by Rebecca Tope
Nominally, Pauline’s son Craig still lived at home, but he spent barely two nights a week there, staying with nameless friends or in Susie’s flat. Roxanne privately considered that he was well past the age when he ought to be independent and finding his own accommodation, and took a cynical view of the excessively close relationship between him and his mother. His friendship with Susie Hawkes had been the only source of hope that he might one day leave home entirely.
Roxanne went round to the back of the house, down a narrow passageway. The kitchen door stood open, and the sound of a radio issued forth. ‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Are you in?’
Pauline appeared, holding a mug in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Her glasses were perched crookedly on top of her head, and she wore a long woolly cardigan and green lycra leggings. She looked less than delighted to see her sister.
‘Can I come in?’
‘You don’t want feeding, do you? There isn’t much here. I ought to go and do some shopping, really, but I can’t be bothered. I’m in a funny mood.’
‘Me too,’ said Roxanne, following her sister through into the living room. The house was packed with shabby furnishings dating back twenty years. Pauline’s three cats left hairs and footprints on most surfaces, and her habit of knitting something for almost everyone she knew, as well as hoarding ‘useful’ items such as yoghurt pots and paper bags, meant the house was as cluttered and messy in its way as was Roxanne’s caravan.
‘I don’t need feeding,’ Roxanne reassured her. ‘This whole business with Jim is getting very complicated. I had a visit today. Very weird. I need to pass the time until the funeral as quickly as I can, and sitting thinking about Jim isn’t the best way to do it.’
Pauline took the sagging sofa and stretched out her legs on it, leaving a threadbare chair for Roxanne. ‘Who visited you?’ she asked with a singular lack of interest.
‘A young chap from the undertaker’s. I never did really find out what he wanted. I talked too much for that. He seemed quite bright – unusual for this dump. Seems to have got himself in a state over Jim – something to do with a baby that died when he was working at the hospital. Scared him so much that now when anyone dies, he thinks it’s down to him to make sure everything’s above board.’
Pauline snorted. ‘Sounds cracked to me.’
‘I told him about the henbane,’ Roxanne interrupted, with a tremor in her voice. ‘That might have been a big mistake.’
Pauline’s attention was abruptly hooked. ‘What? You told him what?’
‘Oh, you know. Surely I told you? Jim and I used henbane sometimes, for better sex. It’s pretty good – much better than pot or anything. But you have to be careful. It’s poisonous if you use too much. I gave him some on Monday.’
‘Shit, Rox. Did that kill him, d’you think?’
Roxanne grimaced, then shrugged. ‘I only gave him a bit. He had to do a few hours work that afternoon, before going home, so he didn’t want to get too peculiar. But this undertaker chap said he found Viagra in Jim’s bathroom. Viagra! Would you believe it? I’d never have imagined he’d bother with something so – well, conventional, I suppose. Like any pathetic old failure. Jim wasn’t like that. He didn’t need that stuff. There wasn’t anything wrong with him in that department.’
‘Not when he was with you, anyway,’ commented Pauline. ‘Could Viagra have killed him then? Is that what you think?’
Roxanne shook her head. ‘They’re saying it’s safe enough. But you can never be sure what things will do in combination. I very much doubt whether the drug people have tested it alongside henbane. And that’s a pretty powerful stimulant in itself. And where did he get his blue pills? Must have been the Internet, and that means he wouldn’t have had any sort of medical check first. You know how he was always boasting about never going to a doctor. After Julia died, he vowed off doctors – and stuck to it.’
Pauline laughed wryly. ‘The perfect end to a life devoted to pleasure. Killed by combining too many sex aids. I can see the headlines now.’
Roxanne smiled grimly. ‘I deserved that. But there won’t be any headlines, if I can help it. I owe it to Jim not to let him turn into a laughing stock.’ She then plunged into a complete change of subject. ‘Lorraine Dunlop came to see me, too,’ she added, leaning sideways on the chair, and crossing her long legs. ‘We got on like a house on fire.’
Pauline refused to react. ‘Really?’
‘She expected me to scratch her eyes out, I think. Instead, I was really nice to her. We agreed absolutely about Jim and the sort of person he was.’
‘You were nice? Didn’t she know she was risking being eaten alive?’
‘I think she probably did – and decided to come anyway. She seemed to be beyond caring. She’s very upset.’
‘I’m completely gobsmacked.’ Pauline was floundering, as was usual when with her sister. Roxanne seemed to deliberately twist all the normal feelings and assumptions into new unpredictable shapes. Pauline had learnt not to take anything for granted.
‘I’m not that scary, am I?’
‘You’re the Witch of Bradbourne, as you know perfectly well. Everyone’s frightened of you. They think you’ll put the evil eye on them.’
Roxanne narrowed her eyes, and spread the fingers of both hands, examining the prominent knuckles and weathered skin. She cackled. ‘Then that’s what I’ll be. Nothing simpler.’
‘And then they’ll think it was you who killed Jim Lapsford.’ Pauline spoke softly, but with a sudden intensity. ‘Won’t they?’
‘They can think what they damn well like – they’re never going to prove anything.’ A movement outside caught her attention. ‘There’s somebody coming to the door,’ she pointed out. ‘Looks a bit like a policeman.’
‘They’re onto you already,’ said Pauline. ‘Better have your story ready. And don’t think I’m giving you an alibi.’ She waited for the knock before swinging her legs off the sofa and padding barefoot to the door.
Afterwards, they asked each other how they could possibly not have felt even a slight apprehension. No inkling at all of the devastating news that came to their lives that afternoon, as they so lightly discussed murder and poison and the bizarre joke that was Jim Lapsford’s death.
Monica felt cheated when she saw Philip’s car outside David’s flat. She didn’t like the idea that her older son was already ahead of her. But whatever she might find, nothing was going to frustrate her intentions now, and she marched to the front door. The door was locked, with the yale latch down. Pausing a moment, turning her ear to the glass panel, trying to catch conversation from inside, she gathered herself together. Then she banged the heavy knocker three times, having forgotten to bring her key.
‘David, I have to talk to you,’ she began, as soon as he opened the door. ‘I don’t care what you’re doing, this won’t wait.’
‘That’s okay, Mum,’ he said, poleaxing her with his calm response. ‘Jodie’s here as well as Phil.’
Monica knew it was unreasonable, but she resented Jodie’s presence. This was too much like a repeat of Thursday morning, with the added complication of Philip being there. She had wanted a quiet talk alone with David, where she could set her own mind at rest, and possibly easing his at the same time. Now there would be interruptions and questions and sidetrackings, and the whole mess would just carry on as before.
‘Somebody’s hanged himself back there,’ she blurted, before she knew what she was saying, but knowing she had to find an excuse for her agitation. ‘Everyone’s stopping to stare. It’s awful. I’m all shaken up by it. Except I was already shaken up.’ She shook her head in a hopeless gesture. ‘For a minute, I thought it might be you.’
David laughed incredulously. ‘Hey, Mum – I’m not that crazy. I’d have to be a complete bastard to do that to you.’ He paused, hearing himself. ‘Though that’s what I am, I guess, isn’t it.’
She gritted her teeth against the unkind stab. ‘That’s what I came to talk about,’ sh
e said. ‘At least—’ She stopped in confusion. There were too many things pressing to be spoken, all at once.
‘And about time, don’t you think?’ he said, more gently. There was something pathetic in his tone, and a pleading look on his face. But his voice was unwavering, and Monica knew that there was no going back now. She had to tell him everything. The build-up was reaching an intolerable level of tension: she began to tremble, blood rushing loudly in her head. She knew she wouldn’t make a good job of this. She didn’t think anybody could.
Jodie appeared from the kitchen, followed closely by Philip. David shook his head at them, in an instruction not to say anything.
‘Sit down, Mum, and get on with it.’
She clenched her narrow hands together, and glanced from one face to another uncertainly. ‘Did you tell him what that man said?’ she asked Philip. ‘About Jim?’
Philip flushed, and glanced at Jodie. ‘Not exactly,’ he began. ‘But David knows people are asking questions.’
Monica exhaled with relief, and sat down on David’s greasy couch. She half-noted that there was a large, recent stain on it, caused by something that included tomato ketchup, to all appearances. A closer look revealed two chips and several peas on the floor near her feet. ‘Don’t you ever clean this place?’ she demanded. ‘It’s worse than a pigsty.’
‘We were cleaning it up when you arrived,’ Jodie said. ‘David dropped his dinner.’
Monica wished she’d never allowed herself to criticise. Why start off on a bad footing? She could barely remember why she’d come. The image of the men wrapping up the hanged body recurred, clouding her inner eye, and filling her thoughts. There was probably another mother going through hell at this moment. The train of thought, and the echo of David’s harsh remark, returned her to her senses.
‘David, I’ve come to tell you who your mother was,’ she said, with an effort. Her head was ringing strangely as if she was in an echo chamber. ‘If you still want to know.’
‘Of course I do,’ he said, gazing at her earnestly.
‘You’re not Jim’s son, but you are family. Jim’s your uncle, not your father. And I’m not your natural mother.’ The words came out in a monotone, almost a whisper. She could hardly believe them herself after keeping the secret for so long.
‘Uncle?’ David echoed, in bewilderment. Jodie moved closer, her eyes fixed on Monica’s face.
‘But,’ Jodie burst out again, ‘Jim didn’t have any brothers. Did he? I mean – how can – you did say uncle?’
‘No brothers. That’s right. But he did have a sister: his twin, Julia. She died. Jim adored her. He was with her when she gave birth to David.’
David came to the sofa, and sat down awkwardly beside her, leaning over the sticky stain, resting a hand lightly on her arm. ‘Now we’re getting to it,’ he said. ‘At last. It’s okay, Mum, I’m not going to freak out about it any more. Just tell me the whole story. Please.’
Monica caught a whispered phrase passing between Jodie and Philip, even as she clutched David’s hand, and prepared to reveal the long-kept secret. She heard the word incest, its sibilance impossible to conceal.
‘No, it wasn’t incest,’ she said firmly, catching Philip’s embarrassed eye. ‘But nobody but Jim ever knew who your father was. That part of the story will never be known now.’
Drew and Karen were a good fifty cars behind Monica in the slow procession past the incident in the field. The traffic was still slowing down to have a look at the people in the field, although the body had been hidden by a white police tent by this time. ‘My God!’ yelped Drew. ‘What the hell is that?’ He was looking at the still-dangling orange rope.
Karen glanced cautiously at the goings-on beyond the gate. ‘There’s nothing to see,’ she said with relief. ‘Keep driving.’
‘But don’t you want to know what’s happened?’
‘No. It’s none of our business. Look, he’s waving you on.’ She nodded at the policeman, who was beginning to despair of the ghoulish inclinations of the human race.
‘It’s PC Gray. I know him. Hang on a minute.’
‘Drew! For God’s sake. What are you doing?’
He had pulled up beside the officer and wound down the car window. ‘What’s going on, mate?’ he said, with a smile he tried to inject with a professional concern. The policeman showed no sign of recognition.
‘Move on, please, sir,’ he said stiffly. ‘You’re causing an obstruction.’
‘Hang on. I’m from Plant’s. Just thought I ought to show an interest.’
The policeman looked closer, still seeming dubious as to Drew’s identity. ‘Well, you’re not needed for a while yet. We’ll call when we want the removal doing. Bloody idiot hanged himself from the tree there. See the rope? Makes you sick, what people’ll do, right beside the public road. No consideration for others.’
‘Any ID?’
‘Can’t tell you that just yet. Got to be verified first. Local chap. Knew him vaguely by sight, myself. You’ll find out soon enough.’
Karen leant forward on a sudden thought. ‘It isn’t David Lapsford, is it?’ she asked anxiously.
‘No, miss. That name hasn’t been mentioned at all. Why – is this Lapsford chap someone who’s likely to do something like this?’
‘Oh, well, I don’t know about that. We’re on our way to see him now, actually. I’m just being foolish.’
‘Better move on now,’ said the man again, glancing with a weary impatience at the long tailback of traffic. ‘I’ll never get this lot flowing freely at this rate.’
Drew obliged briskly. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Good luck.’
A minute later, he asked Karen, ‘What made you think it might be David?’
She shrugged. ‘Just a hunch – you said he seemed unstable. Lucky I was wrong. Think of his poor mother, if he’d gone and done that.’
‘God, yes.’ They thought briefly about the awful might-have-been, before turning into the smaller road that led to David Lapsford’s home.
They found Froggetts Way after two circuits of the Garnstone housing estate. ‘Looks as if we’re not alone,’ Karen commented, indicating the two cars parked outside the house.
‘Might be for next door.’
‘I think not,’ she said. ‘I can see people in there, look.’ She nodded at the uncurtained window at the front of the house. ‘Come on. Let’s join the party.’
‘Is this a good idea, I wonder?’ muttered Drew. ‘I’m beginning to feel a bit superfluous, if this is a family gathering. They might be discussing the funeral.’
‘Don’t lose your nerve now. We’ve gone too far for that.’
‘But – how’re we going to explain why we’re here? What’s our cover story?’
‘Umm, how about – we think your dad was murdered, and we’ve come to check it out before his body is cremated and all evidence lost for ever?’ She grinned at him mischievously.
Drew winced. ‘I wish I hadn’t raised the matter with the wife now. It’ll look obvious that we’re coming to nose around. Perhaps we should—’
‘They’ve seen us.’ There was a face at the window, and then someone was opening the door. David Lapsford stood staring at Drew with suspicion and hostility.
‘What do you want?’ he demanded, as they slowly got out of the car.
‘Er – we were just hoping we could have a word with you about your father.’ Drew tried to sound as if this was a perfectly reasonable request; David’s harsh laugh came as a shock.
‘Oh, yeah?’ he said unpleasantly. ‘Then you’re going to be right out of luck.’
As Drew stood on the path uncertainly, with Karen at his elbow, Monica and the girl from the printworks also came to the door. He saw them both recognise him; they immediately adopted a similar demeanour of hostility. Then the printing girl smiled, with a kind of triumph.
‘Just the chap we wanted to see,’ she said loudly. ‘Bring them in, David.’
‘Too late to escape now,’ said Karen wi
th a little giggle. Her excitement only irritated Drew. If anybody was going to get damaged by this, it wouldn’t be her. He hoped she’d have the grace to show some concern at least, as he had his solar plexus battered.
Monica was pale and looked exhausted. Once everyone was inside the house, she addressed Drew angrily. ‘Could you possibly explain what you’re doing here? Isn’t it outside your job description to go hounding bereaved families like this?’
‘Uh,’ gasped Drew, helplessly. ‘Well—’
‘Leave this to me, Mum,’ said Philip, nudging her aside. ‘Now, look, you.’ Drew could see in his eyes that it was out of character for him to be so forceful, that it wasn’t coming easily. Somehow, that only made him more alarming. ‘You’ve upset my mother very badly. You’d better know now that we intend to make sure you lose your job over this. It’s an absolute outrage.’
Then Monica took charge. ‘Jodie, look after his—’
‘Wife,’ supplied Karen flatly. ‘I’m his wife. My name’s Karen.’
Behind him, Jodie made a small exploding sound, which seemed to Drew to be a suppressed laugh. When nobody reacted, he changed his mind. It could have been an aborted sneeze.
‘Thank you. Well, stay with Jodie, will you? This has nothing to do with you. Take her into the kitchen, Jodie.’
‘It has if you intend to do anything to harm my husband.’ Karen was fierce. ‘I’m not going to make it any easier for you.’
‘We won’t harm him. Don’t be silly. We just want to talk to him, and find out what he’s come here for.’ David spoke placatingly, looking from face to face for support.
‘Get on with it then,’ said Drew, losing patience. ‘And don’t threaten me with getting me sacked. I’ve gone out on a limb here, following up a sudden death which never came close to looking like natural causes. When I spoke to your mother about it, she agreed with me. Whatever’s happened since then, that much hasn’t changed. So – whatever it is you want to explain to me, that’s where I stand. And if you were any sort of a family, you’d want to help me, and not act so aggressive. This is your father and husband we’re talking about.’ It shook him to hear his own words lingering on the still air.