Shadow of Doubt

by S L Beaumont

  A hysterical woman half screamed, half sobbed at me down the line.

  “Hold on. Calm down. Who is this?”

  “Mmmmuumm,” the voice answered sobbing.

  My stomach plummeted. My mother was the world’s worst drama queen, but this was extreme even for her.

  “Mum, deep breath. What’s wrong?”

  “You need to come. It’s your dad,” she managed to say.

  “What about Dad? Put him on,’ I suggested.

  “Can’t. He’s d-dead,” she whispered followed by uncontrollable sobbing.

  Knowing I would get no more out of her I clicked ‘end’ on the handset and leapt from the bath. I dried myself, dressed and packed a weekend bag in record time. I called the car service we used for work and ordered a car to take me to Heathrow. Only then did I dial Mum and Dad’s number.

  One of my aunts answered.

  “What’s going on? Is Dad really dead? What’s happened?”

  “Oh, Jessie. He is, lovey. Heart attack,” she answered with a heavy sigh.

  “Oh God, no. I’m on my way,” I replied.

  I hung up the phone as the room spun. Dad couldn’t be dead. I had only talked to him on the phone the previous afternoon. In fact, we’d made plans to go to see a play in the West End when he was down on business in a couple of weeks. I realized with a start that I’d been supposed to organize the tickets today, but I had been busy and I’d forgotten.

  I slid down the wall in the hallway and sat on the floor, waiting for my driver to buzz the intercom. I felt like crying, but the tears wouldn’t come. I grabbed my mobile and called Colin. His phone went straight to voicemail. He was probably still in the air. I hung up. It wasn’t the sort of news that you left a voice message about. I really needed him, so I phoned back and left a voicemail for him to call me as soon as he got my message.

  Twenty minutes later, I was in a car on the way to Heathrow.

  “Business trip, love?” the driver, a portly middle-aged man, enquired.

  “No… my dad has just died,” I replied in a flat voice.

  I stared unseeing out of the window as we wound our way through the London traffic.

  Chapter 6

  October 27

  I managed to get a standby ticket on the next flight to Edinburgh, and so two hours later I found myself standing at Mum and Dad’s house, not wanting to go in, but knowing that sooner or later I would have to. The porch light shining above the red front door of the two-storied grey brick semi was usually a warming, welcoming sight, but not tonight. I knocked. I’m not sure why. I usually just walked straight in. It was still my family home, after all. My aunt Doreen, Dad’s sister, opened the door, red-eyed. She enveloped me in a smothering hug as she dragged me across the doorstep.

  “Eileen,” she called. “Jessica’s here.” At which point my mother sobbed and crumpled to the floor.

  Colin called at midnight, once I’d managed to shoo most of the mourners out the door and back to their own homes. I looked at Dad’s liquor cabinet. I would have to restock it tomorrow. Some people; a wake was just an excuse to get drunk. I had tucked Mum into bed an hour earlier with a sleeping tablet after she had become hysterical again.

  Colin was of course shocked to hear about Dad.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “What happened?”

  “He had a heart attack at work. His assistant found him slumped over his desk during the afternoon. Of course, none of them knew how to do CPR, so they all just stood around, watching him die, until the ambulance arrived,” I said.

  “I’m sure it wouldn’t have been like that at all,” Colin said in a soothing tone.

  “I need you. When can you get here?” I asked, the words catching in my throat.

  “Oh, Jess,” he said. “I should be able to get away tomorrow night. When’s the funeral?”

  “Well that’s just it,” I said. “I have to organize it. Mum’s gone completely to pieces. I’m meeting the minister in the morning.”

  “Okay, darling. Let’s talk after that. I’m so sorry,” Colin said.

  “I wish you were here,” I replied.

  I didn’t sleep much that night and the next day was a whirl of visitors and funeral planning. Once we returned from the undertaker, Mum took to her bed, and did her entertaining from there, like some bloody duchess. Of course, I had to redo her hair and makeup before anyone was allowed up the stairs.

  My cousin Lucas arrived in the afternoon and offered to help, so I dispatched him to the liquor store with a list. I knew there would be another round of mourners that night.

  I finally got to talk to Colin at four in the afternoon.

  “Hey, love, how’s it all going?” he asked.

  “Madness. What time is your flight?”

  “Well, that’s the thing,” he hedged. “Negotiations here are on a knife edge and I have a series of meetings tomorrow and Friday.”

  I shook my head; not comprehending what he was saying. “Didn’t you tell them that your father-in-law has just died?”

  “Yes, but you sound like you have it all under control and I should be able to make it for the funeral on Saturday,” he said.

  “Who said anything about the funeral being on Saturday?”

  “Well, I assumed…”

  “Well, you assumed wrong. It’s on Friday. You’ll just have to postpone the negotiation.”

  “Calm down, Jess. I know you’ve had a shock and all, but it’s not that simple.”

  I hung up and didn’t answer any of his calls for the rest of the day.

  The next morning, an enormous bouquet of flowers arrived for me and one for Mum, both from Colin. Aunt Doreen rescued mine from the rubbish bin in the kitchen.

  I called the minister to see if there was any chance of moving the funeral to Saturday, but the church was fully booked with weddings, so we would have to go ahead on Friday or wait another week. I took a deep breath and phoned Colin.

  “Did you get the flowers?” he asked, as if that would bring Dad back.

  “Yes. Now when are you coming?” I asked, not quite ready to forgive.

  “Sunday morning, Jess. I can’t get away any sooner. I’m really sorry.” He sounded contrite.

  “Colin, it’s my dad.” My voice cracked.

  “I know, Jess, and he would understand.”

  I had to give him that. Dad was a workaholic too.

  “This negotiation is critical for the future of the company, our future,” he continued.

  Hell, how can you argue with the future? I took a deep breath and knew that I would have to just deal with this on my own. Grieve later.

  “Okay, I will see you at home on Sunday night. Don’t bother coming here. I have to be back for work next week,” I replied.

  “Jessie, I’m sorry. I’ll make this up to you,” he said before hanging up.

  ***

  The funeral service passed in a daze. Mum, of course, wailed throughout, but to my perverse delight the old stone church was packed. Dad was really well thought of in the community and highly respected in his profession. I walked, or should I say, half carried Mum behind the coffin out of the church to the waiting hearse. As we passed the last pew, I did a double take. Will was sitting there. He gave me a gentle smile. Beside him, Marie was sobbing and dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

  The tightness in my chest eased a tiny bit. After I helped Mum into the waiting car, I sought them out in the crowd of mourners, who were being shepherded into the church hall by Aunt Doreen.

  “Thanks for coming,” I said pulling my sunglasses off my head and covering my eyes, which I knew were puffy and red from lack of sleep.

  “Of course, Jess,” Will replied squeezing my arm. “We’re so sorry for your loss.”

  Marie threw her arms around me and hugged me tight.

  “Hey, I have to go. Cemetery and all that. Will you be here later? When’s your flight back?” I asked.

  “Tomorrow or Sunday, whatever you need,” Will replied.

&nb
sp; “Good. I need someone to get drunk with,” I said.

  “Unfortunately, I have to go back shortly, it’s my grandmother’s eightieth birthday tomorrow. I’d love to stay and keep you company. I’m sorry,” Marie apologized.

  “It’s okay. Thank you so much for coming,” I replied, hugging her again.

  Will’s eyes scanned the crowd. “Where’s Colin?” he asked, as the funeral director tapped me on the shoulder and nodded towards the cars.

  “Dubai,” I said.

  “What?” The look on Will’s face was one of disbelief. He and Marie exchanged glances.

  ***

  I arrived back from the cemetery to find the wake in full swing. Lucas and Will were behind a makeshift bar in the church hall acting as unofficial barmen. Two of my middle-aged aunts were propped up against it, flirting with them. It was the first time I had smiled in what seemed like days. Will caught my eye as I walked over to them. I could feel a bubble of really inappropriate hysterical laughter rising in my throat.

  “A quick whiskey, barman,” I asked. Lucas obliged and I knocked it back in one go. It hit the spot burning its way down into my stomach and somehow settling the hysteria. I let out a deep sigh.

  “How are you?” Will came out from behind the bar and enveloped me in a hug. “Everyone has been saying how amazing you have been. That you singlehandedly organized everything because your mum was so distraught.”

  “I’m exhausted,” I said, leaning into him. “I think we should pack up here and head back to Mum and Dad’s with the stragglers.”

  “Okay, close the bar,” Will announced to Lucas and together we began moving glasses, tea cups and plates to the kitchen at the back of the hall.

  Will loaded up the dishwasher as I did the rounds, accepting condolences and listening to little anecdotes about Dad. I kept looking around the hall for him. It just didn’t seem right that he wasn’t here with all of his family and friends.

  With the help of a couple of difficult to locate, sober drivers and several taxis, the more dedicated mourners made their way back to the house to polish off the remains of Dad’s restocked liquor cabinet.

  “Bloody hell.” Will leaned back against the front door as we waved off the last of what can only be described as the revelers, several hours later. “Your parents’ family and friends sure know how to drink."

  I look at him wide-eyed for a moment before giggling at the inappropriateness of both the drinkers and his statement.

  “Jessica?” my mother called in a pathetic voice from the front room. I took a deep breath and went to her.

  “Do you want me to help you up to bed, Mum?” I offered.

  “Yes please, dear. And one of those little pills you gave me last night would help steady my nerves,” she said in a sad, pleading voice.

  “Okay, Mum. Come on,” I said helping her up from her chair and propelling her towards the stairs.

  “Oh, Jessie. He’s really gone, hasn’t he?” She stared at me, a look of horror taking residence on her face as though the reality of his death had just hit her again.

  “He has, Mum. It’s just awful.” I pulled her into my arms and we clung to one another.

  After I had her tucked up in bed, I returned downstairs to find Will in the front room going through Dad’s CD collection, selecting some music to play.

  “Fancy a nightcap?” I asked, from the doorway. Without waiting for his reply, I detoured into the kitchen to retrieve a particularly good bottle of red that someone had arrived with earlier, which I had hidden.

  I pulled the cork and poured a big glass each. We collapsed onto the sofa, the long day catching up on us both, and sat in companionable silence listening to vintage Simple Minds. After a while, I realized that I was leaning against his shoulder and he was absentmindedly playing with a lock of my hair. I straightened up and moved to the opposite end of the couch, where I sat cross-legged looking at him.

  “Do you want to talk about your dad, Jess?” he asked. “He sounds like a hell of guy from all the stories that I heard today.”

  “He was the best, Will. He always supported me so much. In fact it was he who encouraged me academically. He was delighted when my penchant for numbers had become apparent. I was good at it and I enjoyed the sense of satisfaction from using mathematical concepts to solve problems,” I said.

  “I know what you mean,” Will agreed. “The rules and the fact that there is always a solution.”

  I nodded. “Pity life isn’t as straightforward.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “She’s completely different. I think that she had somehow missed the wave of feminism. She was working in the typing pool of a law firm in Edinburgh when she met Dad who was a fresh-faced, newly qualified solicitor. As soon as they married, she stopped working and played house until I came along. I asked her once, if there wasn’t something else that she wanted to do with her life and she looked at me like I was mad. “Why? I have everything that I ever wanted right here,” she told me.”

  Will smiled and we were silent for a moment.

  “I can’t quite grasp that he’s gone, even though we’ve just had his funeral and buried him.” I paused. “I loved him so much, but I just can’t seem to shed more than the odd tear.”

  “It’s because you’ve had to take charge and organize everything. It hasn’t hit you yet. You probably won’t start to grieve until you get back to London and stop rushing around,” he said.

  I knew he was right, but that didn’t make it any easier. I felt like I was letting my father down somehow by not crying over him as my mother spent the last few days doing.

  “When did you become so wise?” I asked.

  “Just call me Obi Wan Kenobi,” he said in a serious voice.

  “I always think of you as looking more like Yoda.” Lame joke, but it was all I had.

  Will feigned hurt at the comment, which made me smile.

  “How is your mum going to cope, Jess? Is she always like this?” he asked after a moment.

  “What? A drama queen? Yeah, she is. I don’t know how she’ll cope. At least he will have left everything set up for her financially, so she won’t have to worry.” The thought crossed my mind that sometimes lawyers were the last to tidy their own affairs. I prayed Dad wasn’t one of those.

  It had been an inspired decision on my part to stash the wine, it was very good. We talked and drank. Well, I talked, and Will listened until the wee hours. I think we went through Dad’s entire Simple Minds, Beatles and Rolling Stones collection.

  “Can I ask why Colin isn't here, Jess?” Will asked at one point.

  “The company’s need was greater than mine,” I replied in a small sad voice.

  A dark look crossed Will’s face.

  I jumped up and topped up our glasses.

  ***

  I woke to find myself cocooned by a strong male body. I froze as I realized that Will and I had fallen asleep on the couch. I looked over at the clock on the mantelpiece. 6:30 am. Oh shit. Will was sleeping like a baby, so I extricated myself so as not to wake him and sat up. My head was pounding. God, why did polishing off that bottle of wine seem like such a good idea last night?

  I grabbed a woolen throw that was draped over the back of one of the armchairs and laid it over Will before tiptoeing from the room. I crept up the stairs avoiding the center tread of steps three, six and eight, which I knew from experience as a teenager sneaking in after curfew creaked horribly. I went into the bathroom, swigged down a couple of paracetamol and then crawled into my own bed.

  A knock on my door awakened me a little later. I sat up rubbing my eyes and Will walked in carrying a mug of tea.

  “Hey, sleepyhead. I thought you might need this,” he smiled setting the cup down on my bedside table. “How’s your head?”

  “Pounding. There’s paracetamol in the bathroom if you need some,” I replied.

  “No. I’m okay,” he smiled sitting down on the edge of my bed. “What time did you come to bed?”<
br />
  “Six-thirty, what is it now?”

  “It’s nine. Do you mean you slept on the couch with me until then?”

  “Sshhh…” I put my fingers to my lips and pointed down the hall towards Mum’s room.

  “It’s okay, I’ve been downstairs having breakfast with her,” he replied.

  “Look, I think I unloaded on you last night. I was a bit drunk, so can I plead extenuating circumstances and have you just ignore everything I said?” I begged.

  Will got a wicked look in his eye. “Do I have to? You are really quite entertaining when you’re drunk.”

  I held my hands over my face. “Enough. Please just ignore me.” I was mortified. “Now shoo. I need to get up and find where I left my self-respect,” I said, chasing him from the bedroom.

  His laughter followed him back down the stairs.

  Chapter 7

  November 20

  The next few weeks flew past in a rush. Not only was work busy, but I was flying up to Edinburgh each weekend to help Mum sort through Dad’s things, although really it was to keep her company as much as anything. As I hoped, he had left everything well set up for her, but she was struggling to get going again.

  A couple of weekends after Dad died, I answered a knock at Mum’s door. It was one of Dad’s business partners, a thin man with kind face and a booming laugh.

  “Mr. Rawlings,” I said, opening the door wide.

  “Jess, how are you doing?” he asked.

  “Still getting over the shock, to be honest. I keep expecting him to just walk in the door. Would you like to come in?” I asked.

  “Another time, Jess, but I wanted to drop this around.” He passed the cardboard file box he was holding across to me. “We’ve had a clear out of your dad’s office. These are most of his personal things. Emily, his assistant, will drop around anything else.”

  “Thank you, I guess life goes on, doesn’t it,” I said.

  Mr. Rawlings reached out and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Jess. There’s a letter in there, addressed to you, which we found locked in his desk drawer.”