rarely awake that early.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing to say, I know, except the trite things about needing to grieve and time being a great healer. But it is, though you may not think so now.’

  He nodded slightly, in acknowledgement, and was silent for a moment, so that I wondered if I ought to go away and leave him to his thoughts.

  Suddenly he said, ‘I can’t grieve when I feel like this.’

  ‘You must feel very angry,’ I said.

  ‘Not just angry – though, goodness knows I feel that – but there’s this feeling …’

  ‘Feeling?’

  ‘That it wasn’t an accident.’

  ‘You mean that someone ran him down deliberately? But who on earth …’

  ‘I know, it’s completely irrational, but there it is.’

  ‘But even if there was somebody,’ I said, ‘how could they know where he’d be and that he’d be there, out on that particular road at that particular time?’

  He shook his head. ‘I know all that, but still, there are the things that make me wonder. It’s such a coincidence that anyone should have been driving down that road so early in the morning. And Dan must have been perfectly visible. It was a straight stretch of road, so it wasn’t someone coming round a corner and coming on him suddenly. There was a bit of early morning mist, but not enough to count, and his tracksuit was navy so it would have showed up against the road.’

  The words came pouring out, as if he’d been reluctant to utter them.

  ‘I believe the police think it might have been someone coming back drunk after a night out,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, I know. But they must have known what they’d done,’ he went on. ‘They must have done, and then to drive on – how could they do that? He might have still been alive, I can’t stop thinking about it – if only I’d known …’

  He was silent for a moment and looked at me thoughtfully, as if trying to decide whether to continue. Then he said, ‘I have a feeling the police think there’s something wrong too. At least, it seemed to me that inspector has some sort of doubt about it.’

  ‘Bob Morris? I wonder …’

  Patrick looked at me sharply. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It may not be—’

  ‘What is it?’ he repeated. ‘Please tell me.’

  ‘I know Bob’s father quite well,’ I said, ‘and when we were talking the other day, he happened to mention that Bob had something on his mind, something not quite right about one of his cases.’

  ‘You see!’

  ‘It may very well have been one of his other cases.’

  ‘I must speak to him.’

  ‘I don’t know – I had no right to repeat something his father said.’

  ‘I won’t mention that,’ he said impatiently, ‘but if he already has a doubt, surely there must be something more he can do.’

  ‘He’s an intelligent, sympathetic man so I’m sure he’ll listen to what you have to say, but don’t get your hopes too high. I’m sure he’ll have covered every possibility, he’s very thorough.’

  ‘But if he’s been approaching it from the wrong angle,’ Patrick said eagerly, ‘thinking of it as a simple accident.’

  ‘But if there’s no motive?’

  ‘We don’t know that – there may be something we have no idea about.’

  ‘But you know him so well, surely you would have heard if there’d been anything like that.’

  ‘How can we say we know everything about anyone?’ he said and I thought how ironic that was, coming from him.

  ‘Well, have a word with him,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, I will.’ He paused and, for a moment, it looked as if he was going to resume his usual formal manner, but then he said, ‘Thank you for listening to me.’ His voice was uncertain. ‘I can talk to you – not many people – sometimes not even Dan … Thank you, Mrs Malory.’

  ‘Sheila, please. Let me know what Bob Morris says and do remember that I’m always there if you do want to talk. And you know that anything you tell me will remain just between us. Now I’ll leave you to look at the sea.’

  I thought about Patrick a lot when I got home. It was so unlike him to speak in such an unguarded way. He must have felt very strongly to have unburdened himself like that. I was obscurely flattered, as one is when a timid animal lets you approach it. And, of course, I kept thinking about what he’d said abo
ut Daniel’s death not being an accident.

  It was just possible that was what Bob Morris had been worrying about. Looking at the facts dispassionately, it did seem strange that someone, however drunk, hadn’t been aware of Daniel in the road, though I suppose he (one somehow assumed it was a he) might have just panicked. And there seemed to be no possible reason for anyone to want Daniel dead. There would have to be an overpowering reason for someone to deliberately drive a car straight at another human being and leave him for dead. I shuddered when I thought of it. But who could have wanted Daniel dead? If Patrick couldn’t think of anyone …

  My mind kept going round in unprofitable circles and I was quite glad when Foss, jumping up onto the worktop, knocked down a jug of milk and I had to spend a considerable time clearing it up, knowing, from bitter experience, that unless you track spilt milk down to the remotest corner it will remain there and generate the most unpleasant smell.

  Rosemary called round later in the day and I wished I could tell her about my conversation with Patrick, but, of course, I couldn’t. Instead I asked if she knew how long he might be staying at the cottage.

  ‘No idea. Nobody’s actually asked him, but I do hope he stays a good long time – Mother’s come to rely on him.’

  ‘What do they talk about?’ I asked curiously.

  ‘The Old Days. That is, Mother tells him about how life was – better, of course – when she was young and how well everyone behaved during the War.’

  ‘Goodness! And Patrick likes this?’

  ‘Do you know, I believe he does. I mean, he asks intelligent questions, as if he really wants to know.’

  ‘Well, good for Patrick.’

  ‘I think,’ Rosemary said, ‘though I may be wildly wrong, that he quite likes feeling that he’s part of a family.’

  ‘We have no idea, I suppose, about his own family?’

  ‘No idea at all. We know he originally came from Ireland – though not how long ago – but that’s all. I suppose Eva might have known a bit more about him, though she was always very relaxed about Daniel’s friends.