The Unburied Past

by Anthea Fraser

  Thelma said quickly, ‘But the children must be kept together! Poor little souls – they’ve lost enough, without having to lose each other!’

  ‘They’re too young to have bonded properly.’ That was Roy, responding to a nudge from his wife. ‘As long as they’re loved and cared for, they’ll soon adapt to their new life.’

  Harry cleared his throat. ‘I think I should tell you that Lynne and I were about to suggest our adopting both children. You’ll see that Mark appointed me their guardian for as long as they’re minors, and—’

  ‘But you’re emigrating!’ Louise broke in, her voice hard and clear. ‘If you take them both, you’d be robbing Clive and me of our only grandchildren!’

  Bob held up a hand. ‘We’re in the same boat, Louise; we’d also be losing all ours, but surely we must consider what’s best for them.’ He paused. ‘Look, I appreciate we’re all emotional, and ideally this decision should be shelved for a while. But since Lynne and Harry …’

  Lynne turned to Janice. ‘Surely you must see it’s better if we have them?’ she said urgently. ‘They’ve known Charlotte and Claire all their lives, and are used to playing with them. It would make things much easier for them.’

  Janice leant forward, hands tightly clasped. ‘But that’s just it! You already have your own children, and despite yourselves you’d always love them just that little bit more; whereas Roy and I have none, and Kirsty would have our undivided love and attention, always.’

  ‘Then why not take them both, darling?’ Louise urged. ‘A ready-made family for you!’

  Janice shook her head decidedly. ‘It’s Kirsty we want – as I said, she’s my goddaughter and I’ve always taken that very seriously. And surely that’s the fairest way, splitting them between us? Lynne and Harry can take Adam, and he’ll be with his father’s family, and we’ll have Kirsty, who’ll be with her mother’s.’

  ‘Splitting being the operative word,’ Harry said grimly.

  ‘But you have a job, Janice,’ Lynne argued, ‘and she’s used to being with her mother the whole time! How can you say you’d give her all your attention, when she’d be in a nursery all day during term time?’

  ‘As are many children of working mothers!’ Janice flung back. ‘But my school day finishes at three thirty and I have long holidays. I’ll spend more time with her than most are able to!’

  ‘They should be kept together,’ Bob repeated firmly, albeit aghast at the split widening between them. ‘Any adoption agency or social service would insist on that!’

  ‘They might prefer it,’ Clive said quietly. ‘I doubt if they could insist. And it’s not as though either of them would be going to strangers. As Jan said, they’d both be with their family, who already love them.’

  Harry, seeing Lynne’s eyes fill with frustrated tears, cleared his throat. ‘Look, I don’t want to wield any heavy sticks, but as guardian for both children—’

  He broke off as Janice gave a choked gasp, her hands flying to the sides of her head. ‘Don’t you understand?’ she cried. ‘Do I have to spell it out for you? Very well then – Roy and I have been trying for a baby for three years – three years! – and I can’t take much more! My sister has been killed in the most brutal way imaginable, and I wake every night thinking about it. But Kirsty is a part of Emma – the next best thing to a daughter of my own! I must have her – can’t you see that we deserve her?’ And she burst into a storm of weeping as Roy caught hold of her and held her close, his eyes resting accusingly on Harry.

  Bob went for a glass of water while the rest of them sat in silence and Janice’s agonized sobs filled the room. Harry reached for Lynne’s hand and squeezed it. She turned her head to look at him, tears spilling down her cheeks. For a long moment they held each other’s gaze, then he raised his eyebrows questioningly and after a brief pause she nodded and closed her eyes. Janice had won.

  At the end of the meeting Janice and Roy left with Kirsty, observing that now her future was decided there was no point in delay, and official procedures could be gone into later.

  In the days that followed, Lynne lavished as much time as she could on Adam, and was forced to admit that apart from trotting into various rooms looking for ‘Tursy’, he didn’t seem unduly upset by her absence. It was she who cried for her little niece.

  Other difficult meetings lay ahead. On the Monday of the following week, the day before the wills were due to be read, they received word that the bodies had been released. The undertakers would be driving them down in two days’ time and delivering them, as instructed, to the funeral parlour near their home. The victims’ personal effects, having been examined by the forensic team, had also been cleared and awaited collection, as did Mark’s car.

  On hearing of this at the will-reading, Graham immediately volunteered to fly up, collect the effects and drive the car home. ‘You all have enough to do, and it will let me feel I’m being useful,’ he insisted, and both families gratefully accepted his offer.

  As to the wills, there were no surprises. Each had left everything to the other, to go in equal shares to their children after their deaths. In the discussion that followed, it was agreed the house should immediately go on the market, and the proceeds from its sale and that of its contents be put in trust funds for the children till they came of age. Any of their toys, clothing and equipment remaining in the house would, however, be released immediately.

  The return of the effects necessitated yet another fraught meeting, and since Emma’s jewellery came within the terms of the will, it was arranged that this should take place in Mark and Emma’s home – neutral though highly charged ground.

  Graham had arranged for his wife to pick him up from there and, having handed over the suitcases and other items, tactfully left them to their heartbreaking task. Lynne was reduced to fresh tears on discovering the ceramic pig, which she realized had been intended for her, and Harry’s throat tightened at the sight of the sun hat he’d lent Mark for the holiday.

  It was as, with relief on both sides, they were preparing to leave that Roy called for their attention. ‘I appreciate that feelings are running high at the moment,’ he began, ‘but I’d be very grateful if we could talk over a matter that’s been concerning Jan and myself.’

  They all paused in what they were doing and turned to him.

  ‘Emma and Mark met a violent death,’ Roy continued, ‘and we’ve still no idea why. And because we’ve no idea, it’s just possible that the children could be in danger. They might, for instance, have actually seen the killers.’

  Lynne drew in her breath sharply, but Roy was continuing. ‘Fortunately, since they’re being adopted, they’ll both be changing their surname, and with luck that should deflect any danger. But I think we should reach agreement on what, in due course, we tell them about their parents’ death.’ He looked round at their tense faces. ‘Can you seriously imagine telling Adam that his father and mother were murdered?’

  From their expressions he could tell that, as he’d supposed, no one had thought that far ahead. ‘Official advice is to volunteer nothing till the children themselves ask about it, which will indicate they’re ready to be told. But told what?’

  Harry moved uncomfortably. ‘What exactly are you proposing?’

  ‘That we agree to say Mark and Emma were killed in a car crash near their home, avoiding all mention of the Lake District, which could conceivably link them, even years ahead, to the murders.’

  There was a silence as everyone digested this. Then Bob asked, ‘And when do you propose they learn the truth?’

  ‘Not until they’re eighteen, at the earliest. But quite frankly the information would be traumatic at any age; there might be a case for never volunteering it.’ He looked round at them, raising his shoulders enquiringly. ‘After all, what good would it do?’

  ‘Surely they’ve a right to know at some stage?’ Clive protested.

  Roy shrugged again. ‘Perhaps, but if so, we should try to ensure they’re told at the
same time, so we’d have to liaise.’ His eyes flicked over them again. ‘Anyone have any problem with that?’

  No one spoke.

  ‘Good. Then I feel we’ll have done all we can to protect them.’

  Lynne, Harry and the Franklyns had just arrived home when there was a phone call: Graham, asking to speak to Lynne.

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘It’s only a couple of hours since we saw him. I wonder what’s come up?’

  ‘One way to find out!’ Bob said and she went to take the call.

  ‘Graham, hello.’

  ‘Lynne. I hope you don’t mind my asking for you, but I didn’t want to raise this at the house in front of everyone, and I felt you were the best person to speak to.’

  Her voice sharpened. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ He paused. ‘You’ve finished going through the effects, I presume?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Did anything strike you about them?’ And, as she did not reply, he prompted, ‘Anything missing?’

  ‘Not that I noticed, why?’

  Graham said quietly, ‘Where was Mark’s camera?’

  He heard her draw in her breath. ‘Oh my God!’

  ‘I missed it straight away, chiefly because I knew he’d intended taking pictures for a competition we were entering. I immediately queried its absence, and was categorically assured there’d been no camera at the cottage, nor any sign of its carrying bag. So I asked to speak to the officer in charge, who immediately showed interest. He said it was the first positive lead they’d had, and asked me to describe the make of camera and the likely contents of the bag. And Lynne, those contents would have included some very expensive equipment quite apart from the camera – additional lenses, filters, light meters, God knows what – I should estimate over a thousand pounds’ worth. It can’t all just have vanished into thin air.’

  ‘So you think, after all, it was a burglary that went wrong?’

  He didn’t reply and a wave of cold washed over her.

  ‘Or,’ she went on, feeling her way, ‘might something Mark had photographed have led to their deaths?’

  ‘That’s what I was wondering. It could just have been a burglary; other possible explanations are a) he’d lost it beforehand – in which case he would very definitely have reported it; b) the milkman nicked it, or c) someone in the police did, neither of which seems very plausible. Anyway, I thought I’d better warn you that they’ll be in touch about it.’

  ‘I should have missed it myself,’ Lynne reproached herself. ‘Mark hardly went anywhere without his camera, but being there at the house and with all the trauma about the children, I just wasn’t thinking straight.’

  In his position as executor, Graham had been made aware of the adoption arrangements. ‘Understandable,’ he said quietly.

  ‘It probably explains why none of us missed it. We might have done later, but thank God you were straight on to it. Thanks for letting me know, Graham, and again for all you’ve done – flying up there and everything.’

  ‘Only too glad to help. We’ll … be at the funeral, of course. Have you settled on a date yet?’

  ‘Yes, next Tuesday, two p.m. at Saint Nick’s, Spellsbury, and the church hall afterwards. I suppose that’s quite near you?’

  ‘It is, yes.’

  ‘And the week after that we’re off to Canada.’

  ‘I meant to ask: were you able to get an extra seat on the plane for Adam?’

  ‘After a bit of wangling, yes. God, Graham, I wish we weren’t going, but the parents insist we should.’

  ‘I agree with them,’ he said. ‘You were here for them during the initial shock of it all, but there’s little you can do now, and a new start is just what you all need.’

  In her heart, Lynne supposed he was right.

  Afterwards, her memory of the funeral was condensed into a series of sounds and barely registered impressions – a ray of sunshine touching the coffins by the chancel steps, someone sobbing quietly behind her, the over-sweet scent of lilies. She moved through the day in a haze, surprising herself by being able to join in the hymns – till in heaven we take our place – responding automatically to expressions of sympathy from Mark’s work colleagues, dry-eyed and at one remove from everything. She was vaguely aware that Harry, never far from her side, was fielding any awkward comments and queries, and was passively grateful.

  In the church hall after the service, Roy approached them a little tentatively, Janice, red-eyed, at his side. ‘We probably won’t see you again before you leave,’ he said. ‘We’d just like to wish you all the best.’

  Magnanimous in victory, Harry told himself bitterly. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  ‘I hope we’re parting as friends?’

  Poor guy, Harry thought with sudden sympathy; none of this was his doing. ‘Of course.’

  He glanced at the two women; the fact that each was grieving a sibling should have brought them closer, but what little empathy had been between them had dissolved in the adoption row. There was an awkward pause while both men wondered what to say and neither of the women said anything. Then Roy held out his hand and Harry shook it.

  ‘Bon voyage, then.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Later, as they were leaving, Louise and Clive also came to say goodbye, both of them kissing Lynne’s unresponsive cheek and shaking Harry’s hand.

  ‘Please try not to blame Janice,’ Louise said in a low voice as the men made conversation. ‘She’s been desperate for a baby for years now, and I’ve been quite worried about her. Rest assured that Kirsty couldn’t be more loved.’

  Lynne, in her protective cocoon, smiled and nodded, and the Grenvilles moved away.

  And now the last people were leaving and they could escape. Emotionally drained both by his own grief and by trying to protect Lynne, what Harry needed most was a good strong whisky, which he knew his father-in-law would supply. Only eight more days, then Canada here they come! God, he could hardly wait!

  FOUR

  2012

  Charlotte Anderson scooped up her baby son as he crawled determinedly towards the fireplace and replaced him facing in the opposite direction. ‘Have you heard from Adam lately?’ she asked her mother.

  Lynne suppressed a sigh. ‘No, but you know what’s he like. Not a squeak out of him for months, then he turns up unannounced, expecting the full prodigal son treatment.’

  ‘I’ve sent emails and left messages on his voicemail, to no avail. Claire’s getting worried that he won’t turn up for Jamie’s christening, and he is the godfather, for heaven’s sake.’

  ‘He’ll be there,’ Lynne said with more confidence than she felt. For Adam was his own person and always had been. Even as a toddler he’d disliked being held, and after those first traumatic days when he’d asked repeatedly for his parents, he’d appeared to dismiss them and his baby sister from both his mind and his memory. At first, Lynne and Harry had been thankful he’d escaped apparently unscathed, but as time went on and they increasingly introduced Emma and Mark into their conversation, he had shown little interest, accepting without comment the story of the car crash and his subsequent adoption.

  ‘He’s a boy, honey!’ Harry had repeated over the years. ‘They’re different animals from girls. It’s not that he doesn’t care, he just thinks it’s sissy to show it.’

  But Lynne found his detachment hard to accept, especially since, as he grew older, he looked more and more like his father. Sometimes, when he came suddenly into the room, her heart gave a little skip as memory blurred with reality.

  Since his mid-teens Adam had been a magnet for girls, all of whom he treated with benign indifference, and Harry had had to deal with several angry fathers along the line. Now, in his late twenties, the amiable but firm distance he maintained between himself and his family meant they’d no idea who his current girlfriend was, if, indeed, he had one.

  In one respect, however, they’d had no cause for worry, and that was academically. He’d prov
ed to be an exceptionally bright child, coming top of his class despite invariably being the youngest in it. Since he was fluent in several languages they’d hoped he might join the Diplomatic Service, but he’d surprised them by electing to go into teaching, and now held the position of head of the French department at one of Toronto’s most eminent colleges.

  Lynne, telling herself she’d a lot to be thankful for and shouldn’t quibble, bent to pick up her grandson.

  The temperature was steadily rising and it was as well, Adam Carstairs reflected, that the term was almost over. He lay on the bed, an arm beneath his head, watching a fly crawl over the ceiling and feeling the sweat course down his body.

  ‘I really should be going,’ Gina said unenthusiastically.

  He grunted. Did that, she wondered, mean ‘OK’ or ‘Stay a bit longer’? Resignedly guessing the answer, she swung her feet to the floor and reached for her clothes. They’d come straight from school, and the crumpled dress she retrieved was the one in which, an hour or two earlier, she’d been teaching year four.

  The bed dipped as he shifted position. ‘Oh, by the way, the sabbatical’s confirmed,’ he said.

  She stiffened. It was months since he’d mentioned the possibility, and she’d been praying he’d changed his mind. ‘Where and when?’ she asked, keeping her voice level.

  ‘The UK, in September.’

  She swung to face him. ‘This September?’

  ‘The very same, though I’ll be leaving earlier, to take in a tour of Europe.’

  Anger was building inside her. ‘And exactly when were you proposing to tell me?’

  ‘I’m telling you now.’

  ‘A bit late in the day, isn’t it?’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think so; I’ve not told the family yet.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Your parents don’t know you’re going abroad for a year?’

  ‘I keep telling you, they’re not my parents. But no, they don’t; I’ve been putting it off because sparks will fly when they realize I’ll be living amid my estranged family.’