by Julia Thomas
Daniel didn’t text again, and she shrugged it off. What did it matter when there were people at home who needed her? Her responsibilities would shift now, though just how, she wasn’t certain. It might be necessary for her to go home more often, or look for a program in neuromuscular diseases closer to Llandudno, if such a thing existed.
She went to bed but couldn’t sleep. Pulling back the curtain, she lay on her pillow, staring out at the night sky. Of course, she could see little of it from here; the buildings all around obscured most of the view, but when she was out of doors in a park or on a large green, she always looked at the constellations. As a teen, she’d been given a book on them, and she and Nick had spent long evenings searching the twilight with cheap telescopes and binoculars almost as worthless as the cardboard tubes they’d devised as children. She hated how hard it was to focus through any sort of device; her peripheral vision always drew her eye away and prevented her from concentrating. It was much easier to see what could be observed with the naked eye, and in any case, the wider view of stars and Saturn and meteoroids was much more dramatic. They had always hoped to see a comet one day. Nick had said if they only spent long enough searching, they would discover one, like Halley, and they would call it Carey’s Comet. Sometimes he mentioned it even now, in his emails. I was watching for Carey’s Comet tonight, he had written only a few weeks before, and she’d thought it touching that he remembered the silly, obscure thoughts they’d shared when they were young. It made her feel connected to him, and glad to know someone cared about her no matter what. She hadn’t meant to neglect him after Tamsyn’s funeral, but she wasn’t herself just now. He had to understand that, surely.
Early the next morning, Carey was at Euston Station. The crowds were overwhelming, people pushing and shoving their way through to their various destinations. She bought a newspaper out of boredom and wished for a cup of coffee as she stood, waiting. A family with children was standing next to her, the young boys bumping into her with their toys and knapsacks. It would be hard to travel with small children during peak hours, she knew, trying not to be annoyed by them. The youngest was two or three, with a heavy tin truck he rolled back and forth on the ground, twice running over her feet and once banging her in the ankle so hard she cried out. His parents didn’t even look at her. She rubbed her ankle and tried to move away from them, but the crowd behind her had grown too large for her to get far. She was about to step into the aisle when she felt a strong hand grasp her arm just above the elbow. She turned in surprise to find Daniel standing behind her. He shrugged his shoulders at her inquiring look.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m coming with you. I want to see where you and Tamsyn grew up. Maybe there’s some sort of clue there.”
“Oh, no,” she declared. A knot of anxiety worked its way from her stomach to her throat. “There isn’t, really. Tamsyn rarely went home. And honestly, there’s nothing there for you to do. I’m just going to spend time with my family. They’re taking it hard.”
“I want to go,” he said, refusing to budge. “I need to.”
“There’s not enough room for you,” she lied. No matter what, she couldn’t let Daniel Richardson board that train. “Why didn’t you ring me first?”
“I knew you’d say no.”
“Well, you’re right. You’ve gotten up early for nothing.”
Daniel shrugged again. He might have been used to getting what he wanted, but she wasn’t her sister. She didn’t have to bring him along. In fact, she couldn’t.
“I’m coming with you,” he repeated in her ear.
They were deadlocked. What would her parents say? They had always gone to such lengths to keep their lives private. Nick wouldn’t be happy to see him either. Carey turned away and watched as the throng of people began to move toward the train.
“I’m sorry, but there are a few things I need to take care of,” she said, glancing up at him. “I’ll ring you if anything happens.”
“The last I heard, all citizens are free to travel,” he said, moving forward along with the crowd.
She tightened her grip on her bag and followed him helplessly. He made his way through the cluster of people, his bag slung over his shoulder, and boarded the train without once looking to see if she was still behind him.
Arrogant prat, she thought. Sighing, she followed him into the car. Without a word, he took her bag and stowed it in the luggage compartment.
She looked on her ticket for the seat number, watching as Daniel moved down the aisle to find his own. She found her place and sat down with the newspaper clutched in her hands, staring out the window. How was she going to explain this to her family? She would have to ring before they arrived, because she knew Daniel wouldn’t stop until he’d come to the house. Stealing a glimpse, she saw he was listening to music on his iPod, his eyes closed as if he had forgotten her existence. Carey turned, fuming, as an older man in a crisp blue-striped suit came and stood over her, holding up his ticket.
“Are you the window seat?” she asked, picking up her handbag to dig through it to find hers. She hadn’t looked at it that carefully.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I can take this one.”
She gave a wan smile and then turned back toward the window. The train jerked to a start and began to move down the tracks. She focused her gaze as far in the distance as she could, knowing that if she looked at the ground rushing by below, it would make her feel ill. After they had rolled out of London, she took stock of the situation. The businessman was engrossed in a book, Daniel looked as though he’d fallen asleep, and the forward rush of the train calmed her nerves. She took out her mobile and dialed her parents’ house. Her mother answered after just one ring.
“Mum, it’s me,” Carey murmured. “I need to tell you something.”
“What is it?” Miranda Burke asked. Her voice wavered, as it had since the day Tamsyn died. They would be fragile for a long time.
“I’m coming home. I’m on the train now, but there’s a problem.”
“What sort of problem?” her mother asked. Carey could hear the concern in her voice.
“Daniel Richardson is coming with me.”
There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the phone. “I don’t suppose you invited him.”
“Of course not, but I can’t very well stop him either.”
“I’ll take care of it, then,” Miranda said after a moment. “I’ll talk to Karen. She’ll be happy to lend a hand.”
“Good,” Carey said, relieved. “And I’m sorry.”
“I’m glad you’re coming home. It will do us a world of good to see you.”
“Be there soon,” she said in a low voice.
“Be safe.”
The words echoed in her ears long after she ended the call. All a mother ever wants is for her children to be safe. Tamsyn’s death had ruined everything. Her mother would worry every time Carey was out of her sight from now on, and she couldn’t blame her. At least for now, she was relieved that the immediate concern was taken care of. She could take Daniel Richardson to her parents’ home, let him have a cup of tea and a meal, and convince him there was nothing more that he could do there. Why would he want to waste his time like this anyway? The killer was in London, not in a remote corner of Wales. She closed her eyes, trying to take her mind off everything; a task that seemed, at this moment, simply too difficult to manage.
Sometime later, she jerked up in her seat, jostled from sleep. The newspaper had fallen to the floor, and she couldn’t tell from the landscape where they were. She fumbled in her pocket for her phone to check the time and found it was nearly half past eleven. They were due to arrive any minute. A glance at Daniel confirmed he was indeed still there, engrossed in his book. She squinted in order to read the title from three rows away, but couldn’t manage to do it. Instead, she accidentally caught his eye, and h
e smiled at her as if they were on a jolly holiday with a busload of friends and had been inadvertently separated. She tried to smile and turned back around, drumming her fingers on the armrest, wishing she had never texted him about coming home at all.
When the train stopped, Daniel stamped his foot, which had gone numb. He was grateful to get up and move around, following Carey to the luggage rack to retrieve their bags. Carey’s had fallen behind some of the others and was wedged in, taking an extra effort to pull it out. They made their way through the station and found Owen Burke waiting for them near the entrance. Daniel followed Carey over to her father and watched as she hugged him hard. He set down his bag to shake the older man’s hand.
“It’s nice to see you again, sir,” he said.
“You too, and you’re very welcome,” Carey’s father replied. “We’d better get back.”
Daniel picked up his bag and they walked to the car. The wind whipped in from the Irish Sea, making him glad he’d worn a jacket. A storm was in the offing. Carey got in the front seat next to her father, and he folded his tall frame into the back. It was such a tight fit he thought of getting out and taking a taxi to the house, but instead, he adjusted his knees as well as he could and leaned sideways into his bag, which he’d placed next to him on the seat.
Burke took a sharp right and then a left into Somerset Street, going north. They drove for a while until they came to Llewelyn Avenue. There was a church at the corner and rows of comfortable houses in every direction. Most were whitewashed, as he had expected so close to the sea, but a few had brick fronts. Cars were parked in tidy rows up and down the road. Chimneys bristled from every rooftop and it was easy to imagine them covered in snow. Even the lines on the roads seemed to have been freshly painted. Before Daniel even set foot in the house, he knew Tamsyn and Carey had had a good childhood, full of hot soups and wet, furry dogs and parties at Christmas. It made it easier to understand Carey, the dutiful daughter, but harder to understand Tamsyn.
Carey hurried ahead of them and opened the large green front door. The garden in the front of the house was small, and he could see that the next street beyond cut the size of the back gardens considerably, particularly the Burkes’, which was on the corner. There were small trees and clumps of tulips in front of the house, along with a short iron fence designed, no doubt, to keep out neighboring dogs.
“We’re home,” he heard Carey call out as she headed toward the kitchen. Owen Burke led him into the house, and he went through the door and shut it behind him.
“They’re back there,” Burke said, pointing ahead of him.
Miranda Burke came into the hall, an apron tied around her waist. “Daniel, it’s nice to see you. I have lunch ready if you’re hungry.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Burke. May I wash my hands, please?”
“Of course. Through that door and to your left.” She came forward, took his bag, and set it on the floor by the entry table, an indication, he knew, that he wouldn’t be asked to stay.
Of course, it was presumptuous coming with Carey, but after talking to Inspector Murray, there was nothing he could do in London. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t stay there while Carey went to Wales, though he already doubted there were any answers for him here. Tamsyn didn’t seem to fit into this house and her family any more than she did anywhere else. What was it about people who never seemed to belong anywhere?
More than ever, he wished she were alive again, to help him unlock the mysteries of her enigmatic life. Without that as an option, he had no idea how to discover even the smallest thing about her.
He washed his hands, peering out the door to make sure no one was about. Then he stepped into the next closest room, a smaller sitting room than the one at the front of the house. He glanced around, noting nothing out of the ordinary. A pair of armchairs sat in front of the window across from a sofa, which looked fairly worn. This was where they spent most of their time, he decided, in front of the telly. A knitting basket had been tucked under a table next to one of the chairs, and an open book was balanced on the footrest. Shelves ran along the back wall, holding a few small framed photos and books and a collection of teapots.
He went over to look at the photos. There was one of Tamsyn at six or seven with a missing front tooth, standing in the back garden holding a pup. He was surprised to see that her hair had been blonde then. In fact, she looked more like Carey than he’d realized. Another frame held a photo of Carey as a teenager, her head tucked down shyly, her hands crossed on her lap. Another of Carey with Nick Oliver, who, he recalled, lived next door. He noticed that one of the silver frames, no larger than the palm of his hand and in need of polish, had had the photograph removed.
This house, while worn in spots and comfortably lived in, was not neglected. The empty photo frame felt out of place. He put it down and left the room. Carey was walking toward him, clearly coming to get him.
“Hungry?” she asked.
“Yes, quite.”
She led him into the dining room, where the table had already been laid. A large tureen sat in the center with smaller ones about, a real luncheon of roast and potatoes. There were cloth napkins and a vase with three roses, which had obviously been sitting there for a couple of days already, the buds open, just before the bloom goes. He got the feeling they ate like this every day. Miranda Burke ran her household in a proper, traditional manner, every meal an observance of the life they lived together. With some anticipation, he took his seat next to Carey, across from her father, and watched Mrs. Burke lift the lid of the tureen, steam rising above the roast. He could have asked for nothing more.
“This is very kind, Mrs. Burke. I don’t often have a home-cooked meal.”
“Miranda, please,” she said, smiling.
“Mum loves to cook,” Carey said, taking the lid from a bowl of roasted potatoes. “She could have done it professionally.”
“Don’t be silly,” Miranda replied as she handed Daniel a bowl of Brussels sprouts dripping in butter. “How was the trip?”
“Fine,” they both replied at the same time.
“Did you sleep on the train?” her mother asked. Without waiting for a reply, she said to Daniel, “She always does. She has ever since she was a girl.”
“What were you reading?” Carey asked Daniel. He couldn’t tell whether she was interested or just making conversation.
“A Graham Greene. It has that snappy 1940s dialogue.”
“I wonder why you’re not a writer, then. You’re snappy yourself.”
He looked up over the roast beef to see if she was teasing, but she was concentrating on moving her vegetables around the plate with her fork. Taking advantage of the momentary lull, he looked up at the wall behind her, where Miranda had hung a number of frames on the wall. Some were photographs of the family and others were prints of ivy and blackberry leaves and roses, probably cut from the pages of an old book of nineteenth-century English naturalists. He studied them surreptitiously between bites, knowing he would never be in this house again. With Carey beside him, he realized that he was sitting in Tamsyn’s chair, and she must have looked at those same photos and prints hundreds of times. The conversation picked up around him, a general discussion of who had done what in the village and people Carey knew who’d asked after her, when suddenly Daniel realized that something was wrong.
He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The Burkes were polite, but of course their manner was somewhat forced. That in itself was not unusual, so soon after losing their oldest daughter and having to entertain unexpected company. The photos behind Carey were ordinary, just as the ones in the sitting room had been, a tableau of the Burke family through the years: a photo of them all together in front of a church when the girls were small; one of Tamsyn with a couple of friends at the beach; another of Carey as a toddler, asleep on her mother’s shoulder. The photos were interesting but normal, and his
brow furrowed as he looked from photo to photo, trying to figure out what was bothering him.
“Would you like some more potatoes?” Miranda Burke asked. She caught his eye, and he knew she was trying to distract him from whatever it was she thought he was doing.
“I’m fine, thanks,” he murmured. He kept his eyes on his plate for another few minutes before he looked up again. This time he knew exactly what was wrong.
Two of the prints had just been put there, as recently as that very morning, he was certain. Something else had hung in their place until the Burkes had learned of his imminent arrival. The sun had faded the wallpaper around each of the frames, and the new prints weren’t quite large enough to conceal the darker section of wallpaper that had been covered with something else only hours before.
He was mystified. First, the empty photo frame in the sitting room, and now, two photos taken from the wall. What was it the Burkes didn’t want him to see? What could possibly be so inflammatory that it had to be removed because he was coming? He felt Carey’s eyes on him and turned toward her.
She knew exactly what he was thinking, he realized, looking into her unblinking eyes. All he had to do now was get her alone.
Twenty-Five
Once Daniel had noticed the two pictures on the wall, the meal seemed interminable. Every sound became annoying: the clank of cutlery scraping against plates, the glasses clinking on the mahogany table, the muffled flap of serviettes brought to lips and down to laps over and over. The food lost its taste and the conversation became something of an inquisition: “Tell us about your parents.” “How long have you been in films?” “What plans do you have for summer?” as though he could think a couple of months ahead when the girl he loved was dead. How could they make pointless conversation, he wondered, just days after seeing their child put into the ground and dirt shoveled over her, wrenching her from them forever?