The Unburied Past

by Anthea Fraser

  As he drew up at the gate he saw that two other cars were already parked there. Belonging to neighbours, or members of his family? The gathering of the clans, he thought, and most probably all arrayed against him.

  Janice opened the front door as he reached it and for a moment hesitated, as though unsure how to greet him. He stepped forward quickly to kiss her cheek and she gave him a nervous smile.

  ‘Adam – how good to see you after all this time! Do come in.’

  And he was suddenly in the midst of them – Grandma Louise, as thin and chic as he remembered, though there was more silver than blonde in her hair; Roy, blustering in his initial embarrassment, and Kirsty: Kirsty, who was the biggest surprise of all, though Nick’s description should have prepared him. His own height, she had stood back as the others hurried to greet him, her grey eyes guarded, but as he moved forward to kiss her, the spicy tang of her scent tickling his nostrils, he admitted to himself with grim irony that she was exactly the kind of girl who most appealed to him.

  ‘God, you’re like Mark!’ Roy exclaimed involuntarily, then flushed. No doubt he’d been primed not to mention his parents. Louise, however, smoothed over the gaffe.

  ‘Roy, get this young man a drink while I quiz him about Florence.’ Her ice-blue eyes met Adam’s. ‘You did get to Florence, I trust? It was where your grandfather and I spent our honeymoon.’

  ‘Certainly, it was on my list of places not to be missed.’

  The initial awkwardness overcome, everyone relaxed, though Adam noted that Kirsty remained at the far side of the room. Complicated, Nick had called her; he could believe that.

  Talk settled into an easy rhythm – questions on the European holiday, enquiries after the family in Canada and a reprise of the successful Olympic Games. More immediately, he learned of Kirsty’s home-made cake company, that Roy had had a hip replacement, and – to his considerable surprise – that there’d been a series of attacks in the area, one of which took place in Lacy Park just opposite the college. It seemed that Westbourne wasn’t the placid and elegant place he’d supposed. At one point he intercepted a ‘so far, so good’ look passing between Janice and Roy, and smiled to himself. They needn’t think they’d escape so easily.

  Lunch was roast chicken with all the trimmings followed by apple pie and cream, and it was as they were sitting over coffee that Adam said casually, ‘By the way, I’d be grateful if you could give me Graham Yates’s address; there are some points I think he could help me with.’

  There was instant silence while everyone avoided each other’s eyes. ‘He’s my godfather,’ Adam added blandly. ‘He sent cheques on my birthday till I was eighteen, but I’ve since lost his address and forgot to ask Lynne before I left.’

  Roy cleared his throat. ‘Yes, of course. I’m sure we must have it somewhere. I’ll find it for you.’

  ‘You’re not in touch with him, then?’

  ‘No; he was your father’s friend rather than ours.’

  ‘Which, of course, is why I want to see him.’

  Louise laid down her coffee cup with a little click. ‘Adam, I know you must have a lot of questions, but I do hope you’re not going ahead with this foolish idea of looking into your parents’ deaths.’

  Here we go. ‘Sorry, Grandma, but I’m afraid I am. It seems no one else has.’

  Janice said on a high note, ‘That’s not fair! The police did all they could, and opening it all up again would be … quite unbearable.’

  Out of the corner of his eye, Adam saw Kirsty lay a quick hand over her aunt’s. Closing ranks, he thought.

  ‘There’s no need for any of you to get involved,’ he said quietly, ‘though of course I was hoping for a little cooperation.’

  ‘Nothing you do will bring them back,’ Janice said unsteadily. ‘If you want to research the family history, by all means go ahead. You might find something interesting. But please, please let your parents rest in peace.’

  Despite himself, Adam felt his anger rising. ‘You really think they can, when their killers are still at large?’

  ‘They probably died long since,’ Roy said.

  Louise leaned across the table. ‘Adam, you and Kirsty were too young to be much affected by the trauma. I have always thanked God for that. But for the rest of us life was a living hell from which it took a long time to emerge. Please don’t plunge us back into it.’

  There was another silence, measured in heartbeats. Then Adam said evenly, ‘Very well. I shan’t abuse your hospitality by mentioning it again, but for my own part, I must be free to proceed as I think fit.’ He looked at Kirsty, who was watching him intently. ‘As must Kirsty,’ he added.

  Everyone instinctively turned to her, but she simply looked down, shaking her head. Not much help there, seemingly.

  Somehow the conversation teetered back to normal, but Adam felt he’d outstayed his welcome. Soon afterwards he made his excuses and, having issued an invitation for everyone to join him soon for a meal in Westbourne, he took his leave, imagining the collective sigh of relief as the front door closed behind him.

  That evening, having obtained her mobile number from Nick, Adam phoned Kirsty, hearing her intake of breath as he identified himself.

  ‘Have I been blacklisted?’ he asked with grim humour.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I meant what I said, you know.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’

  ‘I have to know, Kirsty. Are you with me in this, or not?’

  She hesitated. ‘It’s different for me, Adam; in a sense I’ve been closer to it than you have. I can’t just … turn against them.’

  ‘God forbid! That’s the last thing I’d ask you to do!’

  ‘But going along with you and your enquiries … I don’t know …’

  ‘We didn’t get much chance to talk, did we? I rather think you saw to that. I know we didn’t like each other as kids, but can’t we move on, especially in view of what we’ve just learnt? We can’t just ignore this … elephant in the room. At the very least we need to talk it through and see where we both stand.’ He paused. ‘Do you know where Graham Yates lives?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. I don’t think I’ve ever met him.’

  ‘I’ve probably burned my bridges as far as Roy’s concerned.’

  ‘No,’ she contradicted, ‘if he said he’d get it for you, he will.’

  ‘In the meantime, will you meet me for a drink? No one need ever know,’ he added sardonically.

  That stung her. ‘You might not think it, Adam, but I am my own person and I make my own decisions.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said meekly. ‘So … will you?’

  A brief hesitation, then, ‘All right.’

  ‘I’m not well up in local rendezvous; can you suggest somewhere?’

  ‘There’s the Orange Grove, about ten minutes out of town on the Bellington road.’

  ‘I’ll find it. Tomorrow, about seven thirty?’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ she said, and rang off.

  Adam drew a deep breath. The game, he thought whimsically, is afoot.

  ELEVEN

  It was a cloudy, humid evening as Adam drove out on the Bellington road. It was not a route he knew – but then, as he reminded himself, he didn’t know any of the neighbourhoods surrounding Westbourne. He’d have to acquaint himself with them, though, because high on his list of priorities was a drive out to the house where he was born and the district that’d been familiar to his parents – though on reflection it would probably have changed beyond recognition in the intervening years. Come to that, his old home might not even still exist. The possibility of its demolition disturbed him, as though some vital piece of the jigsaw might be missing.

  Meantime, the meeting ahead of him was, he knew, crucially important. The success of his investigations might be determined by whether or not he and Kirsty could establish some sort of alliance, and he’d spent the day veering between being impatient to meet her and half-dreading the prospect. Would they even like
each other? They hadn’t in the past. Would she continue to resist him? If so, how could he win her round?

  The sign for the Orange Grove came up ahead of him, and he turned into its car park and switched off the engine. The garden behind the building was full of people sitting at small tables, but he couldn’t see his sister. He made his way into the pub and looked about him. Still no sign, but he was five minutes early.

  He ordered himself a beer and went to sit at a vacant table near the window. It was marginally cooler in here, and he hoped she’d agree to remain inside. Then, suddenly, she was there, cool-looking in a lemon dress. He stood as she came towards him but made no move to kiss her, sensing the gesture would be uncomfortable for both of them.

  ‘Are you happy to stay inside or would you prefer the garden?’ he asked, pausing before pulling out her chair.

  ‘In here, I think. It’s very humid out there.’

  ‘What can I get you, then?’

  ‘A spritzer, please.’

  He had to queue at the bar, mentally rehearsing how best to bring up the subject that had brought them here. Then he was being served and time had run out. On his way back to the table an odd fact struck him: this was the first time he’d deliberately set out to win someone round – make them like him. Previously he’d not cared one way or the other; the realization that this time he did came as a slight shock.

  They lifted their glasses to each other, uncertain what they were toasting, and Adam sat back, taking stock of the sleek dark hair, the steady grey eyes, the challenging lift to her chin. This sister of his would not be a walkover.

  ‘So,’ he began. ‘It might sound like a cliché, but how has life treated you? Would you say you’ve been happy?’

  Her mouth twitched. ‘You get straight to the point, don’t you?’

  ‘Had we been a normal family, I wouldn’t need to ask; as we’re not, I’m interested to know. Have you? Or were you always aware something was missing?’

  Kirsty took a sip of her drink, her eyes on the bubbles in her glass. ‘I’ve never analysed it, but yes, I’ve been happy – there’s no reason why I shouldn’t have been. I never knew Mum and Dad, so I couldn’t grieve for them. I do remember, at primary school, feeling badly done by that I couldn’t produce parents on Sports Day like everyone else, and had to make do with an uncle and aunt. But that was only in passing. How about you?’

  He was silent for a moment. Then he said simply, ‘I’ve never felt I belonged anywhere.’

  ‘Oh, Adam!’ The exclamation seemed startled out of her. ‘Surely the family—’

  ‘Did all they could? Of course they did. They couldn’t have shown me more love and support, but I was incapable of responding. Despite all their efforts, I always felt an outsider.’

  ‘That’s sad,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I suppose it is, but I’ve always been self-sufficient. I didn’t mind being a loner.’

  ‘So if I’d asked you the same question, you’d have said you’ve been happy?’

  ‘Contented would be nearer the mark. I was bright, and that was my escape route; I could spend evenings alone in my room under the pretext of studying. Sometimes I was, sometimes I wasn’t.’

  ‘But you must have had friends outside the family? At school, for instance?’

  ‘There were guys I hung around with, sure, but if I’d never seen any of them again it wouldn’t have bothered me.’

  ‘And you think it’s all down to what happened when you were two years old?’

  ‘Who knows? It could be, or it could be that I was just born what our American cousins call ornery.’

  ‘You didn’t make much effort to be liked, did you?’ she asked, unconsciously echoing his own reflection. ‘I have to say that when you came over I thought you were a total waste of space!’

  ‘And I thought you were a stuck-up little prig!’

  They held each other’s eyes for a minute, then both laughed.

  ‘You’ve improved with keeping, though,’ he added.

  ‘Oh my God, was that a compliment?’

  ‘The closest you’re likely to get from me.’ He paused. ‘I hear you know Nick Shepherd.’

  ‘Ah!’

  ‘Which translates as what?’

  ‘That I know him, yes. As he has clearly told you.’

  ‘I asked him what you were like, and he said you were attractive, clever and complicated.’

  ‘Did he now? He could be right about complicated, at least.’

  ‘OK, there are no doubt issues between you and I’m not going into them, even if you’d allow me to. What concerns me now is how you feel about the task I’ve set myself. You were ambivalent on the phone.’

  ‘I still am. If I helped you reopen the case, I’d be causing my aunt considerable distress.’

  ‘But she must want to know who was responsible?’

  Kirsty said slowly, ‘She’s never got over it. Every anniversary we go to the cemetery and it never fails to break her heart. I’ve always wondered why it was still so raw after all this time – people are killed in car crashes every day, and somehow their relatives come to terms with it. It was only this year, when I learnt the truth, that I understood.’ She looked up, finding his eyes intent on her face. ‘What exactly are you planning to do?’

  ‘I’ve already accessed the archives of the weekly paper up there, the Hawkston Gazette, and read reports of the case and the inquest and various comments made at the time. For instance, the milkman who found them, one Fred Harris, is quoted as saying “How could that nice young couple, who’ve only been here a few days, deserve this?” It brings it home, doesn’t it?’

  She nodded soberly.

  ‘In fact,’ he continued, ‘I went through all the editions from April to August of that year, making a note of everything that happened locally. Most of it was routine stuff – silver weddings and school prize-givings, a firm in financial difficulties, a drowning accident and so on. There might be some buried clue that’s been overlooked, but there’s no way of spotting it without speaking to the actual people concerned wherever possible. Which is why …’ He paused, gauging her reaction to what he was about to say. ‘I intend to go up to Penthwaite at half term and scout around myself. How do you feel about coming with me?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Me? What good would that do?’

  ‘Nick said you’re clever, remember, and two pairs of ears and eyes are better than one. Well?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Adam, I can’t give you an immediate answer! I’ll have to think about it.’

  ‘Fair enough, though I’d like to feel you’re with me on this. Kirsty, we’re the only people who can do it. Even if they wanted to, the others are too emotionally involved to be objective. And let’s face it, we were the two most affected, even if we weren’t aware of it.’ He drained his beer. ‘Did you tell them we were meeting?’

  ‘I haven’t done, no.’

  ‘Will you?’

  ‘Of course, next time I speak to them. I’m not going to make an issue of it.’

  He nodded. ‘Incidentally, have you ever been back to the house we lived in?’

  She shook her head. ‘I asked to see it once, when I was six or seven, but my uncle said it would hurt Auntie Jan, and that the house we lived in now was my home.’

  ‘Graham Yates lives in the same area,’ Adam mused. ‘You were right about Roy, by the way; he called this morning with his contact details. I might do a detour on my way to visit him – always supposing he’s around and can see me. I’ve never met him, but he did his godfatherly duty until I turned eighteen.’ Adam paused. ‘He was the one that went up afterwards, collected their personal effects and drove their car home.’

  ‘God, I didn’t know that.’

  He stood up abruptly. ‘I’m going for another beer; can I get you anything?’

  ‘No, thanks, this is fine.’

  She watched him cross to the bar, a slight figure in his open-neck shirt. This was the first time she’d been alone with him,
and she needed time to consider if and how much her opinion of him had changed. They weren’t kindred spirits, that was clear, but she was surprised to sense vulnerability beneath the self-confident, offhand manner.

  ‘I presume we were told the same thing,’ Adam said without preamble as he rejoined her. ‘They were bashed over the head for no reason, discovered by the milkman, camera missing?’

  ‘Put a little more sensitively, but yes.’

  ‘Nothing else that might be relevant?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Our grandparents flew up to … identify the bodies and bring us back.’

  ‘They didn’t speak to anyone else up there, apart from officials?’

  ‘Who, for instance?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ he said impatiently. ‘Anyone from the village? I don’t think they even went there. Everything seemed to have been handled in the town.’

  ‘They’d have been too distressed to linger, and concentrating on getting us home as soon as possible.’

  Adam was silent, swirling the beer in his glass. ‘I might put a notice in the Gazette’s personal column, to pave the way for us.’

  ‘Us?’ she queried with a wry smile.

  ‘I always think positively. Something on the lines of Information sought concerning the murders of Mark and Emma Franklyn in Penthwaite, June 1986. Confidentiality guaranteed. And a box number.’

  ‘You’d probably need to offer a reward, and you’d get all sorts of crank replies.’ She was, she felt, an unwilling expert on cranks.

  ‘I could sort the wheat from the chaff. It would be a starting point, at least – I’ll give it some thought.’ He straightened his shoulders. ‘Still, we’ve talked it into the ground for now, so let’s change the subject. Tell me about this business you run.’

  So they talked on less serious matters for another half hour before she glanced at her watch and said she must go.

  ‘I should have suggested driving out together,’ Adam apologized. ‘It never occurred to me; proof of my innate selfishness.’