by Linda Coles
It hadn’t been his intention to be spotted. The man had stood by his vehicle watching the funeral like any other nosey local attendee. But she’d seen him, and that annoyed him because now it could make things difficult.
The summer sun glared in his eyes as he made his way back towards the motorway and towards his hotel. He’d shown his face, though unintentionally, but he’d needed to go and make sure that the old bastard was dead.
He owed them that much.
There wasn’t much else to do, apart from keep his nose clean and stay out of the way. Between them, they had come up with the plan, but it had been he who had actioned it on their behalf. Why? Because three of them were already dead. And why were they dead? Because Gerald Baker had killed them. He might not have meant to kill them, he might not have actually done it with his own hands, but they were dead nonetheless and it was all Gerald Baker’s fault. Their deaths were on his hands.
The man retrieved his iPhone from his inside pocket with one hand on the steering wheel, and with his other hand checked the time in LA on the phone app. It was late afternoon, so he pressed the appropriate number on his speed dial and waited for the phone to connect on the other side of the world. It didn’t take long before it was picked up. He recognised the male voice instantly and it gave him some comfort.
“How did it go?”
“Nothing remarkable; just as expected. It was a church service.”
“Didn’t think he’d be much of a churchgoer. Definitely dead, then?”
“Oh, definitely dead. I didn’t hang around to go to the crematorium and check it was him in the box, but the whole family—in fact, it seemed like half the village—were in the church. The old man certainly had a decent send-off.”
“He doesn’t deserve it.”
“No, but he won’t be doing any more damage.”
“Three dead is damage enough, but there will be no more. Not from his actions, anyway.”
“My flight home is tomorrow morning, so I’ll catch up with you sometime after I get back, eh?”
“Yes. Safe trip. And nice work.”
The man in the car rang off, then carried on towards his hotel and a change of clothes. He hadn’t packed much for his short visit; he was only in the country for one reason, and that reason was now taken care of. He’d made sure the old man was dead and buried. Now, he figured he might as well enjoy what London had to offer and be a tourist for the day. Tomorrow, he’d fly back to LA and carry on with his life.
As a lawyer.
Chapter Ten
As Chrissy had expected, the staff at the crematorium waited until everybody had gone before striking their match. A handful of family members and close friends had stayed for the brief service before seeing Gerald Baker finally rolled away to be turned into ash and dust. The next time she would see her father would be in an urn on the mantelpiece. They hadn’t talked much as a family of what was to happen to his ashes; he’d never stipulated that far ahead in his will. Chrissy suspected Julie would like them stored in some elaborate box on proud display and that her mother, given how annoyed she had been with him of recent, probably couldn’t care less. After forty-odd years of marriage, it seemed a sad end to things, but that kind of indifference was not unusual for many older couples, Chrissy knew. She hoped she and Adam wouldn’t fall out of love after forty years of marriage. They loved one another now even more than they had on their wedding day.
But everyone was different and different generations did things differently. Her mother and father had wed at a time when the woman stayed at home and cooked and the man went out to work. Chrissy didn’t ever remember her mother ever working a paid day in her life. Maybe if she had, Sandra Baker would have had a better understanding of what her husband had felt like at the end of each day. And maybe Gerald could have spent a day in Sandra’s shoes experiencing the monotony, the drudgery, the tediousness of running a home, of running a family, and how different it was to his own day. Maybe that way they could have shared each other’s lives a little more and deepened their relationship through understanding. It was all too late now.
The small local public house where they were all now stood was a busy hive of activity and conversation. Those who hadn’t attended the crematorium service had obviously started early on their gin and tonics and were now rowdily telling jokes and stories about the deceased. In a nearby corner, Chrissy could see three ruddy faces of people she knew from neighbouring properties, though somewhat worse for wear from the afternoon’s drinking session. A barmaid was busy pulling a pint as Chrissy made her way over to order herself a glass of wine, though it was a cup of tea she fancied more than alcohol. She caught the eye of the barmaid, who motioned with her chin that she would only be a moment. As Chrissy stood there on her own with lively chatter bouncing all around her, she was aware of Clara’s perfume filling her airspace once again. Turning slightly, Clara’s smile greeted her.
“What a lovely day it has been Chrissy. Well done to you and your family for organising such a splendid occasion.”
“I can’t really take credit, Clara,” she said. “It was Julia and Mother doing it all. I had nothing to do with it, really. And I believe Dad chose most of the hymns.”
“Well, still, it was a lovely service. Gerald would have loved it.”
The barmaid sauntered over. “What can I get you two girls?” she said brightly. Chrissy turned to Clara and offered to buy her a drink.
“Thank you, Chrissy. I’ll have a dry sherry, please.” Chrissy turned back to the barmaid and said, “I don’t suppose you can make a cup of tea, could you?”
“Of course I can, my love. I’ll get the sherry and bring your tea over shortly.” Chrissy smiled her appreciation and turned back to Clara. “I bet you know everybody here, don’t you?” she enquired.
“Yes, pretty much. I’ve been around the family long enough, though I don’t know all of Gerald’s work colleagues and business associates. A few strange faces. Why do you ask?”
“I noticed a chap earlier at the church, standing by his car. Did you see a him at all?”
Clara stood thoughtful for a moment before responding. “No,” she said, “can’t say that I do remember anyone like that. What did he look like?”
“He was smartly dressed in a nice suit. Probably mid-forties, and he was smoking a cigarette. Julie thought he looked quite handsome, but I didn’t notice that aspect. As soon as he saw me looking, he got in his car and drove off. I just thought it was a bit odd, really. Anyway, it was probably nothing. Just someone paying their respects.”
“Gerald knew an awful lot of people.”
“Yes, but for some reason I was curious who this one was.” Chrissy felt Adam approach her from behind. She always knew when Adam was close by; it was as if she picked up his scent or his vibe.
“What are you two lovely ladies chatting about?” he said now.
“Chrissy was just telling me about a man that she’d noticed smoking a cigarette, wondered who it was,” said Clara. “Did you see him, Adam?”
“I did, Clara. I was standing with Chrissy when she spotted him. And then he was gone.”
“Oh, a bit of intrigue—how exciting,” she said, rubbing her bony hands together as if they were cold.
“Well, I’m glad it made the funeral more fun for you,” said Chrissy lightly, smiling her intention. It was about then that Chrissy’s tea arrived on a tray and, more for something to do, she lifted the lid and stirred the pot’s contents with a spoon.
Adam caught the eye of the barmaid and called across. “Any chance of another cup?” The woman nodded and left in search of a cup for Adam.
“I think when we’ve drunk this we should head home, Chrissy. Is that okay with you? The boys will be waiting for us.”
Clara perked up at the mention of the boys. “I notice they weren’t here. Are they both okay?”
“Perfectly, thanks, Clara. They just opted not to attend.”
“How very modern. Give them both a kiss from
me when you see them, won’t you? It’s been too long since I last saw them. I bet they’ve grown!”
“I will,” said Chrissy. “And yes, they have. They are of that age. They have a reason for everything, but as long as it makes sense we don’t mind too much.”
“Well, I’ve just seen your Uncle Tom come through the door so I’m going to go and say hello and leave you two lovebirds to it.” Clara reached up and gave Chrissy and Adam each a peck on the cheek. They watched as she made her way over to a grey-haired gentleman that Chrissy hadn’t seen before.
“I didn’t know you had an Uncle Tom,” said Adam.
“I’ve no idea who it is,” said Chrissy. “But Clara seems to.”
Chapter Eleven
Four days later, Chrissy found herself at her mother’s place again. She’d stayed with Julie up until the funeral and for the first couple of nights afterwards, not really wanting to go home on her own. But two nights ago, she’d finally ventured back to her own place, to her own bed.
Both Julie and Chrissy had arranged to go around to their mother’s house and start sorting out their father’s belongings. Sandra had said very little since the funeral, and Chrissy hadn’t prodded, sensing that something besides her husband’s death was on her mind. She seemed angry. Julie had noticed it, too, and had voiced her concerns to Chrissy, who in turn had mentioned it to Adam, but there was little to be done until their mother decided to say something herself. If indeed there was indeed anything to be said at all.
So as Chrissy travelled to her mother’s place via Uber again, she was hoping that soon everything would return back to normal. Adam was at work; he didn’t need to take time off to support her. She was tough enough without his help, of course, but that didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate his offering. Julie, on the other hand, had played the perfect drama queen all the way through and continued to do so, draining every last ounce out of her performance. Richard, her husband, was keeping himself well away, it seemed. If Julie ever got herself a hobby it would be amateur dramatics. The thought amused Chrissy as the cab pulled into the driveway.
Julie was already in the doorway waiting, looking as immaculate as ever. Under her breath, Chrissy said, “It must take her hours. Perhaps I should try harder.”
I doubt it. You look great as you are.
Really? Thanks!
Dressed in khaki shorts and a T-shirt, she was the polar opposite of Julie in her pale pink linen dress suit. The woman never took a break from her severe appearance. And what the hell—Chrissy had great legs and chose to show them off.
“You’re looking summery,” Julie quipped lightly. It was her way of saying “You’re looking very casual today.”
“And you look lovely, though you look like you’re off to a wedding someplace. Have I missed out on an invitation?” It was Chrissy’s way of giving her sister back a gentle dig. She made her way up the steps and into the cool area off from the porch, following Julie to the back of the house that she knew so well. Passing the lounge and the study, they headed down to the kitchen at the back of the house and on through to the conservatory. It was almost identical to her sister’s own place. Julie’s husband, Richard, was sat in a wicker chair reading the morning’s paper. He looked as highly polished and ready for a wedding as Julie did.
“Hey, Richard,” Chrissy said. Richard looked over the top of his newspaper and his half-moon glasses and gave a weak smile as though he’d been interrupted.
“Hello, Chrissy,” he said briefly, and went straight back into his newspaper. Sure that she couldn’t be seen, Chrissy put her tongue out and wagged her head from side to side like a child would. Julie knew she did this, but never said anything mainly because she did it to her husband herself. Even though they dressed so differently, Julie and Chrissy had a lot in common—particularly their thoughts about Julie’s husband.
Dull as dishwater.
“Tea or coffee?” Julie enquired.
“Is there any Earl Grey or maybe green?”
“Mum has some green. Fancy some of that?”
“Sounds good.” Chrissy stepped over to the window at the back of the conservatory and peered out at the vast lawns behind the house. Julie had a gardener for her own place; she wasn’t one for getting her painted fingernails dirty. Derek, the young gardener, went twice a week and Chrissy had often wondered just what happened in the little potting shed at the end of her sister’s lawn.
She glanced over at Richard again. His bald patch was visible on the back of his head, a few stray wispy hairs combed over the top of it. Just as she’d always wanted to run her fingers through Julie’s stiff waves, she’d always wanted to rustle those few fine hairs. He was so far away from Derek in the looks department, he was off the scale. She’d seen Derek the gardener herself. He was many women’s hot dream, looking more like he’d stepped off Bondi Beach than Morecambe Beach. Chrissy could completely understand Julie’s fascination.
Richard rustled the newspaper before closing it and folding it in half, placing it on the matching wicker table in front of him. Julie walked in the door carrying a tray of refreshments and proceeded to unload the tray onto the small table. There was green tea for Julie and herself and a cafeteria of coffee for Mr. Dull.
He glanced over the tray then looked up at Julie and asked, “Cream?”
Chrissy wanted to slap him and tell him to get his own and stop being such a lazy git, but she restrained herself. It was none of her business. Julie scurried off back to the kitchen and came back with a small jug. She hadn’t been gone long enough to put arsenic into it, though Chrissy wondered if her sister had ever been tempted. She put the jug on the tray next to his cup and Chrissy watched, mesmerised, as Richard poured himself a mug full, topped it up with cream, picked it up and got to his feet without another word. She watched his back as he made his way to the door and off to the lounge down the hallway. She pulled her tongue out at him again.
“Stop it,” urged Julie. “One day he’ll catch you.”
“Yeah, yeah. He reminds me of Dad—such a stiff. Whatever do you see in him?”
“He’s a good man. A bit boring at times, but he provides for us well.”
Well, that’s all right then … He keeps the moggie well fed and the spa bill paid.
Both women sat back and fell deep into thought.
When Julie finally spoke, she said, “We’ll make a start as soon as we finish this.” She hoisted her teacup. “Mum will be down soon. She’s having a nap.”
Chrissy closed her eyes for a moment and relished the warmth of the sunshine beaming through the window onto her forehead. She could have fancied a nap herself.
“Can’t wait,” she said.
Chapter Twelve
Chrissy was fed up with waiting. Julie had her perfect nose in a magazine and was deeply engrossed in a tale of woe. A celebrity had probably broken a nail and been rushed to Cedars-Sinai to get it fixed. She checked her own while she waited; they could do with some love and attention themselves. Chrissy huffed out noisily, encouraging Julie to peer over her magazine and look questioningly at her sister in a motion almost identical to Richard’s greeting an hour ago. At least he was enjoying himself in another room down the hall or taking a nap, Chrissy thought miserably.
“Right. I’m bored now,” she announced jumping to her feet. “If Mum’s still sleeping, I’m going to make a start on his den.”
“You can’t start without her. That’s neither nice nor fair.”
“She doesn’t want to do it anyway. Isn’t that why we’re both here?”
“Yes, I know but still.”
“Still nothing. I’ve stuff to be doing. Are you going to come and give me a hand? Or sit and finish your reality trash magazine?”
Julie folded open the page she’d been reading, planning on returning to it later. Chrissy caught the main image, Meghan and Harry.
Dear Lord. Suits will never be the same.
You hate Suits?
Don’t hate Harvey.
&nbs
p; “I’ll get the bin liners from the kitchen,” Chrissy announced with authority as Julie finally found her legs and stood. The pins she wore as heels looked like they’d pierce a rhino’s skin, they were so pointed. Chrissy preferred her flats; there’d be no bunions on her feet in the foreseeable future. The pins made a loud clacking sound as they followed Chrissy into the kitchen, though there was no need to. Chrissy was quite capable of retrieving the rubbish bags on her own. Still, at least she was helping.
They headed to their father’s den, an ample-sized room towards the front of the house. As children, they’d avoided the place like the plague, though not for any other reason than that their father hated them going in there. It had been considered his sanctuary though the girls, as they’d grown up and understood more, had never actually found out what he had been seeking sanctuary from.
Chrissy pushed open the large oak door and both women stood in the doorway, looking in. It smelled musty, like it hadn’t had the windows open in months, but the polished floor gleamed as if it had been freshly worked on yesterday, which they knew hadn’t been the case. To their knowledge, no one had entered the room since their father’s death. Chrissy marched over to the bay window and yanked at the catch to open it.
“It stinks in here, and it’s hot.”
The pins entered and clicked slowly towards the back of the room, where an ample leather desk chair sat behind an old wooden desk. Julie sat in it and swivelled slightly from side to side, Chrissy looking on.
“I guess you’re allowed to now,” Chrissy said. “He’d turn in his urn if he could see you now.” She couldn’t stop the giggle that followed.
“You’re so crass sometimes, Chrissy. Turn in his grave, I think you meant to say.”
“Nope. Turn in his urn. That’s where he is, right?”
Julie carried on swivelling as Chrissy took a black plastic bag from the roll and tore it off. It rattled as she shook it open and it filled with air. There was a large cupboard along the far wall and she headed towards it as Julie watched from her seat. Chrissy turned the key in the lock, the doors creaked open, and she saw inside a part of her father’s world for the very first time. The entire cupboard was filled with shelves upon shelves of books, almost identical-looking from their spines. Chrissy peered in closer and pulled one out. It looked like a diary of sorts, and she flicked through the pages. It was almost a scrapbook. There were handwritten notes, cuttings, odd photos and what looked like mementos. She glanced back into the cupboard and roughly counted the number of similar-looking spines. There were at least forty of them. Had her father been keeping a record of his life?