The Unburied Past (16 page)

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.'

They walked out to the car park, the air still heavy and oppressive. ‘Let me know how you get on with Graham,' Kirsty said.

‘Ah, so you
are
interested!'

‘Of course I'm
interested
, dammit. I'm just not sure what could be gained by stirring things up.'

‘Well, I'd be glad to have you on board, but with or without you, I'm going ahead. And the first thing will be to call him as soon as I get back. I've three more days before school starts, and I intend to make the most of them.'

‘Graham Yates?'

‘Speaking.'

‘This is Adam Carstairs.' There was an uncertain pause, and he added, ‘Franklyn, that was.'

‘My God,
Adam
! This is a surprise! Where are you?'

‘In Westbourne. My aunt didn't tell you I was coming over?'

‘No, we only exchange Christmas cards. But … are you on holiday?'

‘No, I'm taking a year's sabbatical at the college.'

‘I heard you'd gone into teaching, but here in Westbourne? Well, well!'

‘I was wondering if we could meet.'

‘Of course! I'd be delighted, and so would my wife.'

‘I should warn you that I'll be looking into my parents' deaths while I'm over, and would welcome anything you can tell me.'

A pause, then: ‘I see. Are you sure that's wise?'

‘Wise or not, I intend to do it.'

‘Then of course I'll help you all I can,' Graham said slowly. ‘How about coming out and having a meal with us? I'll be most interested to hear how you're getting on.'

‘Thank you. That would be great.'

‘Just a moment, I'll check with Sue.' A hand was put over the phone, muffling the conversation taking place, then he came back on the line. ‘Sue reminds me I've a PCC meeting tomorrow evening. How would Wednesday suit you?'

Which meant kicking his heels for an extra day, but there was no help for it. ‘Thank you, that would be fine.'

‘About seven thirty, then? You know where we are?'

‘I have sat nav, thanks.'

‘Good. See you then.'

Whether he'd expected any flicker of recognition when he saw his old home, Adam could not be sure, but he didn't experience one. His main feeling was relief that it was still where it had always been and appeared to be occupied by a family, since there was a child's trike in the garden and a man washing his car in the driveway.

Had his father stood on the same spot to wash
his
, before setting off on his ill-fated holiday? He looked up at the frontage. There were three windows on the first floor, two presumably being the main bedrooms, and a little room over the porch. Perhaps that had been his. For several minutes he concentrated on trying to remember, but to no avail. This pleasant semi-detached house gave no hint of its tragic history, and that was as it should be.

The car-washer turned to look at him enquiringly, and with an apologetic wave Adam drove on.

Graham and Sue Yates lived just ten minutes away, in a similar style of house. It had, however, been modernized with double-glazed picture windows and sun panels on the roof, which in Adam's view did nothing to improve its appearance.

As he was locking the car Graham came striding down the path, his hand outstretched. He was a tall man with a high-domed forehead surrounded by curling black hair; his eyes were large and brown and, Adam thought inconsequentially, cow-like in their liquidity.

‘Adam! How very good it is to see you! Come inside!'

His hand was clasped in a strong grip, Graham's spare arm going round his shoulders. Sue was waiting in the hall to welcome him, a small woman with short fair hair and glasses, whose face lit up as she smiled, reaching to kiss his cheek.

‘My goodness, you're like your father! I suppose you get tired of people telling you that!'

‘Really, darling,' Graham reproved gently, ‘next you'll be telling him that he's grown!'

Sue laughed good-naturedly. ‘Now, I know you two want a chat, so off you go to the sitting room. Dinner won't be ready till eight, so you've plenty of time.'