Dark Undertakings (3 page)

Philip groaned. ‘Don’t the police usually do all this for people? It’s too much, leaving everything to us. Weren’t the police called, when you found him this morning?’

Monica shook her head.

‘But why not?’ he pursued. ‘Isn’t it the law, when there’s a sudden death?’ He looked from face to face, bewildered. Monica felt sorry for him, at the same time as needing him to be strong. She never doubted that she could trust him; she knew the bond between them could withstand even this catastrophe. David, on the further edge of the triangle, clasped his quivering hands into fists, the knuckles
standing out pathetically. She closed her eyes for a moment before explaining.

‘I phoned Dr Lloyd. He came right away.’

David gave another grating laugh. ‘Typical! If Dad had been still alive, the doctor would probably have taken hours.’

‘If he’d been alive, I would have called an ambulance.’

‘So you knew he was dead?’ David said the word flatly, deliberately, refusing to skirt around it. He heard his brother take in a small breath of pain, and felt a mixture of impatience and satisfaction.

‘Yes,’ said Monica weightily, knowing it was important to emphasise this point. ‘It was obvious. His mouth was hanging open, with this nasty sort of froth on his lips, and there was no breath or pulse.’ The odd loosening in her chest increased. Almost forgetting her sons, she relived those minutes. ‘He was cold – or not so much cold as if he was made of clay. Sort of
dense
. It’s difficult to describe.’ She grimaced, and put both hands across her stomach. ‘It makes me feel so awful to think I was lying in bed with him dead beside me, and I never knew. Not until the radio turned itself on, and he never got up to make the tea. That’s when I knew something was wrong with him.’ A tear gathered itself, but never fell. ‘All I could think about was how Jim never got
ill. He didn’t have one day in bed all our married life. I was the one to get flu and backache and sprained ankles. Jim was
invincible
– that’s what we used to say. But there he was, all sunk and flat – not him at all any more.’

Philip shifted in the chair, his face white. ‘Mum – don’t.’

‘It’s all right, darling. I don’t mind talking about it.’ Philip bit his lip.

She went on, compulsively, ‘And then I suppose I must have shaken him a bit, and said something. I did. I said, “Jim, are you all right?” Isn’t that stupid! But you don’t believe it, when it happens like that, out of the blue. I still don’t. At least,’ she corrected herself with an air of wonderment, ‘I suppose I do, now.’ She turned from one to the other, eyes wide, brows raised. ‘Where was I? Have I told you what the doctor said?’

‘Look, Mum—’ Philip tried again. ‘You really don’t have to go into every detail.’

It was as if she hadn’t heard him. ‘In the end, I went to get a flannel, and washed his face – after I’d pushed Cassie off him and shut her in the kitchen. Poor little thing. Look at her.’ She nodded towards the dog, curled in the opposite corner of the sofa, ears limp and nose on both paws, the picture of misery. ‘She knows he’s not coming back.’

‘Rubbish,’ said David. ‘She’s always like that when Dad goes out without her.’

‘No she isn’t. Not on an ordinary work day. She knows something different has happened. She watched those men carry him out, and she knew they were taking him away for ever. Dogs understand more than we think.’

‘Rubbish,’ repeated David rudely. ‘And since when have you cared, anyway?’

She hugged her arms around herself, and pressed back into the sofa. ‘I wouldn’t want her to be miserable,’ she protested.

‘She’ll get over it.’ David hadn’t much liked the succession of West Highland terriers himself, and never played with the puppies when Jim periodically decided to have a go at breeding from one of the bitches.

Philip got up then from his chair, as if to confirm the end of his mother’s reminiscing. He rambled aimlessly round the room, finishing at the table under the window, idly flipping through a small sheaf of letters, which had come in the morning’s post and been ignored.

David, however, kept his eyes on his mother’s face, knowing there was more to come. Echoes of the morning’s phone calls thrummed between them: David’s impatience at being woken up, his refusal to believe what she was saying, something wrong and hurtful lying on both their chests.

‘You still haven’t told us what the doctor said,’ he reminded her.

She resumed talking, the words strung together steadily, without pause. ‘He listened for a heartbeat, looked down his throat, made me help to roll him over so he could examine his back. He was quite thorough. Said it could only be a heart attack, very severe, probably without much pain. Asked me if I’d felt him moving about in the night.’

‘And had you?’ Philip looked over his shoulder at her.

Monica shook her head. ‘You know how deeply I sleep. I didn’t even hear him come to bed.’ She looked down at her legs, curious to see them shaking. Philip came back to her and took her hands between his own.

‘Please, Mum. That’s enough. It must have been terrible for you.’

‘Let me finish, Phil. There isn’t much more, and I … well, it makes me feel better, somehow.’ He dropped her hands, and returned to his chair, perching on the edge, his forearms on his legs, wearily patient.

Monica pressed on with the story she felt compelled to relate. ‘He said something about a note all the doctors had been sent from the Coroner’s Office, saying to try to cut down on post-mortems. There have been a few done
needlessly, and it costs some enormous amount of money every time. He was very honest with me. Said there was scarcely so much as a tiny doubt in his mind, and we could safely assume it was his heart. I’m sure he was right. What else could it be? Even if it was a stroke, that’s still natural causes. What difference would it make to know for sure?’ She frowned, hearing herself, and glanced quickly at David. ‘It wouldn’t change anything, would it. Dead is dead, whatever causes it. That’s it, I suppose. You know it all now.’

Philip raised his head and sighed. ‘Poor Mum,’ he murmured. ‘It’s going to take time to get over it. You can come and stay with us for a bit. Nerina won’t mind.’

‘No, no. I’m all right here. For today, anyway. There’s lots to do.’

David uncurled his leg, and stretched his arms over his head. ‘You’ve certainly put us in the picture,’ he said, with a jarring grin. ‘Told us a bit more than we wanted to hear, to be honest. Now do I get a go?’

His mother and brother gave identical wary nods, but he needed no encouragement. ‘I just thought you might wonder how it was for me, things being as they are. In case you’ve forgotten, the last time I saw Dad was on Friday. I’m sure he told you about it?’ he demanded of
Monica. She shook her head wordlessly.

‘Then I’d better tell you, before Jodie does. I went to the printworks, to ask him one last time if he’d give me a job there. I’m sick of greasy car engines and their stupid owners. I told him he owed it to me. I
pleaded
with him. And you know what he did? He laughed at me. Told me, in front of everybody, that I’d make a useless printer. Told me to stick with cars and think myself lucky.’

‘Oh, Davy,’ Monica moaned. ‘He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t have given you a job, just like that, anyway. He doesn’t own the place.’

‘Don’t give me that,’ he snarled. ‘They’d have taken me on, if he said so. That’s not the point, though, is it? The point is, how do you think I feel after
that
?’

‘But you didn’t kill him, did you?’ said Philip, calmly. ‘You’ve got nothing to feel guilty about.’

David stared wildly at his brother, running his fingers through his tangled hair. ‘You’re a fool, aren’t you,’ he said, in some surprise. ‘You don’t understand anything. Well, stick around, brother, because there’s a lot more of this to come.’

‘Stop it, David,’ Monica said sharply. ‘That’s enough.’

A silence fell, broken only by the rustling of David’s jerky fidgetings on the pouffe. Finally
Monica spoke. ‘There isn’t anything we can do now. I have to collect the medical certificate from the doctor, and go to the Town Hall tomorrow morning to register the death. It’s all settled. It was a heart attack. It couldn’t have been anything else. The death certificate will say that, and that’s what we’ll tell everyone.’

Philip was suddenly unsure. ‘You sound as if we’re keeping something secret.’

Monica banged the flat of her hand down firmly on the seat beside her. ‘It’s the
truth
.’

Philip sat forward again. ‘I should come with you. Only—’

‘Oh, no, that’s all right,’ she reassured him. ‘I know how busy you are. I might ask Pauline to come with me, if I feel like taking someone. There’ll be plenty of other things for you two to do.’

Philip stood up again. ‘I was only talking to him on Sunday,’ he said wonderingly. ‘He had all sorts of plans for the garden, once he’d got the new trellis the way he wanted it.’

‘He was always the same in September,’ said Monica. ‘As if he had to have something to look forward to next spring. Every year we’ve been here, he’s started something new in the autumn.’

David snorted, and Monica watched him carefully as he stumbled to his feet. Knowing
already that the coming days would be shot through with David’s tangled needs and emotions, she wondered how she would ever manage. But she forced herself to reassure them both as best she could, addressing the space between them, from age-old habit.

‘Darlings, these things happen. You know they do. And nobody ever thinks it’s going to be them. I like to think he enjoyed his last day. Things were going well at work, and he saw his friends last night. At least, I suppose he did. I can’t be completely sure where he went – you know how it was with us—’ Delicately, she stopped. It had been an iron rule with her and Jim not to allow any of their marital idiosyncrasies to impinge on their sons. ‘I think he went to see Jack – you know, from the works. He’s got a new computer game, and Jim’s got hooked on it. Something about mist. They play it together. Sounds childish to me, but then men often are.’ She was prattling, trying to obliterate David’s obvious suffering, trying to make the whole event ordinary and understandable.

Philip was more than happy to take her lead. ‘There is a game called Myst, with a y. I can just see Dad getting into something like that.’

‘They surf the Internet, too. He comes home
with all sorts of things printed out. Houses for sale in Italy, the diseases that West Highland terriers are most prone to, obscure American politics. He loved all that.’

‘I suppose it shows an enquiring mind,’ Philip acknowledged. ‘No harm in it, at least.’

‘Don’t say that!’ David stood up, and went to the door. Then he swung round and went to the door. ‘Dad’s dead and we sit round talking platitudes. Pretending we’re an ordinary, normal family. At least now some of the secrets can come out. At least with him dead, we might get to some of the
truth
at last.’

Monica’s pale face turned almost green. Philip’s jaw sagged in bewilderment. When the doorbell rang, all three were relieved.

Drew had gradually worked out the hierarchy, the jostling for position, the jobs that nobody liked. The jobs that
everybody
liked. Driving the lims was popular. ‘You get to hear amazing stuff,’ Vince told him. ‘Like a taxi driver. There’s always some joker trying to keep things cheerful. Good jokes, usually, too. The times I’ve wished I had a tape recorder! And they say terrible things about the person that’s died. Sometimes I think God’ll send a thunderbolt down, right onto the back seat. Serve them right if he did.’

Pat, as Conductor, had special status. He struck Drew as something of a prima donna, forever brushing imaginary specks from his black coat, and obsessed with timings. Many a morning he would arrive, saying, ‘Traffic’s bad on the dual carriage this morning. They’ve closed a lane to lay the new gas pipes. Better leave a good five minutes early.’ Or ‘The
twelve-thirty
’s going to be a big one. They’ll hang about afterwards. That means Little George’ll be late getting back with the lim, and it’ll be a rush to get down to St Joseph’s for the Catholic one this afternoon. Vince – you’ll have to help me get them moving. Don’t let them spend for ever admiring the flowers.’ Behind his back, Vince and the two Georges would raise their eyes to the ceiling and grin silently. Daphne, the boss, arranged the timings with extreme care, knowing exactly what was possible, and to be late was virtually unheard of.

‘You know the Lapsford chap?’ Drew said to Vince, over the sandwiches and coffee which comprised their lunch. They were treating themselves to a full hour’s break for once, in preparation for a busy afternoon. Vince nodded and Drew went on, ‘Well, I know what Sid said, and he’s probably right – but do you think anybody’d mind if I had a shufty at the body? Just as a sort of exercise? A bit of practice for
when I’m covering for Sid’s holidays, if you like.’

Vince shrugged. ‘Can’t do any harm. Just be sure not to find any knives sticking out of his back. That would only cause embarrassment all round. And … well, maybe leave it until tomorrow, when Sid’s out doing that ashes interment. You know what he’s like about his precious mortuary. He’d think you were interfering. You’re not going to leave any marks on him, are you? Not going to do your own amateur post-mortem?’

Drew forced a grin. ‘I was only a nurse, you know. I realise it sounds weird,’ he held his hands up in surrender. ‘It’s just curiosity, I suppose. I’ve never seen anyone after dying as suddenly as this. I thought maybe it affects muscle tone and coagulation – something like that.’ He hoped he sounded convincing.

Vince grimaced. ‘Morbid bugger. Never had any interest in that side of it, myself. Still, takes all sorts, as I have to keep telling people when they want to know why I do this job.’

‘Right,’ agreed Drew vaguely. He was struggling to conceal his feelings, which were causing considerable inner turmoil. The chance to examine Lapsford’s body for himself was suddenly of immense importance. Not again would he let pass something that his gut told
him was wrong. Never again, in his life, if he could help it, would that be allowed to happen.