Flowers for the Dead (14 page)

He only had bad memories associated with sex and the thought of doing it repelled him. At school he often overheard boys talking about girls – overheard but never took part, because no one ever bothered trying to include him. While they boasted and lied about their experiences, Adam tried to shut down that part of him, using his logical brain to smother his raging hormones.

His sleeping patterns had changed recently, and he found he could get by on just four hours a night. This was wonderful, because it left him more time to order his life. From ensuring the clothes hangers in his wardrobe all faced the same way, to learning the whole tome on floriography off by heart; from bringing in his new regime of one hundred sit ups and one hundred press ups every day in order to try to live up to his father’s expectations of what made a real man, to fixing clocks and learning new computer skills.

Other times he simply stared into space, stepping into the fantasy world he had created as a child to deal with abuse. He no longer needed to summon it, it appeared all around him of its own volition, and he was always grateful. It was his one true friend; it was a place where he felt pure not dirty.

Adam was fracturing from reality, but no one saw it. If an expert were called in they would have realised he was suffering developmental trauma following years of abuse, which had affected parts of the brain that relate to inhibitions and decision-making. That he was becoming obsessive, and developing sociopathic tendencies.

But no one was going to call in an expert.

His father was not around enough to notice what was going on, and was slightly embarrassed by his strange weakling of a son. Sara only saw the child she had abused and controlled his entire life slipping from her grasp. Ada knew something was wrong, but had been a lone voice shouting in the wilderness for years now, and was getting old and tired. She worried about Adam, and was scared of what would happen to him when she died.

***

PRESENT

Laura is not sure what to do. There is an antsy thrill of fear as she gazes around her flat, knowing deep in the pit of her stomach that something is terribly wrong.

Nothing looks right. Nothing feels right. And she knows exactly why. Well, she isn’t an idiot, is she? Today is the anniversary of the accident. Of course everything feels wrong.

A knock on the door makes her jump. Her Aunt Linda has come to take her out for the day. Unable to decide what on earth was best to do, but knowing that Laura would need some kind of distraction to stop her sliding back into the bad place she has fought so hard to finally leave behind, in the end they have opted to visit Colchester Zoo. Although it holds lots of childhood memories, there is also always something new going on there, and Laura can lose herself looking at the animals.

Plus, if she gets too upset it is close enough for Aunt Linda to bring her home again quickly.

So they go to the zoo, barely exchanging a word. There is nothing to say. They go round every one of the creatures. See the orang utan’s tragi-comic face and read the sign explaining he lacks the facial muscles to smile as people do. Watch the penguins enthusiastically swimming and leaping for the fish. Stand in line to be allowed to feed an elephant.

Then they decide to go to the nature reserve at Fingringhoe Wick. The curlews there stalk the mudflats at low tide, the birds’ long beaks delving beneath the sand for worms the second it is relinquished by the water.

Finally, in a bid to truly exhaust herself, Laura insists on a long walk on the beach at Mersea Island. By the time she gets home she is so done in she almost trips over the flowers nestled on her doorstep before she notices them. It is yet another bouquet of pink roses.

Crap, she really must get round to calling Ryan. But not today, she does not have the strength.

She waves her aunt off, then gratefully closes the door, necks a couple of natural sleeping tablets, and falls into bed. Puts ear plugs in to block out the sound of fireworks going off at the annual display at nearby Colchester Castle. It is not so easy to block out the images that haunt her though, not tonight. It is a long time before she finally cries herself to sleep.

Later, Adam arrives and looks down at her tear-stained face. He hesitates then bends down and kisses her cheek gently, tasting the salt on her skin. She stirs, eyelids fluttering, but does not wake.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

~ Box Tree ~

Stoicism

SIXTEEN YEARS AGO

Adam had one arm wrapped around Ada’s waist, and another under her right elbow as he helped her shuffle outside into the late July sunshine. She leaned against him, panting with the exertion. It would have been easier for both of them if Adam had carried her, but she had protested sternly at the suggestion.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they reached her deckchair and he eased her down into it, before pulling the table to within her reach.

The frail stick of a woman looking at him did not look like his gran. In the handful of months that had slipped by since they last saw each other, Ada had lost several stone. An already slender woman, this had reduced her to a skeleton with flesh stretched over bone. Every movement seemed an effort that left her breathless.

She reached for her glass of water from the side table. Adam hurriedly handed it to her with tears in his eyes.

He had come up without his parents, his mother letting him travel alone by train after he begged and begged and begged.

“There’s something wrong,” Adam had insisted to Sara.

“Why? What’s she said?” His mother’s eyes had lit up. “Is she sick? When she croaks we’ll get that house. Tell me exactly what she’s said.”

“N-n-nothing. It’s a feeling I can’t shake when I speak to her that something is wrong, even though she insists she’s fine.”

“She is fine, just getting old,” came the scoffing reply.

For once, Adam had argued back though, pleading his case.

“If it will shut you up, then whatever. Let me know if it looks serious,” his mum had finally snapped.

She had got straight onto the phone to her husband. “I’m a little worried about your mum,” she had said softly. “I don’t think you need to rush home or concern yourself, it’s just…I don’t know, something I can’t put my finger on. A feeling I can’t shake when I speak to her that something is wrong, even though she insists she is fine.”

The gall of her, mocking Adam and then quoting him almost word for word.

Sara had given a gentle laugh. “I know, I know, I’m too soft and I’m worrying about nothing, you’re right. But…well, she and Adam are so close, so I thought I might send him over for a few days. What do you think?”

Her Oscar-worthy performance had fooled Graeme, and Adam was pleased rather than angry. At least it meant he was allowed to come. He had the entire long summer break to stay, if he needed to.

Sara had made sure he paid for the trip though, her punishment for leaving her still making him shudder when it leaked past his mental barriers. It was worth it though, because now he knew his instinct had been right: his gran needed him to look after her.

Looking at her, he broke into a sweat of fear. After several minutes she got her breath back. A few more and she heaved herself out of her chair, wobbled for a second, then set off at a brisk shuffle that suggested momentum alone was keeping her going.

The bum on her slim-legged cigarette trousers hung loose on her spare frame. On her jumper was clipped the sprig of white heather Adam had presented to her on his arrival, as a symbol of protection; the jumper itself swamping her. Her beautiful hair, always so perfectly coiffured, looked dull and messy, and she wore no make up.

Adam was scared. She looked ill. Very, very ill. He cleared his throat.

“Umm, are you sure everything is all right? Gran, you…you look unwell.”

She waved her hand dismissively, without bothering to stop or turn. That was not like her. “The doctor’s doing some tests, but it’s nothing for you to worry about. Please don’t make a fuss.”

Of course, he should have known she would want him to downplay things. He wasn’t a chid any more, though, and felt a moment of frustration because she clearly was not telling him everything. Instead of challenging it though, he nodded pliantly, and followed her around the garden, ready to catch her if she stumbled.

“There are some weeds coming up there,” she despaired.

“I could do that,” Adam offered eagerly. He saw a flicker of protest, and in desperation found himself thinking of his mother, of how she manipulated people to get her own way. What would she say in a situation such as this? “That’s if you don’t mind, of course. I never get the chance to do any gardening at home. I miss it…”

He waited with baited breath. Ada smiled and patted his arm with a shaking hand. “Of course, if it makes you happy.”

Manipulation was easy when learned from one of the best.

He rushed off to get the tools, and his gran’s deckchair, “So you can check I’m doing it properly,” he explained. There was no way he was going to let her stand for all that time.

“You’re a good boy, Adam,” she smiled. Put her head on one side, considering. “You know, you are a lot like my father. Graeme is too; nothing like his father, of course. Terrible man.”

Confusion flickered over Adam’s face. He had never heard his gran criticise his paternal grandfather. In fact, it was exceptionally rare that she referenced him at all. Just as with Sara’s parentage, Graeme’s was shrouded in mystery.

Ada did not continue though. Instead she sighed sadly, and Adam pulled up weeds in silence for several minutes.

“Just like my father,” Ada repeated suddenly, as if no time had lapsed. “You know, you and he would get on well; he’d be glad that one day all this will be yours.” She smiled weakly. “Well, if your mother hasn’t sold it off first.”

Adam lay down his trowel and gazed shyly up at his gran. Her own smile widened.

“I’m sure you’ve already guessed that I don’t like your mother very much. You will have to forgive an old lady for her bluntness. But as one gets older, and time shorter…” She trailed away, lost in thought, before remembering what she had been saying. “Yes, this house. Do you know why it was built?”

A shake of Adam’s head and she continued. “When that big main road over there – you know the one I mean? When it was first created in 1896, it cut the ancient grounds of Moseley Hall in two. Everyone feared that the remaining parkland would be built over. So nine local businessmen and residents came together to stop it – and your great, great grandfather was one of those people.

“They formed the Moseley Private Members’ Park Co-operative, and created a new fourteen-acre park with a lake. That is the private park this house backs on to. All the shareholders built houses backing onto that land, and the owners of those houses to this day are the only people with access to the park.”

“Wow, so…we’re really posh?!” gasped Adam. Ada laughed and nodded.

“A little, possibly,” she conceded. “But not enough to get above ourselves. A true gentleman never boasts, Adam. Certainly, we are very lucky to be able to enjoy all of this though – look, nature is on our very doorstep.”

As she said this, a couple of peacock butterflies flitted around the nettle patch by a tree trunk. Over by the pond a comma rested on a bramble leaf, its scalloped wings wide open so that the full beauty of them could be appreciated. A single small tortoiseshell rested on the mown grass nearby, wings twitching open and closed, sunbathing and hiding alternately.

“Yes, I have been very lucky, really. Apart from that once…and even that was a blessing in a way,” murmured Ada. But on that subject she spoke no more.

Over the next few days she talked as much as her fading strength would allow, seeming to find comfort in the past. Adam was all too happy to listen. He had always found her voice soothing, but now he also had a terrible feeling growing that he should soak up as much time with her as possible, as much of her knowledge as possible. He was scared time was running out.

Mornings were the worst. Adam quickly got into the habit of gently knocking on his gran’s bedroom door then entering to rouse her on the pretext of bringing her breakfast in bed. Really, it was because he was terrified she might have died in the night. He barely needed any sleep as it was, but his usual four hours a night reduced to two. Sometimes he was so tired he almost felt hysterical; it seemed to give him more energy, not less, and he was buzzing as if he was wired. It was good, it meant he could do even more for his gran.

He made her all her favourite foods. But she did not eat. “It’s not your cooking, it’s my old taste buds,” she explained one day, voice whispery and wheezy. “Everything tastes strange these days.”

Peppermint tea seemed to be her only sustenance. Every day she grew thinner and weaker.

“Let me call your doctor,” Adam begged. “Or Dad.”

He had not kept his word to his mother, he had not called her since his arrival, and she had not called either. It was no more than Adam had expected.

Apparently Ada had equally low expectations.

“If you call your father he will tell your mother,” she said firmly. “And I am not having that woman coming here now, eyeing up all the things she will soon own.”

“Don’t talk like that, Gran, you’ve got years of life ahead of you.”

Ada shook her head weakly, wincing with the effort. “I’m not afraid to die, Adam. It will be like falling asleep. Never be afraid of death.” But Adam’s sleep was haunted by nightmares.

“Here, why not do some embroidery?” he asked, proffering the carpetbag she used to house all her on-going projects. He was desperate for anything that might take her mind off such depressive talk. Ada refused to take it though.

“I can’t see so well,” she said. “Besides, I’ve done enough tapestry, embroidery, crochet, knitting, sewing, oh, everything, to last a lifetime.

“I tell you what would be lovely though…would you read to me?”

With an eager grin, the fifteen-year-old bolted to the shelf and lifted down the massive red tome of
Tales of Faerie and Myth.

“It doesn’t seem like five minutes ago that that book was almost as big as you were. Remember how you used to totter under its weight?” Ada recalled.

Adam laughed his response, pleased that her mood had lifted slightly. He read tale after tale, their roles reversed now. He hoped he gave his gran at least a little of the entertainment, comfort, and security he had felt when she had read to him as a child.

As he spoke aloud the story of
The Pied Piper of Hamelin
, she looked more relaxed. Her breathing slowed, eyes closing by degrees. She was asleep and finally at peace for a few moments. Adam watched her gratefully, glad she was getting some respite from the pain she was clearly in.

The second he stopped reading, though, her eyes opened.

“Hmm, yes, and the moral of that is always show gratitude, and pay your dues, or bad things will happen,” she said quickly, trying to hide the fact she had been asleep.

It became their new afternoon routine.
The Glass Coffin; Emperor’s New Clothes; The Fisherman and His Wife; The Frog Prince
… Every time, Ada would fall into blissful sleep halfway through, then rouse for the end, and both would pretend she had been wide awake the whole time.

As the days passed, Ada grew increasingly frail. She was often dizzy, and so weak that she now had no objection when Adam carried her to sit outside in the sunshine, or up to bed at night. He even took her to the loo, though she drew the line at him coming inside with her.

“A lady has to retain some dignity,” she mustered grandly.

Conversation became slower and more rambling as time went by. She offered pearls of wisdom about love and life.

“Find someone who is proud to be with you, Adam. Someone who knows you aren’t perfect, but loves your imperfections,” she repeated time and time again. “She must have class. That doesn’t come from money, you understand. It’s an indefinable something extra, a quality, which is apparent whether or not someone is well off. Grooming, manners, kindness, strength of character – these are the things that define class.”

She also made it embarrassingly clear that he should not be led by physical attraction.

“Th-that w-w-would never ha-happen,” he insisted.

Ada caught his face between her frail hands and cradled it as she gazed at him. Her skin felt chalk dry against his. “It can happen to the best of us, Adam.”

Letting go, she settled back into her usual high-back Queen Anne chair, the wings seeming to cradle her as Adam had always felt they had as a child.

“Look at me. Look at your father,” she continued quietly. “Sara trapped Graeme. I knew it from the first moment I lay eyes on her. He did too. But he let her because of me. It’s all my fault…”

She trailed off, lost in the past. Adam’s breath caught. What on earth did she mean, it was all her fault?

“When your mother told him she was pregnant, he decided he had to do the right thing. Walking away didn’t enter his head because he knew how devastated I had been when it happened to me.”

Adam was really confused: his grandfather had died, that wasn’t abandoning someone.

His gran seemed to read is thoughts. “No, he didn’t die.” She picked at an imaginary thread on her sleeve. “I met Jasper when I was thirty-six, and we married shortly after. Everyone was surprised I had finally settled down – in those days I was considered an old maid. Jasper was the centre of my world, though, and happy to be so. He loved nothing more than me catering for his every need and whim. While he went out to work in the City, I played housewife.