Flowers for the Dead (17 page)

When he was done, he stood back. Yes, he was fairly confident she would not be found, at least not for a good while. Although people came near there all the time, they tended to stay on the other side of the path.

It was quite clever really, he realised with a smile, hiding her in plain view like that. That cheered him up a lot. It had been a crappy day for him, but at least he had that thought to comfort him.

***

PRESENT DAY

There is no need for words between them, their connection is so deep that they communicate silently, knowing each other’s thoughts. As soon as Laura walks through the front door that evening she chooses to put on the exact music Adam has been humming to himself all day, and the coincidence gives him a warm feeling of being home that has nothing to do with bricks and mortar.

Now, Ed Sheeran serenades them as they read. Side by side they sit, Laura engrossed in her well-thumbed copy of
Pride and Prejudice
and Adam skimming through a book on antique clocks. Sometimes Adam only pretends to be reading; instead he is surreptitiously sneaking a peak at Laura, glancing up through his eyelashes. He finds himself arrested by the curl of a strand of red hair she is playing with idly; the sweep of her eyebrows, which sometimes move imperceptibly in reaction to a scene she is reading; the curve of her soft, full lips. He cannot keep the grin from his face: he feels like the luckiest man in the world to have found such an incredible woman, whom he loves with all his heart and who loves him back.

Finally Laura stretches and yawns. Pads wordlessly to the kitchen and returns with a cuppa. Adam has his head on one side, watching her with interest, questioning:
what do you want to do now?

“Where did I put Sabrina?” she murmurs in reply, so quietly that he almost doesn’t catch it. He knows exactly where the dvd of the Audrey Hepburn movie is, but she does not need his help and moments later they are settled down once more. They laugh in the same places, cry in the same places, and again Adam marvels at the connection they have.

What’s more, his gran would love Laura. She is what he has been waiting for all his life – and she was worth the wait.

That is the thought that occurs to him as Laura slides into bed wearing her favourite long-sleeved green t-shirt and cream cotton pyjama bottoms, and clicks off her bedroom light.

“Sleep tight,” breathes Adam. “I’ll join you in an hour or so.”

Then he reaches over, turns off his laptop, and stretches before picking up his car keys to make the journey from his hotel in Braintree to Laura’s flat.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

~ Amaranthus ~

Hopeless

SIXTEEN YEARS AGO

He kept thinking about Lisa. Of course he felt bad about what had happened. Seeing the Missing posters everywhere, and her parents on the television and in newspapers was upsetting. Ultimately, though, he had not meant the bad thing to happen, it had not been planned, so really he was as much a victim of circumstance as Lisa was.

He kept thinking about Lisa. About her lips being crushed beneath him. Soft, gentle, warm. The tiny huff that had filled his mouth as she had exhaled her last breath. They had shared a wonderful moment, a bond that would last forever.
‘Til death us do part.
Her wide eyes boring into his very soul and seeing him, the real him, exposed and pure.

He kept thinking about Lisa. And wondering when he could feel that rush of love again.

Even at Ada’s funeral two days later, Adam found himself standing outside the Moseley house and staring into the middle distance as he thought of his Rapunzel with the sparkling aura. His insides seemed to give a little squeeze that he found comforting every time he pictured her death, almost as if she were with him, trying to say that she was happy about what had happened.

His father caught the upturn of Adam’s lips and gave him a look of disbelief. Graeme’s own mouth was grim, his eyes red with tears. It was the first time Adam had ever seen him cry. He was not a man given to showing emotion but he was genuinely in bits over his mother’s death.

The clip clop of horses’ hooves was the only sound that bright August day, apart from the occasional sob. The funeral carriage being pulled by four black horses looked so huge compared to the small coffin inside, covered in floral tributes.

Graeme leaned against Sara and she wrapped her arm a little tighter around him.

“I should have listened to my instincts,” she whispered.

It was what she had lamented time and time again since Ada’s death, inveigling her way into Graeme’s grief to ensure that she was still centre of attention.

Her husband kissed the top of her head and cried into her hair. “No, no you did everything you could. Mum could be so stubborn…she didn’t want any of us to know she was suffering. She was trying to spare us all.”

The pair clung to one another during the entire service at St Mary’s Church in Moseley, while Adam stood stiffly separate. Ada would be the last to be buried in the family plot of the magnificent six hundred-year-old building, as it was now full. As they walked away from the graveside at the end, Graeme held his arms out and hugged his wife and son tight.

“Proud of you both,” he sniffed. “Mum would be too.”

All three held hands as they walked to their car. The handful of fellow mourners followed them back to Ada’s house for the wake. Soft talk, shared memories, nibbles and sherry, then tears once more as people said farewell and promised to make more of an effort to stay in touch with each other.

The family stayed at the Moseley house that night. Sara poured Graeme a stiff whiskey, put a consoling hand on his shoulder and sighed sadly. Adam watched curiously.

“So many happy family memories are held in these walls,” she said wistfully. “How many generations has it been in your family?”

“We’ve owned it since it was built in, er, 1896, I think it was,” Graeme recalled. Sara massaged his neck as he spoke.

“Hmmm. It would be heart breaking to get rid of it – especially for Adam; he adores this place. But, that’s what we’ll have to do if you want us to stay in Colchester. I mean, I know you’re barely there, but it is your official base so I suppose anything else would be impossible. It’s not as if you could commute.”

Graeme considered for a second. “No, you’re right, we can’t get rid of this place,” he decided. “We’ll move here. I can use our current house on the rare occasions I have to visit the barracks.”

“Oh, what a good idea,” Sara gasped, landing a feather-light kiss on the back of Graeme’s neck. From the satisfied smile on her face, Adam could tell that inside she was pumping her fist with glee.

For once Adam’s own longing coincided with his mother’s. He desperately wanted to stay in the old house, and the idea of giving up the acres of garden, which rolled gently down towards the private park and lake…well, it was more than he could stand.

Besides, it had occurred to Adam that Birmingham represented a fresh start for him. Gran’s house would be big enough for him to lose himself in, and in a few years’ time he would be eighteen and able to get away from Sara completely. His time was coming at last; he could hardly wait.

Sara made a fuss of Graeme for the rest of the night, already making herself at home by fixing his favourite meal in the vast kitchen, letting him watch whatever he wanted on the telly, including the news which she normally declared “too depressing to watch.” When the headlines came on it was all about Lisa Brookman. The photograph that flashed up showed her long blonde hair off to perfection, her dazzling smile, and that name necklace of hers.

“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Sara said. “That poor girl’s parents. Surprised it’s made national news though.”

“Silly season, isn’t it,” replied Graeme. “Very little news, plus she’s a pretty white girl who will stick in people’s minds. If she were an ethnic minority, or worse, ugly, she wouldn’t be on the tv.”

A thought seemed to occur to Sara. “Did you know her, Adam?”

He shook his head. But his mother gave him a keen look – had she noticed that split second of panic? “Different sc-schools,” he muttered. Jumped up and gave his parents a peck on the cheek each. “Going to bed. Night.”

“Night, son. It’s been a long day, eh?” said his dad. He gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. Already things were getting back to normal.

Over the following days Graeme and Adam seemed to grow closer, united in their shared grief. Even Sara put on such a convincing act that for a moment Adam wondered if she really was sad that Ada had died. She seemed to be watching him like a hawk though, especially when they got home to Colchester.

He avoided her as much as he could, which was always easy when his dad was around. She did not often try anything when he was home. Now though she tried to draw Graeme into a developing game of cat and mouse.

One night as Adam scuttled to his room Sara sighed.

“Can’t we all spend a little time together?” she asked. “Graeme, don’t you think it would be nice if Adam spent a little time with us, together, as a family? Losing Ada has made me appreciate how lucky we are to have each other…”

Adam looked at his dad imploringly. “I was just g-going to listen to some music,” he begged.

“You’re angry with me, aren’t you,” Sara said. “I don’t blame you – it’s my fault. I should have tried harder to get your gran to open up to me, sweetheart. I’m not always a good mum, I know…”

“No one blames you, Sara. Come on, Son, stay down here for a bit longer, keep your mother happy,” his dad jumped in.

“I don’t want to force him to be with us,” Sara added.

“You’re not – is she, Adam?”

“No, no, of course not.” Adam sat down again, drumming his hands on his thighs nervously. He had a bad feeling his mother was up to something. She did nothing that night, though; nothing but make pleasant conversation that made Adam more and more nervous.

For the next few days he managed to slip past her. The only evidence of his existence was a dirty mug, some jeans in the laundry. He knew he was pushing his luck, that this could only continue for so long but after the loss of his gran, then Lisa, he could not face playing his mother’s games. One night as he sneaked past the lounge on his way to his bedroom, he heard the television still on despite the late hour.

“It’s been a week now since missing 16-year-old Lisa Brookman was last seen heading into Gosbecks Archaeological Park. Despite a police search of the area, no sign has been found of the schoolgirl,” said a reporter, standing outside the park.

“A week with no sign of her? She’s dead,” he heard Sara muttered to herself, disinterested.

Adam froze on the stairs, unable to stop listening. At a slight shift of his weight, the stair creaked.

“Adam! Is that you?” his dad called. He did not reply, unsure what to do. The television droned on.

“It could be your boss, it could be your friend and, ultimately, it could be your family member,” someone was saying on screen.

“Adam!” called Sara. “Do you want some dinner?”

“... avoiding news reports, avoiding family, not being in the right place at the right time, these are clues that person might be a suspect.”

Panic filled the boy. Not even trying to be quiet, he ran from the house, slamming the door behind him. He walked the streets for hours until he was sure his parents were fast asleep, before returning home, exhausted.

The following day, Graeme’s compassionate leave ended. There was no way Adam could get out of saying goodbye, so he stood dutifully beside his mother at the end of the driveway to wave him off. As his car turned the corner and Adam moved to go inside, he noticed his mum was holding something up.

Something that glinted in the sunlight.

A golden necklace, with ‘
Lisa’
emblazoned across it in curly writing.

“I think you and I need to have a little chat, don’t you?” she said.

He shivered in dread, kicking himself for not finding a better hiding place for the necklace that inside one of his shoes. With an inclination of her head, Sara indicated that she wanted him to lead the way indoors. All he could do was comply.

Adam sat on the sofa and stared at the floor while his mother paced in front of him. She was talking endlessly, but he was not listening. Instead he watched her feet passing in front of him, the tiny size four shoes and twiggy legs giving no clue that she had metaphorically stomped all over him throughout his entire life.

“Answer me!” she hissed suddenly. She knew better than to shout and let the neighbours hear what was going on.

That was Mother all over, she was all about control. Just like the sandpaper marks concealed in hard to see places such as the small of his back or the crease behind his knees; or on knuckles and elbows easily dismissed by his own clumsiness. He was haunted by her little gasps of pleasure, the way her lips peeled back to show her teeth just before she…

She stopped pacing and stood still in front of him.

Still he stared at her shoes. They were elegant kitten heels in fuchsia leather, the toe tapering to a perfect point. He wanted to kneel before her and ease them off her feet, oh, so lovingly – then shove the pin-point heel right through her eye. Smash her face with it again and again. He could see her, stumbling backwards in shock; mouth agape with terror now rather than ecstasy.

“Well?” she demanded.

His attention snapped back into place. She had asked something of him and expected an answer. What though? His mind was whirling, trying to rewind the conversation.

“Did. You. Kill. That. Girl?” She enunciated each word so that they dropped, echoing, into the sentence like tombstones.

Oh. That was what she wanted to know. Adam’s mind froze, as usual. Then something strange happened: when it got working again, it seemed to be going at twice the normal speed and ten times the usual clarity.

The way Adam saw it his mother was going to make his life even more of a misery. She had a hold over him now that would last a lifetime, just as he had been hoping to break free from her once and for all. No fresh start for him, no hiding in Gran’s vast house, no moving away when he turned eighteen. Sara would never allow that, not with this knowledge to blackmail him with. She would use it to keep him beside her for years. Maybe for the rest of her life.

“Did you kill her?” she asked again. Then sneered. “Of course you did; nasty little creature that you are. Still, I’m surprised a useless worm like you had the strength or imagination to pull it off. You’ll be caught eventually, of course – well, unless I help you out.”

As she laid her plan out to him, all Adam could do was nod. He felt utterly helpless.