Any Day

by Brian Lancaster

  Inside he discovered a flyer for a church summer fair and, tucked inside that, a letter on what seemed like tracing paper—very thin, almost translucent. Carefully unfolding the delicate paper, he read the words.

  My Beloved Luke,

  I received your letter, and I know you told me not to reply, but how could I not, no matter how risky? Which is why I am using this envelope and a typed label, so your family will hopefully suspect nothing.

  Leonard held his breath, reading the words, realising Toni had been right. There had been a secret someone in Luke’s life.

  My love, I share your pain, of course I do. We live in an age of contradictions, where we can drive a car, marry a girl and start a family. An era where we can fight and kill, or be killed for our country, and even get drunk every night of the week—but one where we are not allowed to be together, not in the way we wish to be.

  Know only this, that I love you deeply and unashamedly, that I am content to wait the three more years until you reach the age of consent. Even then, things won’t be easy, our families and friends may not understand, may be hurt and confused, may even turn against us, but we will weather that storm because we will have each other and will stand firm together.

  As far as the furniture is concerned, you cannot hope to salvage everything, my love. So I suggest you board up your favourite cupboard behind the wall when you decorate and before your family can take that away from you. From what I know of them, they will never know anything’s missing. Come a little earlier this summer, and I promise to help. I have some beautiful photographs of us to show you.

  Most importantly, don’t lose hope. One day, we will do all the things we’ve talked about. We’ll tour Italy, visiting Venice and riding in a gondola together, we’ll climb the Spanish steps in Rome, cycle through Tuscany and watch the sunset in Florence. We’ll even visit the old war memorials of northern France, if that’s what you really want. And I promise to stand beside you while you photograph every precious moment.

  But for now, my love, be patient and keep the faith, our faith.

  Forever yours,

  XXX

  Leonard sat at the dining room table, reverently refolding and placing the letter back into the envelope. After a pause, a moment of reflection, he opened the larger pack, the old-fashioned type with the cardboard backing.

  Very gingerly, he slid out a collection of beautifully maintained photographs, six vivid eleven-by-fourteen-inch black and white portraits. But he did not need to study them all, because when he saw the one on the top, the one that met his eyes, of Luke being held by another man, both smiling at each other, everything fell into place. On the back, in the same careful handwriting as the letter, a short message was penned—

  One day we will be able to hang this photograph for everyone to see. One day, when we have a home of our own, when we are both free from commitments, we will live together and nobody can touch us, nobody will be able to come between us and our love.

  And right then, right on cue, he heard the sliding door at the back of the house swoosh open.

  Adrian had returned.

  “Ade, come over here. You need to see this.”

  Footsteps entered the room but came to a stop a few paces away. When Leonard looked up from the table, the person standing there, the person pointing a sawn-off shotgun at his head, was not Adrian.

  “You couldn’t leave well alone, could you?” came the voice. “You had to pry. You had to keep digging.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Intuition

  All the way along the route to the superstore, Adrian had been smiling to himself. If anyone were to ask any of his workmates about his annoying habits, they would mention his obsessiveness about keys and locks and security in general. The fact that he had left them on the table spoke volumes about how much of a distraction Lenny Day had become, and how much he had let his usual unwavering guard down.

  He found a spot in the retail park near the front of the superstore. To optimise his time, he decided to walk across the main road to the Chinese restaurant and place his order. Then, while the kitchen prepared his food, he would head back to the superstore and stock up with drinks and breakfast items. If the weather stayed clear and sunny for the whole weekend, he would treat Lenny to breakfast in the morning, served on his new terrace.

  Fortunately, probably due to the early hour, the Chinese restaurant was empty, and after placing his order and paying, he strode across to the superstore. He stocked up with breakfast items, then headed for the alcohol aisle, preparing to pick out beers and wine for their meal. Rounding a corner, he almost bumped into another shopper carrying a basket. Without looking up, the woman moved to one side and began to pass by Adrian, until he realised he knew the person.

  “Freya. How are you?”

  Startled at being addressed, Freya recovered quickly and managed a smile. She wore rather unflattering baggy tracksuit bottoms in grey cotton, with a large woollen sweater in oatmeal, the sleeve cuffs pulled down over her hands as though trying to keep them warm.

  “As good as can be expected. Where’s Leonard?”

  “He’s back home, putting finishing touches to the house.”

  “On his own?” asked Freya, her eyes widening for a moment.

  “Yes,” said Adrian, smirking. “Don’t worry, he’s a big boy. I volunteered to come out and do the shopping. We’re having a takeaway tonight from the shop across the road.”

  “That’s nice,” she replied, about to turn away. “Anyway, I’d better—”

  “We found some of Luke’s personal belongings, by the way. Hidden away in an old dresser concealed in the wall.”

  “Did you?” she asked, turning back, suddenly interested. “And?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary. An old camera and tripod stand, some books and old Polaroids.” Freya looked away and smiled, nodding. “Nice, actually. Lots with your friends when you were younger. One included a good-looking, blond-haired guy. Standing by a tractor wheel. I don’t suppose you remember who that was?”

  From Freya’s expression, Adrian could tell she was not impressed.

  “Tim something. Can’t remember his last name. Danish. He hung around us sometimes that year. Thought he was God’s gift. Too loud, too brash for my liking. But he got on really well with the boys. And Pippa, of course. Well, she pretty much threw herself at anyone back then. Tim worked for Megan’s mum and dad behind the bar over the summer. He went off to London after that.”

  “Wasn’t that the same year your dad passed away?”

  “Yes.” She sighed, a wistfulness filling her eyes. “I try not to think about it.”

  “I talked to PC Morgan. He said your dad drowned. An accident. I’m really sorry.”

  Freya seemed to deflate.

  “All so senseless, so preventable. Fixing a fence on the steep side of the duck pond. Nobody knew Dad couldn’t swim. How ridiculous is that? Not that the pond was usually deep. Water rarely came up to the waist, according to Geraint Hughes, the farmer, but we’d had heavy rains that year. Still find it difficult to conceive. They had the pond drained and filled in after that. Never forgave himself, Hughes, God rest his soul.”

  “And then Howard disappeared the year after.”

  Freya appeared confused.

  “Sorry? Disappeared? Howie left, he didn’t disappear. He’d always planned to go travelling after he turned twenty-one. We all knew that, Gran as well as Dad.”

  “But people said he just upped and vanished.”

  This comment got a reaction—a sharp shake of the head followed by a loud huff of disapproval.

  “Which people?”

  “Everyone. Pippa, Mrs Llewellyn—”

  “Heavens. What’s the expression? Small towns, small minds? Just because he didn’t throw a big going-away party—which would hardly have been appropriate a year after burying Dad—doesn’t mean he disappeared. You should have asked me. I am his sister, after all. Yes, he left Newbridge. But he kept in touch,
still does. He’s living just outside Jakarta in Indonesia right now with his wife and three kids. Keeps writing to ask when I’m going to visit. But I’m not one for travel. Now his oldest is at university, he may visit with his wife one day. He’s always threatened to show her the dung heap he grew up in.”

  Adrian smiled and shook his head. He needed to head back and let Lenny know. At least that was one mystery solved.

  “Look,” said Freya, looking about herself. “I really need to rush—”

  “Before you go, Freya. Lenny’s going to throw a house-warming party on the twenty-eighth of this month, Saturday afternoon. He’s probably going to invite you formally anyway, but please say you’ll come?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m not good with crowds—”

  “But you ought to come along and see how beautiful the finished house looks. Lenny’s put so much effort into restoring the place and I know he would love to have you there. Pippa will be there, too.”

  “Let me think about it.”

  “Please do. And one other thing before you go. Sorry to keep harping back to this, but the year Luke took his own life, did you see him? Pippa said he used to come down early, before the rest of the family.”

  “No. Everything happened at Easter. We only saw the Darlingtons during the summer. Nobody knew he was here. Usually he’d send a card to let us know and we’d get the place ready for them. But then, Gran and I were the only ones here. Howie had already left and Pippa was at university.”

  “I see,” said Adrian, recognising her eagerness to go. “Well, have a nice evening. And don’t forget what I said.”

  “I won’t,” she said, heading off. He watched her go and noticed her discard her basket containing the few goods she’d picked on a pile of boxes by the checkout before rushing out to the car park, to an old black Ford Fiesta. She was an odd little thing, Freya, living a life of solitude, and Adrian almost felt sorry for her. Except that he had lived a similar life before meeting Lenny.

  Back to business, Adrian stood at one end of the long wine aisle and scratched his head. He had no clue about wine. Beers he could handle. Felippe had talked about various types of grape and wine, which one suited which food, how to properly decant a bottle of red. But Adrian had paid little attention apart from learning the names, so he made sure to fetch the right bottle. Did people drink a specific wine with Chinese food?

  “Having a spot of trouble over there?” asked a cheerful older man who had stopped next to him, confidently picking out wines and putting them in his cart.

  “I am, actually. I know this is going to sound like a stupid question, but what wine would you recommend to go with Chinese food?”

  “Actually, that’s not stupid at all. In the past we’d never have used those words in the same sentence, wine and Chinese food. But honestly, these days, everyone has their own preference. And, of course, it’ll depend on the dishes you’re serving. People forget that China is a huge country with lots of regional varieties of cuisine. But my rule of thumb is that for your basic stir-fry or deep-fried dishes I go with something acidic like a Riesling or a Pinot Gris. If you prefer red wine, then you can’t go wrong with a Pinot Noir. Here’s a nice, reasonably priced Pinot Noir from Napa Valley, and the Rieslings and other white wines are at the end.”

  “Thanks for your help. I’ll get a bottle of each.”

  “Sounds like a good plan. Enjoy your meal and have a nice evening.”

  “You too.”

  Adrian watched the old guy move off. People tended to be much friendlier and more helpful in the smaller towns, which Adrian took to be a universal truth. He’d had similar experiences in Drayton. In London, people had been more inclined to keep themselves to themselves.

  Satisfied with his purchases, he finished up at the checkout and dropped his shopping in the truck cabin before heading back to the Chinese restaurant. With his bags of hot food, he returned to the truck again, passing by a police car parked up in the retail park. He had been about to text Lenny when he spotted PC Morgan sitting in the driving seat with the window wound down, his elbow poking out.

  “Trouble?” asked Adrian as he drew level and caught PC Morgan’s gaze.

  PC Morgan laughed.

  “There will be, son, if they’ve run out of chocolate digestive biscuits. Bobby—PC Lewis—is getting them for the boys back at the station. Here he comes now. And he’s smiling, so that’s usually a good sign.”

  “Quiet day?”

  “You could say that.”

  “What you got there?” asked PC Lewis, grinning at Adrian before resting his backside on the bonnet of the car. Adrian hadn’t appraised the younger PC Lewis before, but he seemed far more relaxed and friendlier than the policemen Adrian had dealt with in London.

  “Chinese takeaway. And before you ask, there’s only enough for two.”

  PC Lewis laughed good-naturedly.

  “And how’s the house coming along?” asked PC Morgan.

  “Pretty much finished,” said Adrian, with a smirk, before jiggling the phone in his hand. “Lenny had the home security specialists around. Motion detector lights front and back, with a top-of-the-range home security system. Constant surveillance and infrared motion sensors like something out of a Mission Impossible film. I can even see everything from my phone—front and back of the property and throughout the downstairs interior. The security company should have registered the address and landline with you at the station, in case there’s any more trouble.”

  “Be good to come and have a look at some point,” said PC Morgan.

  “You’d be more than welcome.”

  “Anything else since the last incident?” asked PC Lewis.

  “If there was, you’d have been the first to know. But no, there’s been nothing.”

  “Bobby checked the road cameras along the surrounding A roads for that night, but there was no unusual traffic, nobody speeding away from your area.”

  “I called Mr Lamperton and told him already, boss. Either they knew to avoid the cameras, or they were on foot or maybe on pushbikes,” said PC Lewis.

  “Out of interest, Mr Lamperton, can I take a look? At the camera security system on your phone?” asked PC Morgan.

  Adrian didn’t want to hang around chit-chatting. He wanted to get back to the comfort of Bryn Bach and Lenny, but he obliged the older police constable. After all, they would probably be the ones called out if an alarm went off. At some point over the weekend, he needed to talk Lenny through the system operation. Obliging PC Morgan, he opened the app and tapped in the password, displaying a full-screen colour feed of the front driveway. After a glance at the crystal-clear view of the front gate of the house, he passed the phone over to PC Morgan and watched amused as the policeman poked his finger at the screen.

  “We’ve had no eyewitnesses to the incident,” continued a playfully grinning PC Lewis, who had clearly seen the humour in his old boss navigating the telephone app. “But honestly, in that secluded part of town I’m not surprised. Bryn Bach’s the only house for about two miles in any direction. I told you we had some reports of vandalism over the holiday weekend—kids, they think—but yours was the only one involving a petrol bomb. If anyone does come forwards, we’ll let you know.”

  “Look at that,” said PC Morgan, showing the phone display to his colleague. “Clear as summer’s day.”

  “Yes, boss,” said PC Lewis, rolling his eyes at Adrian. “I’ve seen similar set-ups. Much better quality than our traffic cameras.”

  “Difficult not to be,” said PC Morgan, chuckling at the screen and swiping awkwardly with his finger.

  “Anyway, gents,” said Adrian, wanting to wrap up and get away, “I should be heading back before the food gets cold.”

  “Just came from down from your way,” said PC Lewis, standing straight and about to move around to the passenger side of the car. “Almost tempted to pull over a motorcyclist heading for Newbridge. That wasn’t your Mr Day, was it? If so, you should tell him to keep an eye
on his speed. Lucky for him we don’t have the new integrated digital speedometer fitted yet. I bet if we’d clocked him, he’d have been over the legal limit.”

  “Lenny drives an SUV—”

  “And there’s your Mr Day now, talking to his guest,” said PC Morgan, squinting his eyes at the phone as he talked over Adrian.

  “Guest?” said Adrian, puzzled. “We don’t have a guest. At least we didn’t when I left the house about an hour ago. Our two friends left this morning.”

  “Hang on, let’s look from the other end of the room. Yes, there you go. See if you can recognise—” PC Morgan expression morphed into a frown. After pushing his forefinger on the screen a couple of times, he turned the phone to PC Lewis then to Adrian. “Son, I think we’ve got a problem. Do you recognise this person?”

  There on the screen stood a figure carrying what looked to be a shortened shotgun pointed directly at Lenny. Wearing a grey tracksuit with a grey hoodie covering the head and the upper part of the face, the heavy-set figure was impossible to identify. Maybe that had been their intention.

  “Shit,” said Adrian, his pulse speeding up, cold dread running down his spine. “I’ve never met the guy but, from how Lenny described him, I think that might be his cousin, Matthew. And he has a motorcycle, so maybe that’s who you passed. Although honestly, the two things might be unrelated, and that person could be anyone. Why the hell would they be pointing a shotgun at Lenny? I have to get back. He needs my help.”

  “Hold on, son,” said PC Morgan, placing a hand on Adrian’s arm. Like a switch being flicked, both his and PC Lewis’ comportment changed, both straightening up and becoming serious, their professional training kicking in. “You’re not doing anything. This is our problem now. Does this security system of his record sound?”