What You Left Behind (14 page)

“You ladies busy at it?”

Lana jumped and looked up. Frank was standing there holding two mugs of tea. He put them on the table, sloshing some on the wooden surface.

“Thanks,” Sonia said without looking up.

“Sorry I didn’t make it in last night,” he said, looming over them.

Lana’s ears pricked up. She’d overheard her parents arguing. Her dad hadn’t been happy about Frank demanding that her mum take his shift after their meal at the pub.

“It’s OK,” Sonia said quietly.

Frank didn’t make a move. He stood there, square to the table, hands on hips and a frown set on his face. The tea was obviously some kind of apology.

“Something important came up,” he finally muttered, before heading off to the shower room. A moment later, Lana heard a rush of water as he began his cleaning duties.

“What was all that about?” she asked when she was sure Frank wouldn’t hear.

“I don’t really know,” Sonia said, pausing to look at her daughter. “It’s weird. He’s never missed a shift before.”

Lana watched as Frank came out of the shower room. He returned from the kitchen a moment later with a bucket of steaming hot water and a mop. He gave her a lingering glance as he disappeared back inside the tiled washroom. The scent of disinfectant soon traveled across the hall.

“I heard shouting,” Lana admitted. She hated it when her parents argued. It wasn’t often, but with everything else going on, she’d become sensitive. “Did Dad go and sleep in the spare—” She stopped herself. “Gil came in yesterday with some bagged-up clothes. They were Simon’s things.” She regretted saying that too.

“Lana, it’s fine if you want to talk about him, you know.” But her mum was looking at the ceiling, trying to hold back the tears. “I’m glad to be rid of all the stuff, to be honest. I’ve been having a big clear-out. Frank collected a load of things from our place. Clothes, mainly. Your dad’s, mine, some of Gil’s. I think people have been helping themselves already. No point it going to waste and, really, what use is there in holding on to the past and—”

“Mum,” Lana said gently, “you don’t need to explain.”

“It’s just … Simon’s everywhere at the moment. Do you feel it?”

“Oh, Mum,” Lana said, dragging her chair closer. The noise echoed through the hall, stirring Abby, who was cocooned in her sleeping bag. Lana wrapped her arms round her mum, embracing
the warm skin of her shoulders. She smelled faintly of horses and deodorant. “I’ve sensed him too.”

“It’s not as if it’s even the anniversary or his birthday.”

“Yesterday Abby mentioned a vet’s assistant job she’d spotted in the paper. That reminded me of him.”

Lana felt her mother tense in her arms.

“Anyway, Dad and I decided it was the right time to let some of his things go,” she said.

They each took a sip of their tea, and a second later both pulled a face.

“Did Frank put sugar in yours?”

“Yes,” Lana said, trying not to sound ungrateful. “It’s disgusting.”

For a moment they went back to their work, but Sonia was restless.

“I had a visit from Jo Curzon and her sister earlier,” she said with her fingers hovering over the keys. “It was a bit embarrassing, to be honest.”

“How come?” Lana began sorting the receipts again. She couldn’t be sure she’d got them in the correct order.

“Gil did one of his drawings and gave it to Jo’s sister. She’s a detective.” Sonia turned, stretching her neck because she’d been at the computer too long. “It was of Dean’s crashed motorcycle. It was really gruesome.”

“Oh dear,” Lana said, imagining what Gil would have drawn. She knew his pictures were exceptional and accurate. “But how did he know what to draw? He wasn’t at the crash.”

“You’re right, he was with me that evening,” Sonia said quickly. “And I could have done without them coming round implying things that aren’t true. Gil coped in a similar way after Simon died, if you remember.”

Lana didn’t. The aftermath of her brother’s suicide had gone on around her as if she didn’t exist. Of course she recalled the police
and the relatives and the doctors and journalists and several weeks off school as if it had all happened yesterday. But she also felt she’d been shielded and protected from the truth, the intricate details, the whys and the hows and the process that had, over the months, turned her parents into strangers.

But she nodded in agreement, knowing from experience that this was easier.

“Poor Gil,” she said. “He’ll be suffering no end.”

“I tried to explain to the detective but I’m not sure she understood.” Sonia’s hands were shaking now as they hovered over the keyboard. “If you see Freddie, perhaps you could reiterate what I said about Gil. It might filter back to his aunt.”

“Sure,” Lana said. “Freddie says she handled a really important murder case last year. I remember it from the news.”

She waited for her mum’s reaction. She knew that on the one hand she was in complete awe of people with jobs like Lorraine’s (she was surprised they hadn’t had Jo and her sister round for dinner yet), but on the other she was now petrified by the sight of a police car, a uniform, an ambulance with its lights flashing. It was no wonder, she thought. The day they lost Simon was filled with all that and more.

They worked silently side by side for another five minutes; then Sonia shut down the laptop.

“I think I’ll go to the cemetery,” she announced. “Would you like to come?”

Lana stared up at her. Her mum had no idea how much she hated going there. She couldn’t bear gathering up the rotten flowers or standing talking to the plaque they’d had carved out of expensive marble as if Simon were still alive, as if he might burst up through the earth, shake himself down, and carry on as if nothing had happened.

“You go,” she said. “I’ll finish up here and do the shopping on the way home. I’ll take care of the horses too.”

“Are you sure?” Sonia sounded disappointed.

“I’m certain,” she replied.

Then, as her mother collected her bag and keys and put her sunglasses on her head, Lana reached out and took her hand.

“Mum?”

“What is it, love?”

There was a bang followed by swearing as Frank emerged from the shower room.

Lana took a breath to force out the words she’d been desperate to ask for months and months: “Why did Simon do it?”

Her words rang through the hall, stopping even Frank in his tracks, his bucket clattering. Her mum’s hand stiffened within hers.

“Love …” Sonia began. “I …” She stopped, her mouth open, her eyes closed. A moment later she was gone, mumbling an apology, promising they’d talk later.

Lana knew they wouldn’t.

F
RANK HAD THE
kind of arms that could sweep up a young child effortlessly, haul a catering-sized sack of potatoes onto his shoulder without a thought, break up a pub fight with ease, or, it turned out, offer a tight and comforting hug just at the right moment.

“You don’t want to go getting all upset now, do you?” he said.

Lana’s cheek was pressed against his chest. She wasn’t sure if she should be terrified or grateful. In all the time she’d known him, Frank had never touched her. Certainly not pulled her this close, or rested his mouth against her hair as he was doing now.

She moved her head. He didn’t let go. Only when his hands traveled down her back and back up again, his fingers reaching too far around her sides for comfort, did she attempt to pull away. For a second he gripped her, making her catch her breath; then he let go and she could breathe again.

“Thanks, Frank,” she said. But he’d made her heart pound.

“Your brother was a good lad and what happened was terrible. No one’s seen anything like it around here before. All those kids killing themselves.”

Lana nodded, watching as Frank filled the kettle. His tattoos rippled over his strong, sinewy forearms.

“But asking your mother questions she can’t answer isn’t going to do anyone any good, is it? You need to move on. Surely that’s what your brother would want.”

He stared at her, those silver-blue eyes softening just a little.

“More tea?”

Lana swished her hair back. “Only if you don’t put sugar in this time,” she said with a grin.

They decided to sort out the bags of clothes together. Lana wondered if she’d misread Frank over the last couple of years. Maybe he was one of those gentle giants, the kind of man who would silence even the roughest of pubs when he walked in but turn out to be as tender as a lamb. Looks could be deceiving, she told herself.

They put the clothes into piles—winter and summer, male, female, different sizes. There were shoes too, belts, hats, CDs and books, a portable radio, and even a couple of old cell phones.

Frank was incredulous. “You sure your mum doesn’t want these things?”

“I’m pretty certain. She hates hoarding stuff. The only reason we haven’t got rid of Simon’s things before now is … well, you know.”

Lana turned to fetch another bag of clothes from the back hall, taking the opportunity to blow her nose as she did so.

“I’ll have to go recruiting again to fill all these clothes,” Frank said when she returned. He was holding up one of her father’s sweaters, and smiling.

Lana had to look away from his rotten teeth. “Recruiting?”

“You know, go and find me some more homeless lads. The rate they keep dropping off, we’ll have spare beds.”

Lana didn’t like the throaty laugh that followed, which ended in a clogged-up smoker’s cough.

“Where do you find them?” she asked, wishing she hadn’t. She should go home. Since her mum left half an hour ago it had been just her and Frank at New Hope, apart from Abby, who was still sleeping.

“Everywhere and anywhere,” he replied. He stood and carried a pile of coats over to a large table. When he’d dumped them, he ran his hands down the front of his grimy jeans. Lana hadn’t noticed how strong his legs looked until now. “Parks, public toilets, shop doorways, you name it. Come dusk, there are plenty who appreciate a warm bed for the night.”

“I see,” Lana said, trying not to imagine Frank herding up young lads from public toilets. She couldn’t help glancing at his right hand. “You’ve hurt yourself.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, showing her his grazed and scabbed knuckles. “You should see the other bloke,” he joked. Then the rotten grin again.

“I’d better go,” Lana said, hunting around anxiously for her bag and keys.

Frank was suddenly close again, dangling her bag by its strap.

“Of course, not all of them deserve a bed, you know. Some of them don’t appreciate the work your mum and I do here.” His voice was slow and deep.

“Oh?” Lana said, wishing Frank would hand over her bag. Her hand was on the strap but he wasn’t letting go.

“Some of them would steal from their grandmother’s grave, given half the chance.”

Finally, Frank let go. She hooked the strap over her shoulder and started to walk off, but he caught her by the arm and pulled her close, making her gasp with fright.

“Between you and me,” he growled, “one or two of them deserve everything they get.”

His laugh followed her all the way out to her car.

13

The rain had washed them out of the castle grounds before they’d even started their picnic. The sky had quickly yellowed and grayed, transforming the ancient and crumbling buildings into a color not normally visible to the human eye.

The café was packed with lunchtime trade, so Lorraine and Jo drank cups of tea and hot chocolate, and surreptitiously ate the sandwiches they’d brought, passing them under the table. Stella was reading the Kenilworth Castle guidebook, while Freddie stared at his phone, his knee jiggling beneath the table.

“Why don’t we just go home?” Jo said when it was clear the weather had set in.

“How about the cinema instead, kids?” Lorraine suggested.

Kids
seemed a ridiculous fit for Freddie these days. He reluctantly agreed, not wanting to upset his younger cousin.

“This gives us a chance to pay a visit,” Lorraine said to Jo on the drive to the cinema.

“A visit? Where? Aren’t we watching the film too?”