Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  With her anxieties trapped beneath her skin, she said her goodbyes to Tyler, and clutching her heart, watched him vacate the house and greet Darren with a restrained enthusiasm. Tears dripped from her eyes, soaking her smooth rounded cheeks, and her chest heaved. Drawn to an image of Phillip on the wall, her sobbing evolved. The four of them had been happy. Now she was alone, and her world had shattered.

  On Monday morning, having spent an entire weekend moping, a newfound strength motived Leanne and she was eager to get to work and occupy the dark void in her brain with something useful. However, when she arrived at the craft factory and shop and saw the sorrowful expression of her employer and friend, David Williams, she knew something was wrong and her heart sank.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I know this is bad timing, but I’m going to have to let you go. As you know business has been struggling, but over the weekend, I lost two more of our major customers. I just can’t afford to keep you on.’

  His apologies were still rattling around her head hours later when she entered the solicitor’s office for the reading of Janet’s will. She cared little for the assets she was to acquire, and whilst she waited in the cluttered reception area, scanning the papers and binders on the desk and papers and magazines on a low table, she considered her future.

  Jobs were scarce, but rather than the income concerning her, it was the extra time. She had no one to spend her evenings with, let alone her days, and could not cope with more time upon her hands. The outlook was bleak.

  Almost in a daze, she listened to the solicitor as he talked through her assets. No one else was listed, and as expected, there was no mention of her mother. Even so, her disappointment swelled.

  ‘You have inherited a house,’ Mr Hill said, flicking through the sheets.

  ‘A house? She sold it a couple of years ago.’

  ‘In Norfolk.’

  ‘She doesn’t have a house in Norfolk.’

  He peered over the rim of his glasses. ‘She inherited it from a Mr and Mrs Coombs.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘She said she wanted nothing to do with it, nor their money. As far as I’m aware, it’s been empty for decades.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t tell you anything more. Here are the key and the address.’

  Bewildered, she stared at the items on the untidy desk.

  ‘The money she left you amounts to a little over two hundred thousand pounds, and that’s with the fees removed.’

  Her jaw dropped and her minded drifted as Mr Hill continued to talk about the contents of the will. Minutes later, having signed the relevant documents, she left the office and stepped into the cool autumnal air. With her hands resting in her pockets, she hurried to her car a couple of blocks away, and once inside, away from the bustling pedestrians, she stared at the address on the sheet of paper.

  Could it be that the house was the one that she had seen in the photograph? It seemed a possibility. But why, if Janet had lived there had she chosen to abandon it? It made no sense especially so since Leanne could recall running carefree through the fields. Then there were Mr and Mrs Coombs to consider. Somewhere, coming from the depths of her brain, she felt sure that Janet’s maiden name was not Coombs.

  She ambled home, her mind racing with questions, and decided, as she had nothing else to do, she should pay her new property a visit. In the least, it would provide her with a focus, and maybe, if she were lucky, she may find someone who knew her mother. It was better than wallowing in her losses.

  Chapter 3

  Upon Leanne’s arrival in the village, she spotted a cafe on the roadside. In need of sustenance, she slipped the car into second gear and turned into a car park. Although the driving had been tiring, she felt far less emotional than earlier, and concluded that whilst she was away from home, away from the constant reminders of what had been, she could deal with her grief easier. Even so, it had taken a huge amount of effort to leave the house and drive away.

  Her mind drifted to her grandfather, Roy. He had been a positive man and had often told her that if you looked hard enough, no matter what devastation you faced there would always be something good in disguise. She loved his attitude, always preferring to seek out the pleasant and the enjoyable rather than the irritations and disagreements. Yet, as she strolled towards the café entrance, she could not help but wonder if her plummeting bad luck was set to continue.

  The café had little natural light passing through the windows and inside it was dark and cool. There were stone slabs on the floor, a light coloured paint covered the brick walls, and the tables were of heavy wood that had notched edges and scratched surfaces. A group of men wearing leathers occupied one of the tables, and there was an elderly woman at the counter chatting to the assistant.

  Leanne ordered a coffee and a small cake and headed to a table in the middle of the room. The elderly woman continued to prattle, much to the assistant’s dismay. The assistant looked as though she was trying to escape, edging closer to a back door and opening and shutting her mouth in rapid succession. Moments later, she did, in fact, manage to make a swift exit, and silence descended. Careful not to make eye contact, since she wasn’t in the mood for conversation, she gazed into her mug and pondered her future.

  What else was there for Leanne to lose? Tyler was her one remaining relative, and he had gone, and now, as if life wasn’t bad enough, she found herself without a job. She may be wealthier than before, but as she contemplated her options, deciding if she should sell the house or have it renovated, she decided that the income from the sale would be no match for all that she was without.

  ‘What are you doing here? Visiting someone or passing through?’

  Leanne raised her head and looked vacantly at the woman.

  ‘You’re a pretty little thing,’ she continued, ‘have just the right proportions I’d say. Girls, these days, are far too skinny. It’s unhealthy I tell you . . . no good for you.’

  Her body tightened and she pressed her arms across her breasts, conscious of her extra weight.

  ‘I’ll bet you have the men queuing up. My girl was like that. Gorgeous she was, I’d have fancied her myself if she wasn’t my daughter.’ She cackled. ‘And, of course, if I was a man. I can’t do with those queers. It’s not natural you know. God made men and women for each other. All that other stuff . . .’ she pulled a face, ‘. . . should be banned. They can even marry now, did you know that?’

  The woman did not wait for Leanne’s answer and continued to babble, unaware, it seemed, that her eyes were expressionless and her mind wondering. When the woman stopped speaking, Leanne jolted and looked up, straight into the woman’s drilling eyes. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’

  ‘What you doing here?’ the woman asked.

  ‘I’m looking for Fen Lane.’

  ‘Fen Lane? It’s the other side of the village, just on the edge. It used to be quiet along there, but they’ve built an estate close by after farming land was sold. I curse that woman for selling! This village once had two hundred residents but now it has over two thousand. Did you know that?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘When I was a lass, it was a beautiful place to live, now it’s filled with yobs. They hang around the pubs and at the youth centre in the village, and they frighten the life out of us old folks. I told the council there would be trouble. They didn’t listen you know. I told them, I did.’

  Leanne rushed down her coffee and cake. The monotonous tone of the woman was grating and she was unable to maintain focus on the conversation for long. She didn’t want to appear rude, but she wanted to leave; her ears were starting to hurt and her head was pounding. She stood up. The woman continued to prattle, unwilling to take the hint.

  Leanne waited. She opened her mouth to announce her departure. The woman spoke even faster. With her patience wearing thin, she spoke in a loud, clear voice, talking over her and telling her of her decision to go.

  The woman stopped mi
d-sentence, her mouth agape.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Leanne said, and scampered away.

  Smiling wryly to herself, she stepped outside and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. The café assistant was depositing something in the bin at the rear. She caught her eye. ‘Sorry about Mrs Wilkinson,’ she said, ‘she’s a bit lonely . . . lives alone and has no family.’

  She frowned. ‘So I’ve gathered. She can certainly talk.’

  ‘Don’t let it put you off. She’s only ever in on Tuesday mornings, as regular as clockwork, never any other day.

  ‘I’ll remember that.’

  ‘She drives some of my other customers away . . . at least the intolerant ones.’

  Stepping away, she wondered about the elderly woman’s situation and her overwhelming loneliness. In addition to being without family, she may not have much to occupy her days and may spend her time watching television or staring into space. Her life was likely to be different to her grandmother’s; she had always had someone with her and never felt the need to seek out strangers. Was it due to chance or had Janet made more of an effort to acquire friends? Leanne turned the ignition key, released the handbrake, and pulled away. Her grandfather’s voice sounded in her head. ‘Life is what you make it,’ he had once said. He always had been positive.

  Leanne drove steadily along Fen Lane in her car, passing cottages close to the village and glancing towards the isolated houses further along. Clouds were gathering, darkening the skies overhead and decreasing her visibility, and the wind whipped the branches overhanging the lane. She felt cold just looking outside, and shivered involuntarily.

  The first house she passed had lights on in the downstairs rooms and two cars occupying the gravelled drive. She hoped it would be easy to determine which house was Honeysuckle Cottage, and ambled by, following the natural curve in the road and glancing at the scurrying rabbits. It narrowed and became a single track. She avoided a pothole and the ragged edge and pulled away from an encroaching hedge. Then the view opened out, and before her, set back from the road, stood a boarded-up house, dilapidated barns, and a row of tall trees. Her heart leapt; she had arrived.

  She turned along a track overrun with weeds and tall grasses and arrived at the house. She turned off the engine, retrieved her three-quarter length woollen coat from the back seat and stepped outside. The sun peeked through a gap in the clouds, illuminating the house in a pleasing glow. It was a welcome sight.

  Painted white, there were ten large windows, a stone porch, and at the rear almost out of sight, an adjoining building set at an angle. It was far bigger than she expected and appeared fantastically spacious. She could live in style and have a lounge, a dining room, a study, and a library. She would even have room for a piano and could have parties and put up any number of guests. Her lifestyle would be different to what she had now and it made her three-bedroom townhouse seem poky in comparison.

  Dumbfounded, she continued to stare, searching for cracks, loose tiles, and sagging walls, but there didn’t seem to be anything in need of repair, forcing her to conclude that her grandparents must have maintained it. Why they would do such a thing and then leave it empty was beyond her reckoning.

  Regretting her inappropriate footwear, she strode to the rear and trod through the long grasses and weeds in her ninety-millimetre heels. Rather than pondering her defence, she imagined Phillip’s mocking reprimand and a smile slipped to her face. He would have loved this house; he had always wanted a place in the country.

  Her sadness fluttered. She fought to disregard it and willed herself to be grateful for her good fortune, but a pleasure had to be shared to be appreciated, and with Tyler away, she had no one. She dropped her hands into her pockets and watched two pigeons scuffle in a tree.

  If only Phillip had not chosen to go paragliding in France. Then they would be stood together, their excitement mingling, the beauty more vivid. More than likely, they would be considering moving and she may even be thinking about setting up a handmade jewellery business, her true desire. She puffed out. It was not to be; her life had taken a different turn.

  Living alone in a house so large would be a step in the wrong direction. It would overwhelm her and she would feel even more isolated than she already did. At least her existing home was part of a community, and if her loneliness intensified so much that it became unbearable, she could chat to passing folks. She turned around and glanced along the lane. Not even one car had passed since she had arrived. Her decision to sell was gathering strength.

  She wandered around the perimeter of the house, her eyes drawn to what once would have been the garden, and her mind became cluttered with memories. Believing she must have once lived there, she pondered the vision in her mind: the colourful blooms, the herbs, and the vegetables. She could see herself running across a lawn to a swing, and then tripping and falling. A woman had loomed overhead, screaming at her for dirtying her dress before slapping her thigh. Recoiling, she had peered over her shoulder, searching for comfort. An older woman had stood by the door of the house, her face pensive. Had that been her grandmother?

  Leanne had to find out more. This house was her heritage. It would be foolhardy to sell it immediately and she needed a reason to stay. She didn’t have to live in the house permanently but could stay for a few days at a time, reasoning that it may provide her with clues to finding her mother. Needing guidance and a friendly voice, she perched on the edge of a wall and removed her phone from her pocket

  Tyler answered within seconds. ‘Hi Mum, I can’t talk long, we’re just about to go into the Imax at the National Media Museum. It looks fantastic . . . something to do with space.’

  ‘So you’re having a good time?’

  ‘Everyone’s great. We’ve just had the biggest lunch. I’m stuffed, I can’t move. Tomorrow I’m going to meet my uncle. He’s a son about my age. I can’t wait. It’s just what I needed.’

  She held her breath, her words restricted.

  ‘What did you want?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing. I just wanted a chat with my boy.’

  ‘I thought you’d be at work.’

  ‘I . . . I’m visiting a house, one that Gran owned. You’d like it, it’s massive, and in good condition.’

  ‘I didn’t know she had another house.’

  ‘Neither did I-’

  ‘Sorry Mum, but I’m going to have to go. Fill me in later?’

  ‘Okay. Love you.’

  ‘You too. Bye.’

  The ring tone sounded in her ear. She slipped her phone into her pocket, pulled her collar tighter around her neck, and stood up. She missed him and her heart burned. He should be with her. She should, at least, be able to provide him with a family. What kind of mother was she? She continued around the side of the building.

  She spun around, her subconscious informing her of another presence. There was an elderly man wearing big baggy trousers and a scruffy woollen jumper standing in the adjacent field and staring. Even after she made eye contact, he did not speak and continued to gawk. Feeling ill at ease, she approached him, treading with care as she progressed through the long withering grasses in heels.

  ‘You living here now?’ he asked.

  ‘I . . . I’m not sure.’

  ‘It’s been empty for years. All these fields,’ he pointed, ‘are mine.’

  ‘Did you know the owners?’

  ‘Might have done.’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Coombs?’

  ‘Aye lass.’

  ‘What do you know about them?’

  ‘You a journalist?’

  ‘No.’ She hesitated. It may not be a good idea to share her position with him. ‘Did you know Roy and Janet Jefferson too?’

  A faint smile crossed his face and his eyes glazed. ‘I knew their daughter, Karen. She was a live wire. I don’t think there was a man around here that didn’t know her.’ He grinned, a wide toothless grin. ‘Who are you?’

  She looked at her feet. ‘Is she still around?’

  ‘
Has been, on and off.’

  ‘Do you know how I can contact her?’

  He offered nothing more.

  ‘Please, it’s important. Have you seen her recently?’

  ‘You related?’

  ‘She’s my mum,’ Leanne blurted. ‘Can you tell me where she is? I have to find her.’

  He turned and started walking away. ‘I know nothing.’

  ‘Please, it’s important.’

  ‘I’ve said enough already.’

  ‘But . . . do you know where she is?’

  He made urgent steps away from her, walking along the edge of the field and ignoring her as though she did not exist. Her opportunity was fading and her panic rising.

  ‘Wait, please,’ she cried.

  She stepped forward, but her shoes were ridiculously unsuitable and caused immense difficulties, and she had to retreat. Having returned to the house, she slumped onto a brick wall and pondered their conversation. Her mother was alive, at least that had been confirmed, so where was she and why hadn’t she attempted to make contact?

  The reality of her situation gripped, weakening her body and overwhelming her mind. Her mother had abandoned her, and her grandmother, whom she trusted wholeheartedly, had lied to her for years. How could they, damn it? She sat in the chilling air, frown lines upon her forehead and with her lips pouting. She knew nothing of the circumstances surrounding her mother’s departure, and there was no one who could tell her, bar the woman herself. It was frustrating.

  Her eyes wandered to one of the boards on the window at the far side of the house. It looked as though it was lifting away. She walked towards it, stepped over the shattered glass on the ground, and lifted the board. Inside the house, there was darkness.

  Crouching to one side to allow as much light through as possible, she peered into the room. There was a carpet on the floor, light fittings hanging from the ceiling, and a large dresser at one side. In the centre was a rectangular table. She strained her ears, searching for noises, but only heard the whooshing of the wind and a whistling sound coming from overhead.