Flowers for the Dead

by Barbara Copperthwaite

  He is trying to lighten the mood with that last comment, Mike knows, and takes up the joking tone.

  “Yeah? What you going to do if I don’t? Arrest me?”

  “It’s an idea. You look dodgy enough if that bloody mac.”

  “You’re attacking my dress sense? You? The man who thinks it’s still 1986?”

  The two men continue for another ten minutes, trying to joke their cares away. One forgetting about murder, one obliterating the pain of loss. Neither succeeds, but the companionship of effort is comforting.

  ***

  The dripping tap is getting worse. It has been leaking for weeks and Laura has not bothered doing anything about it, mainly because she does not know what to do. She knows her mother would have muttered something about a washer going, and got Seamus to fix it.

  Of course, that is not an option for Laura.

  The soft thud, thud, thud of droplets into the white basin gets into her head and is impossible to ignore as she lies in her bath, trying to warm up after a cheek-stingingly cold walk home from work. It isn’t even December but people are already talking about the possibility of a white Christmas with excitement in their voices, but right now all Laura can think about is that tap, and what its noise reminds her of.

  Dangling helplessly upside down. Hearing Marcus’s blood pattering onto the roof, his head split open, brains on show. Listening to his life escaping.

  Surging forward impatiently, sending bathwater sloshing around her, Laura reaches over to the sink and grips the tap with both hands. She tugs at it with all her strength but the dripping does not slow. There will be no long, relaxing soak for her, not now. With a sigh, she pulls the plug.

  Minutes later she is dry and bundled up in a claret-coloured thick, fluffy towelling robe that has a hood she pulls up to make herself even cosier. Then she pulls on her favourite slipper socks, which are exactly the same colour as her robe, but have jazzy sequins sewn onto the outside and have a fake fur lining. They are so thick that they make her size four feet look as wide as they are long as she pads into her lounge, flops onto the sofa with a dramatic sigh, and dials Aunt Linda.

  “I just wondered if maybe Uncle Kieran could come round some time to have a look at my tap?” she explains after chatting for a couple of minutes.

  “Just a sec…” There is a muffled yell as her aunt calls to her husband. Within seconds she is back to Laura. “He can come over at the weekend; that okay?”

  “That’s brilliant, thanks for that.”

  She will simply avoid baths until the weekend, stick to only having her usual morning showers instead. And keep the bathroom door shut tight so that the noise does not filter through to her bedroom.

  ***

  Adam is staying in a B&B in Ipswich, twenty miles away, as he watches the scene play out – he likes to vary the locations he uses so that he never becomes a familiar face.

  He does not see the point in bothering someone else with this simple plumbing job; it is his responsibility to look after Laura. So the next day, when she goes to work, he drives to her place and changes the washer. It only takes five minutes, and he cleans up after himself to ensure his beloved does not come home to a mess. He knows from various women’s magazines he has skim read that a pet peeve about men in general is that they take an age to get round to doing any chores around the house, and when they finally do something they make a mess.

  The bathroom is left sparkling. Buoyed, he ends up doing the entire flat, vacuuming, dusting, and tidying. It was already spick and span, but it makes him feel useful.

  ***

  When Laura comes home she slows as she walks through the living room, thinking that it seems slightly different than when she left it. She is sure she can smell glass cleaner and furniture polish hanging in the air, but then she shrugs. The neighbours must have had a blitz of their place and the smell has permeated her home too. As for the tidiness, it is her imagination as there is no one else to do things but her, and she certainly does not believe in cleaning fairies.

  She has been home a little while before she wanders into the bathroom and washes her hands. She does not think as she twists the tap on, but when she turns it off she pauses and looks at it curiously. Turns it back on, then off again. No drip. Leans down and peers at it.

  “Huh,” she breathes.

  As she is walking back into the lounge she pulls her mobile from the back pocket of her jeans and taps out a text.

  Hey, guess what? The tap fixed itself! Result! No need for Uncle Kieran to fix it now xx

  ***

  Adam smiles when he reads the text, which comes up on the screen of his own smartphone too, thanks to the spyware he has fitted.

  Laura does not need anyone but him ever again.

  As Adam watches Laura watching television, giggling at the latest instalment of Strictly Come Dancing, he buries his nose in a forest green top. It is Laura’s favourite t-shirt, the one she loves so much that she even wears it to bed sometimes. He rescued it from the washing pile the other day, and now he likes to breathe in her smell. It makes him feel closer to her.

  ***

  SIXTEEN YEARS AGO

  Sara played a blinder. Even Adam had to admit that. Realising that her son was bound to have been seen with Lisa, and that it was only a matter of time before he was linked to her disappearance, she contacted the police herself. Not to drop him into trouble, but to provide an alibi.

  “I’m so, so sorry we didn’t contact you sooner,” she apologised to the CID officer down at the station. She had wasted no time taking Adam there to confess the connection. “My husband lost his mother, and we’ve just been in this bubble of grief, and sorting things out…”

  She gazed up from under her blunt fringe, all innocent eyes.

  “I completely understand,” said the sergeant.

  “It was only when I turned on the telly for the first time in over a week that I saw what had happened. You could have knocked me down with a feather when my son here,” she indicated Adam, standing miserably beside her, “told me that he knew the girl. That he had met her for the first time the very day that she disappeared! Oh, it’s just too awful.”

  “Can you tell me exactly what happened that day, please?”

  “Well, Ada, Adam’s gran, had died ten days earlier. Poor Adam here had found her, and he was in pieces. So when he said he was going for a walk at about 6pm, I just let him be, you know, gave him some space. But he hadn’t been gone more than fifteen minutes before I started fretting and drove to the park to get him. I don’t think you should be alone when you’re so sad, do you? I know when I’m sad all I want is to be held.”

  She bit her rouged lip. The detective sergeant enclosed her hand in his soothingly.

  “It only took me minutes to find him. He was talking to a girl with the loveliest hair, but I didn’t take much notice of her I’m afraid, and the second he saw me he left her and joined me. We were home by 6.30pm – I know because I looked at the clock and thought how tired I was for that time of day. Grief takes it out of a person, don’t you find?”

  Another squeeze of the hand from the sergeant. “Can you remember where exactly in the park you last saw Lisa?”

  “It was by the outline of the Roman theatre.”

  “And this was the first time you had ever met Lisa Brookman?” He asked Adam a direct question for the first time. Sara jumped in.

  “It certainly was,” she confirmed, adding in a stage whisper, “Don’t mind my son, he’s painfully shy and suffers terribly with a stammer. I hope you can forgive me answering on his behalf.”

  He certainly didn’t seem to mind, although Adam did. If he did not watch himself, he would be under his mother’s spell forever. He could not allow that to happen. He wanted to lash out, hurt her, push her away from him so that she would leave him alone once and for all, but he knew that would never happen. He would never have the strength to stand up to her.

  Instead he was going to have to do something far more cunnin
g.

  As the fifteen-year-old stood in the police station, he was already toying with ideas. He would get his happy ever after. He just had to neutralise Sara first.

  ***

  PRESENT

  The flat is falling apart, Laura concludes. First the tap in the bathroom sink started dripping then miraculously stopped, and now the wiring must be on the blink because last night the light in the hall stopped working. As Laura had been on her way to bed at the time she had not bothered changing the light bulb, promising herself she would do it in the morning instead. Then in the morning she had been running late, so had not got round to it.

  When she had got home just now from a day out with Charlotte and Emily, she had automatically flicked on the hall light and…it had come on! Only then had she remembered that it shouldn’t have. So, clearly the problem was more complex than a light bulb blowing.

  She gets straight on to an electrician and asks him to come round as soon as possible. When he comes round the following day, he not only checks out Laura’s wiring and gives it his seal of approval, he does the same with her. Introducing himself as Andy, he flirts ceaselessly, finally asking her out for a drink that night.

  “Go on,” Andy pushes, all twinkly eyes and cheeky-chappy smile.

  “I would love to,” Laura says slowly, “but I already have a boyfriend, so...”

  It makes life easier to lie than explain the complex truth that, while she does fancy him, she is currently having to use all her strength not to fall apart.

  This period of time between the anniversary of the accident on November fifth to Christmas and New Year is always dreadful. Her longing to be with her family, to see them again, is almost overwhelming and had become a time traditionally when she thinks most about ending it all. This year she is fighting hard against those thoughts but it is difficult. She does not want to slide backwards after the headway she had been making in recent months, but the struggle is tiring and…well, Laura is concerned it is starting to take a toll on her.

  She is getting a bit worried about herself. She will walk into the flat and forget she has done things. She will be at work and discover money when she would have been willing to swear on her life that she had none. A couple of times she has bought milk or bread but has no recollection of doing so.

  “Sure you’re happy with your bloke? You sound tempted – here, I hope he’s a good ‘un,” urges the electrician, interrupting her thoughts.

  “Oh he’s the best, really looks after me,” Laura lies.

  Andy takes it on the chin. “He’s a lucky fella.”

  “Nah, I’m the lucky one.”

  As Laura shows him out he cannot resist one more try. “Hey, keep my number in case you change your mind,” he winks.

  She is laughing and shaking her head as she closes the door.

  ***

  Adam had watched the electrician laying it on with a trowel, then asking Laura out. At first he had felt sick and helpless. He had stood in shock, ready to jump into his car and plead his case. Now, though, he is delighted. All this talk of a boyfriend can only have one explanation. Laura must have seen all the things he is doing for her and realises that someone is looking after her, wooing her.

  She really is perfect for Adam.

  Emboldened, he decides to do even more for her. He starts by presenting her with something other than a bouquet of flowers.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ~ Dragon Plant ~

  Snare

  FIFTEEN YEARS AGO

  Alibi firmly in place, there was nothing to stop Adam and his parents moving to Moseley weeks after Lisa’s death. The lion’s share of organising everything fell on Sara. Graeme was backwards and forwards between home and away, thanks to some investigation or other that was close at hand, but helped with packing as much as he could.

  The couple worked side by side, grabbing items, wrapping them in newspaper or bubble wrap, then boxing them. Every now and again the grating, ripping sound of parcel tape being extended rent the air. Fast, efficient, focused, the pair made a good team, while Adam worked alone nearby.

  “If I never hear this sound again it will be a day too soon,” laughed Sara, tearing off some tape and smoothing it down to make sure it was stuck firmly. “Umm, look, love, I’ve been thinking. I think all of our stuff should go into storage rather than us trying to make it go into the house. I know your mum’s house is big and could absorb it all, but you’re not going to want to make changes to the place. We’ll keep it just the way it is, just the way Ada liked it.”

  As she spoke she kept packing, eyes on the bubble wrap rather than her husband. Adam appeared to do the same, but watched from the corner of his eye as he packed.

  “And don’t worry about me, because I’m happy to have everything exactly as it is, because it’s important to keep her memory alive for you and, you, eh, Adam, and, well, me. You know I loved her, too. I miss her.” Her voice cracked artfully a little at the end of the sentence.

  Graeme nodded gratefully and put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Yes, I really appreciate that. I can’t think about decorating and nonsense like that right now.”

  “Of course not. And it will be years before you feel ready to.” She stopped rolling a vase in wrap, and put her hand over his. “It’s okay, it’s not exactly a hardship to live with Ada’s beautiful things. She had such good taste, and besides, I think it’s the right thing to do. I’ll put everything in storage and I could even sell some of the things, you know, the wardrobes and stuff. It’s not like we’ll ever need them again, it almost seems pointless putting them in storage.”

  Sara picked up a wedding photo. “Would it be all right if maybe I put some photographs out though? I mean, maybe just the one,” she said quickly. “Just so that, you know, it feels a little bit like my home too… I’m sorry,” she went on before he had a chance to react. “I-I know I’m being ridiculous, I’m being selfish, I’m so sorry. I’ll just put this one photo by our bed. Will we be sleeping in your mother’s bedroom, by the way? I know it’s the biggest bedroom and had the best view, I’ve always loved that breath-taking view, but…I think it might feel a bit odd sleeping in there…”

  “No,” Graeme said decisively. “No, no.”

  “Oh, I’ve hurt you, I’m so, so sorry, I shouldn’t even have asked.”

  “No, what I mean,” Graeme pressed, “is, yes, I do want to remember Mum and I don’t want things to change. But they have changed. Keeping the place as some kind of memorial to her won’t bring her back. You’re going to spend most of your time in the house, I’ll still be away so often, and it should be your home. I know how awkward you used to feel visiting it so I’m saying no to your plan.”

  Adam stopped packing and looked blatantly at the scene in front of him.

  “You need to make that place your home now, our home. So…” said Graeme.

  “So…I can put some pictures up?” Sara asked.

  He laughed. “Love,” he took her by both shoulders now and looked her in the eye. “Love, I’m saying you can do whatever you want to do. Okay? It’s our place now. If you want to get rid of things, get rid of things. If you want to buy new stuff, buy new stuff. Just don’t spend all my inheritance a once, eh?” He gave her a sad smile. “Us making the place our home is what Mum would have wanted.”

  Sara wrapped him in a tender embrace. “You are wonderful, thinking of me at a time like this. But I’ll only do this if you are absolutely sure, darling.”

  Adam’s hand slipped, the glass he was wrapping tumbled towards the floor. He managed to reach out and catch it in time. His mother had just been given carte blanche to make any changes she wanted to Ada’s house. By the time she had finished with it, it would be unrecognisable.

  The move went smoothly, of course: Sara was as efficient as a drill sergeant, it was one of the things Graeme loved about her. When he went away once more, off on his adventures, she got to work on Ada’s house.

  “The first thing I’m doing is getting rid of
those bloody stuffed animals,” she decided. “Manky old things.”

  She hired a skip and ordered Adam to fill it. “I’m not touching them, I don’t know what I might catch off them,” she announced.

  Her son gazed at her, and had to stop himself from giggling because her scarlet lipstick looked like a gash across her face. Blood trickled down her chin and dyed her hair rouge, her teeth were exposed through the fleshy hole, her eyeball dangling down from its socket where he had beaten her so badly.

  Or had he? He could not remember doing it. He reached out a trembling hand to touch it and his mother slapped it away. He looked at her again. She was unblemished, face back to normal.

  The disappointment was palpable. Adam so wanted the mirage to be real. He wanted to be rid of that woman once and for all. He wanted to smash her duplicitous face in, and force her lies down her throat. He wanted to slash at her body and hurt her the way she had clawed at his life and torn it apart.

  Instead, he picked up a stuffed platypus and carried it to the skip. While Sara was not looking he managed to sneak the bird of paradise and a snarling fox into his bedroom and slide them into his wardrobe. He wished he could save more, felt as if he was betraying Ada’s memory. But with Sara keeping hold of Lisa’s necklace, he dare do nothing more.

  His only comfort was that soon everything would be his to do with as he wished. His gran had already left some money in trust for him, as well as specifying that both the Tales of Faerie and Myth, and Floriography: The Language of Flowers go to her grandson.

  The majority of her assets were bequeathed to Graeme though. Sara had already nipped into the designer clothes shops in Birmingham city centre. She also spent hours flicking through glossy interior design magazines, marking pages she liked, until she had a pile of publications that resembled yellow hedgehogs they bristled with so many Post Its. In a fit of generosity she had allowed Adam to keep his office. It was, after all, only one room, and she had plenty of others to tinker with.