The Unburied Past

by Anthea Fraser

  She climbed into bed, settled the pillow at her back and picked up her library book, but she couldn’t concentrate. The words swam together and she kept rereading the same paragraph. After a while there was a tap at the door and Angie came in bearing two mugs of hot chocolate.

  ‘I saw your light on, and thought you might be having trouble getting to sleep.’

  ‘Thanks. Stay for a minute – push Bear off the chair.’

  Angie smiled, depositing the soft toy on the floor. ‘If I were you, I’d have him in bed. You need something to cuddle tonight.’

  ‘He was my equivalent of a comfort blanket,’ Kirsty admitted. ‘My aunt says when I first went to her I screamed every time he was out of sight, and even in my teens he soaked up my tears when I failed an exam or the boy next door didn’t phone.’

  ‘I think it’s lovely that you still have him. When we moved house all our toys were recycled to charity shops.’

  ‘Well, there were four of you; the combined collection must have taken up a lot of space.’

  ‘All the same, I cried for a week when I found they were gone.’ Angie stared into her mug. ‘I hope Alicia has some sort of comfort blanket.’

  Kirsty smilingly shook her head. ‘I rather doubt it, don’t you?’

  And Angie had to agree.

  Angie had offered to cancel her weekend with Simon to keep her company, and although Kirsty insisted she’d be fine, by the time Saturday morning arrived she wasn’t looking forward to two days on her own, and was actually reconsidering Janice’s invitation when, out of the blue, Nick phoned.

  It was over ten days since their evening together, and as the college had now broken up for the summer, she’d concluded, with mixed feelings, that she wouldn’t be hearing from him again.

  ‘I’m just back from a week in Ibiza with the lads,’ he began breezily. ‘A spur-of-the moment decision at the end of term. And as I’m off to Scotland next week to see the parents, I wondered if by any chance you’re free this evening? Sorry for the short notice, but as you’ll appreciate, life’s pretty hectic at the moment.’

  Kirsty hesitated. A second date suggested he might be hoping for a deeper understanding between them and, though attracted to him, she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. But it was good of him to contact her again after her previous suspicions, and at least she’d have company for the evening.

  ‘I am free, yes, and thank you, that would be good.’ She gave an awkward little laugh. ‘As it happens, I could do with cheering up at the moment.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘You won’t have heard, since you’ve been away, but a woman was attacked in the park this week.’

  ‘Lacy Park?’ he asked, unconsciously echoing her own surprise.

  ‘Yes; it’s shaken us all up a bit.’

  ‘I bet it has. That’s terrible. Is she OK?’

  ‘Not dead, anyway,’ Kirsty said grimly.

  ‘My God. Well then, let’s go out and enjoy ourselves and take your mind off it. Pick you up about seven?’

  ‘That’ll be fine,’ she said.

  He was tanned after his week in the Mediterranean, and Kirsty was surprised at how pleased she was to see him.

  ‘There’s a new chef at the Mulberry Tree who’s making a name for himself,’ he told her. ‘I thought we might drive out and give it a try. Pity it’s not a better evening – they’ve a lovely garden there.’ Like most of that month, it had been a day of heavy showers.

  ‘It seems to be clearing now,’ she said.

  In confirmation, the sun broke out as they drove into the countryside, glistening on wet hedgerows and forming prisms on the surface of the road. The Mulberry Tree was a genuine old pub with a thatched roof and blackened beams. It stood in an ideal location on a small rise overlooking a stream, its gardens sloping down to its banks. This evening, though, in the false sunshine, the iron tables bore pools of water, umbrellas drooped and chairs were tipped to allow the rain to run off them.

  With no outdoor option, the interior was crowded and noisy with the chatter of its clientele, and they had to queue for some minutes at the bar.

  ‘I booked a table in the restaurant,’ Nick said, finally moving away with their two glasses. ‘I suggest we take these straight in.’

  He led her through the jostling crowds to the low-ceilinged room, rustic with dark oak furniture and horse brasses winking on the walls, and they were shown to their table. The conversation level here was at a lower volume, and Kirsty seated herself with a sigh of pleasure, looking around her.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘you have the long summer holidays stretching before you, lucky thing!’

  ‘We’ve earned it, believe me. The last weeks of term were frantic, what with reports to be written and concerts and leaving ceremonies and sports days. There weren’t enough hours in the day. Now we need to regain our strength before the next onslaught starts in September.’ He took a sip of his drink. ‘Actually, next year should be quite interesting; someone I met in Canada is coming to us for a year’s sabbatical.’

  Kirsty, who’d been reaching for her glass, froze. ‘I didn’t know you’d been to Canada?’ she said carefully.

  ‘Yes, I took a sabbatical there myself a couple of years ago. This guy mentioned he had relatives in Westbourne, though I gathered they weren’t close. Seems I must have sold the college to him, though, since he’s following me over. He’s an interesting chap – a bit introverted, but very brainy and an excellent teacher. His name’s—’

  ‘Adam Carstairs,’ Kirsty said numbly.

  Nick put down his glass and stared at her. ‘Now how the hell do you know that?’

  She took a deep breath, but the time for prevarication was over. ‘Because he’s my brother,’ she said.

  ‘Your brother?’ Nick shook his head in disbelief. ‘But how … I mean, you’ve got different surnames.’ A quick suspicion. ‘You’ve not been married, have you?’

  ‘No, I haven’t been married.’

  He sat back in his chair. ‘I think you’d better explain,’ he said.

  ‘It’s a long story, but basically our parents died in a car crash when we were very young and we were adopted by different sides of the family. Adam’s were on the point of emigrating to Canada, and took him with them.’

  ‘I see.’ He paused, then said awkwardly, ‘I hope I wasn’t talking out of turn, saying he wasn’t close to his family.’

  Kirsty smiled fleetingly. ‘Actually, that’s putting it pretty mildly.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s hoping for a reconciliation?’

  ‘I very much doubt it.’ Adam, as she well knew, had a totally different agenda.

  ‘Then why come to this neck of the woods when he has the whole world to choose from?’

  ‘Perhaps you sold it to him. He’s also planning to research our family history while he’s over, and we originated around here.’

  Nick was silent for a moment. Then he said curiously, ‘So you knew he was coming. When, exactly, were you planning to tell me of the connection?’

  She met his eyes challengingly. ‘When and if it became necessary. We might never have met again, in which case there was no point in complicating things.’

  He held her gaze for several long seconds, and she guessed he was deciding whether to pursue the subject or to let it drop. To her relief, he chose the latter course. ‘A sensible precaution,’ he said briskly. ‘Now, I think it’s time we thought about eating.’

  For the rest of the evening they avoided personal topics and Kirsty realized, a little sadly, that the constraints of their first evening were back in place. When he dropped her back at the house he left her with a quick kiss on the cheek, and she doubted if she’d hear from him again.

  ‘Damn!’ Nick said softly to himself as he drove away. This was a complication he could do without. Adam would be part of his personal as well as his professional life for the next nine months, as unmarried members of staff tended to live together in Staff House. It was therefore doubly important that not
hing should sour their relationship.

  As for Kirsty, he was undeniably attracted to her, had found himself often thinking about her, and been looking forward to seeing her again. But it hadn’t been plain sailing on either occasion and he couldn’t really get a handle on her. She’d begun by suspecting him of anonymously pestering her, and although he’d been able to put that behind him, she’d closed up again this evening when speaking about Adam. Admittedly she hadn’t known they’d already met, but he’d told her that first evening that he taught at the college; surely it would have been natural to mention the imminent arrival of her brother, even if they were estranged? The reason she’d given for not doing so didn’t entirely ring true, and he had the feeling there was a great deal she wasn’t telling him – which, he admitted, was her right. As she’d pointed out, she barely knew him. Nor he, her. And she could undoubtedly be prickly when the mood took her.

  All in all, he concluded, drawing into his designated parking place in the college grounds, it might be prudent not to let the relationship develop any further until he saw how the land lay with Adam. A pity, but there it was.

  NINE

  Kirsty and Angie took their annual holiday each year at the beginning of August. It was a slack time anyway, and a frenzied stint of baking during July ensured that those customers who needed to could stock their freezers.

  For the last five or six years – since before the company started – Kirsty and a group of old school friends, now scattered round the UK, had come together in some exotic location to enjoy relaxation and good food. Husbands and boyfriends were firmly excluded, a rule Lance had bitterly resented. At least this year she wouldn’t have his sulks to contend with. Nor, she reflected a little ruefully, anyone else’s.

  There’d been no word from Nick, but she’d not expected one. Admittedly he’d now be in Scotland, but even on his return she doubted if he’d contact her. With hindsight, she could understand his grievance; on hearing his connection with the college, it would have been only natural to have mentioned her brother. He wasn’t to know of the sinister background they shared that lay behind her reluctance to speak of him.

  Towards the end of July, the weather that had been so dreary for the last couple of months began to brighten and the sunshine, combined with the absence of any further threats or deliveries, lifted Kirsty’s spirits, though she still found herself hurrying when she crossed the park and, as she’d promised Janice, she hadn’t ventured there after dark. Nor, despite the sunshine, did she take her book, so she was at home one Saturday when Angie returned unexpectedly.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked in surprise. ‘I thought you’d be enjoying a pub lunch somewhere.’

  Angie didn’t meet her eyes. ‘We’ve had a row,’ she said, dropping her overnight bag in the doorway.

  Kirsty raised her eyebrows. ‘You and Simon? But you never have rows!’

  ‘Not in public, perhaps.’

  ‘You’re saying you do? Not serious ones, though? Simon’s so laid back; I can’t imagine him losing his temper.’

  ‘He doesn’t often,’ Angie replied, ‘but when he does, fireworks fly, believe me.’

  ‘Come and sit down and tell me about it.’ She took two glasses from the cupboard and a bottle of Frascati from the fridge, and carried them into the sitting room. Angie followed her in silence, settled on the sofa and tucked her feet beneath her.

  ‘It was about where to go on holiday, of all things,’ she said, accepting the glass Kirsty handed her. ‘What with one thing and another, we’re late booking it this year.’

  Unlike Kirsty and her friends, Angie and Simon, claiming superiority, habitually backpacked wherever the fancy took them.

  ‘We’d been discussing it last weekend,’ she continued. ‘I suggested Greece – we’ve never been there – but Simon wanted to go back to Austria. I don’t see the point of revisiting when there are so many places we’ve not been to, and last time we were there we spent a lot of time in bierkellers, which he enjoys but aren’t my scene. Anyway, we argued a bit but didn’t reach any decision. Then, this morning, he calmly announced he’d booked our flight to Innsbruck. I was … thunderstruck. I said I’d told him I didn’t want to go to Austria, and he suddenly let fly, accused me of never considering anyone but myself and being too independent for my own good.’

  ‘Wow!’

  Angie sipped her wine pensively. ‘I think a bit of jealousy comes into it; he knows our business is going well and at the moment he’s struggling. People are thinking twice about spending money on home improvements in the present climate. Anyway, he made some acid comment about women bosses and I accused him of being sexist, and then we both said things we’ll probably regret.’

  ‘Oh, Angie, I’m so sorry,’ Kirsty said quietly. ‘It’ll work out, though, won’t it? It always has before?’

  ‘Only if I climb down, and this time I’m not going to – I’m quite determined on that. It ended with him saying he’d go by himself, and me saying I didn’t envy him the company.’

  ‘You’d be welcome to join us in Barbados,’ Kirsty said after a minute. ‘I’m sure you could get a late booking.’

  ‘That’s sweet of you, but no. You all know each other from way back – I’d be the odd one out.’

  ‘Then what will you do? Stay here and brave Olympics fever?’

  ‘Mum and Dad are going to the caravan in Cornwall. I’ll probably join them. At least the weather’s improving.’

  ‘I still can’t get over Simon having a temper,’ Kirsty said wonderingly. ‘It seems so unlike him.’

  Angie pulled a face. ‘It’s the quiet ones you have to watch,’ she said.

  That night, as Kirsty was settling to sleep, the conversation came back to her, and with it her surprise that Simon, outwardly so laid back, seemed to resent women bosses and had accused Angie of being too independent. It struck an unwelcome chord with their earlier discussion about the girl on the train, who’d bragged about a contract she was negotiating. No doubt he’d have resented her, too.

  Kirsty turned suddenly, grabbed a handful of pillow and pulled it under her chin. Don’t even go there! she ordered herself and, closing her eyes, willed sleep to come.

  It was two days later that, discovering her library book was overdue, Kirsty slipped out in her lunch break to return it, to be met by notices advertising a talk by ‘well-known local author, Matthew Armstrong’.

  ‘Has Chrissie been on to you?’ enquired a voice behind her, and she turned to see Lois clasping one of his books. ‘She practically press-ganged Johnnie and me into going.’

  ‘I haven’t heard from her, no. Actually, I’ve not read any of his, and live in fear of being found out! What are they like?’

  ‘A bit noir for me, though Johnnie quite enjoys them. He says at least they’re well written. This is to coincide with publication of his latest, and there’s wine and nibbles laid on. Do come and keep us company.’

  Kirsty glanced back at the notice. ‘Thursday evening; I’ll check the diary and see if we can make it.’

  ‘Odd that Chrissie didn’t phone us,’ she commented, having reported back to Angie.

  ‘She’s probably avoiding us because she let slip about Alicia.’

  ‘Well, what do you think? Shall we go?’

  ‘I suppose we should do the decent thing, but I’ve not read his books either.’

  ‘No doubt there’ll be a pile for sale, even in the library!’ Kirsty rejoined.

  When they arrived there was a daunting number of chairs set out and only about a dozen occupied, though admittedly it was still fifteen minutes before the talk was due to start. As Kirsty had prophesied, a pile of new books lay on a side table and Matt himself was engaged in conversation with the librarian.

  Chrissie caught sight of them, hesitated a moment, then came over. ‘Thanks for coming,’ she said. ‘I hope to goodness more people turn up.’

  ‘They’re sure to,’ Angie said soothingly.

  Alicia’s shadow lay
heavily between them and, after checking they couldn’t be overheard, Chrissie said quickly, ‘Thanks for being so understanding about … everything.’

  ‘How is she?’ Angie asked in an equally low tone.

  ‘Pretending it never happened.’

  ‘No nearer finding whoever was responsible?’

  She shook her head and the conversation ended with the arrival of Lois and Johnnie. Several more people drifted in, and by the time the librarian stepped forward to begin proceedings about half the chairs had been filled, quite a few by personal friends.

  Matt, however, gave no sign of disappointment and launched with practised ease into a witty and erudite talk that delighted his admittedly small audience. It was followed by some interested questions, a vote of thanks and a discreet reminder that he would be delighted to sign copies of his latest book.

  ‘We’re a captive audience,’ Lois whispered in tones of mock doom. ‘There’s no escape!’

  Accordingly they joined the short queue and Matt inscribed personal messages in each copy. Library staff were circulating with trays of canapés and glasses of wine, and when the queue for books dried up, Matt mingled with various groups of his friends.

  ‘Well done, mate!’ Johnnie said, clapping him on the shoulder as he reached their circle. ‘That was first rate. I always wondered how writers set pen to paper – or should I say finger to computer?’

  ‘We all have different methods,’ Matt said with a smile. ‘I can only describe how I go about it.’

  ‘Must be great to be creative,’ Johnnie continued. ‘You with your writing and Kirsty and Angie with their cakes!’

  Angie smiled. ‘Our “creations” are much more ephemeral, though. Here today, gone down someone’s throat tomorrow!’

  ‘But, we hope, giving pleasure on the way down!’ Kirsty added with a laugh.

  ‘Unlike my books?’ Matt asked with raised eyebrow.

  ‘That’s not what I meant at all!’ she protested.

  He laughed, laying a light hand on her arm. ‘Relax, Kirsty, I was teasing. Anyway, I don’t expect my books to give pleasure per se. Excitement and trepidation are what I’m aiming for.’