Drowned Lives

25

I noticed the BMW parked outside Maybank as soon as I turned the corner from Gaia Lane. It’s the sort of street where you notice these things, even when there isn’t a thickset man sitting at the wheel watching you with a covert intensity.

He was out of the BMW quickly enough to waylay me between the gate and my back door. I don’t know why I felt threatened. He could have been another policeman, or he could just as easily have been a Jehovah’s Witness or an insurance salesman. But my instinctive reaction was to seek an escape route as he approached. My key was in my hand, and I was looking round for Rachel, as if she might be a guardian angel watching over me. But for once, she was missing.

‘Mr Buckley?’

‘Yes?’

‘Christopher Buckley?’

‘That’s me all right.’

‘My name’s Leo Parker.’

‘Oh?’

Then I stopped looking past him at the road and focused on his face. I recognised him then. He was the man who’d been with the MP, Lindley Simpson, at the meeting in Boley Park Community Centre. The squat shape and heavy shoulders under the dark coat were unmistakeable.

‘I wonder if you could spare me a few minutes.’

‘Well... I’m not sure.’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’m not selling anything.’ He held his hands out to show they were empty and gave me a sincere smile that was meant to be disarming. But all it did was make me look uneasily behind me at the door of Maybank, finger my key, and wonder whether I could still make my escape. At the sight of that politician’s smile, I became convinced that he was on a lobbying exercise to persuade me write something favourable about Lindley Simpson, or some other cause that would benefit Leo Parker. I was about to come under a bit of gentle pressure, and I could do without it right now.

‘I want to talk to you about Samuel Longden,’ he said.

I stared at him in amazement. I heard the door of number four open and close, and the familiar footsteps began to descend the path. They slowed, and stopped somewhere near the gate. I could imagine Rachel’s antennae springing to life and tuning in to our conversation as she became aware that I had company. I saw Parker’s eyes flicker past me, and the polite smile became fixed on his face, though his eyes didn’t change.

‘You’d better come in for a minute,’ I said.

‘Thank you.’

I took him into the sitting room. It’s a room I don’t use very much, not since I’ve been on my own — my computer and books and the TV are in what used to be the dining room, which is at the front of the house with a view of the road. The sitting room is a part of the house which most captures the memory of my parents, with its three-piece suite in a dull yellow fabric, a glass-topped coffee table, and even the old tiled fireplace from the 1950s. I had a vague memory from my childhood of the traditional three porcelain ducks winging their way across the back wall, but maybe I was just imagining them. The room always smelt musty, as a result of a damp patch of carpet under the bay window where rain got in through a crack in the glass.

It was also a cold room, but I didn’t want my visitor to be too comfortable. The only operative heating was in the fish tank set into an alcove next to the fireplace. My father’s neon tetras and black mollies still swam in there. The only time I came into this room normally was to feed the fish or clean their tank. Occasionally I’d sit for a while and watch them as they twisted and turned aimlessly, gaping through the glass in their helpless captivity, preserved in an unchanging environment for the rest of their lives. Lately, I’d been looking at them with envy.

‘Ah, fish,’ said Parker. ‘I’m told they’re very restful.’ He spoke like a visiting minor royal, automatically seeking something of interest to make conversation about. He was thinking ‘This man has a tankful of tropical fish in his house, therefore he’ll be won over and trust me more if I show an interest in fish.’ It’s an old trick. It’s one that insurance salesmen learn — which was exactly what Parker claimed not to be.

‘So. Samuel Longden,’ I said. ‘You have some sort of connection with him?’

‘Yes, of a kind.’

‘Are you a relative?’

‘No, no. Simply a friend,’ he said.

‘I see.’

‘A close friend.’

I hoped that he couldn’t see the disbelief on my face. From what I knew of Great-Uncle Samuel, this man was not the sort of person to be his friend, close or otherwise. But then, what did I know of the long spell between the death of my grandfather and the day Samuel had approached me by the side of the lock at Fosseway Lane? Perhaps he had, indeed, become the sort of man to associate with the likes of Leo Parker. This Parker definitely looked like a politician to me. And I had no idea about my great-uncle’s politics.

‘Did you have some interest in common?’ I asked. I cursed the conventions that prevented me from asking outright the questions I wanted to put, for fear of appearing rude. Parker smiled again, as if acknowledging the same convention.

‘Certainly. A shared interest in history.’

Though the smile stayed on his face, his words laid an even deeper chill on the air of the room. That one phrase left me in little doubt what he’d come about. Samuel Longden’s obsession with the past was attracting a lot of unwelcome things into my life, and I was counting Leo Parker as one of them.

‘And what can I do for you exactly?’

‘Let me explain. I’ve been helping Samuel with a certain project. History, as I say.’

‘Your shared interest.’

‘Exactly. It has involved quite a lot of research, a great deal of hard work collecting documents and information. All this work was intended to lead to a book eventually.’

‘I see.’

‘Well, the long and short of it is that, now Samuel is dead, it obviously falls upon me to complete the project. But it seems that a large part of the material we worked on together may have fallen into other hands in the meantime. It would be a great shame, of course, if all Samuel’s work were to be wasted. And mine, of course.’

‘And your point is?’

‘Well, Mr Buckley, I’m anxious to track down the material. Files, papers, parts of the manuscript. Quite a large amount of material. I really need it back.’

He looked very relaxed, with his feet spread out on my parents’ mock goatskin rug. But I sensed that I somehow had the advantage of him, that he wasn’t quite sure of his ground. Did he even know that Samuel claimed to be my great-uncle? Maybe Parker had only guessed that I might possess what he wanted and was trying his luck. If so, a straight bat should see him off.

‘I don’t think I quite understand why you’re talking to me about this.’

‘I thought... well, I know that you had made Samuel’s acquaintance recently.’

‘And how do you know that?’

‘Oh, he mentioned it,’ said Parker airily.

‘When?’

‘I can’t remember exactly. Recently. Your name came up, and I gathered he was considering asking your opinion on the prospective book. He chose you because you’re a journalist, an independent and impartial observer, so to speak. Not to mention your interest in the waterways. Probably he was hoping you’d cast an eye over the manuscript before you returned it.’

I stared at him as steadily as I could, waiting for him to continue.

‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘Samuel might even have been considering the possibility of a small payment as a consultant. An editor’s fee, even. I think that might have been in the old chap’s mind, don’t you? But he got confused sometimes. He might not have made it absolutely clear what he intended. And, of course, I’m sure he never really meant to let the whole file of material out of his possession.’

He was beginning to sound more and more desperate. The hints about money proved that he was on shaky ground and appealing to my baser instincts. At any other time, the suggestion might have been tempting. It’s money for old rope, editing. But I already had my meal ticket lined up in the form of Samuel Longden’s fifty thousand pounds.

Boswell strolled into the room, rubbing his black fur against my legs to remind me he hadn’t been fed. He took one long, disdainful look at my visitor, flicked his tail, and walked out again.

‘Mr Parker,’ I said, ‘I really don’t think I can help you. You may or may not be aware that Samuel Longden left me certain items in his will, which I was not expecting. You might think these relate to the same project you’re talking about. I wouldn’t know. But obviously my first concern is to follow Samuel’s wishes as expressed in his will. And his intentions are quite clear — he wanted me to complete the project for him. If you’re in any doubt about that, I suggest you contact his solicitors, Elsworth and Clarke, for clarification.’

The smile had been slipping from Parker’s face for the last few seconds, and by the time I’d finished speaking, it was gone completely. Instead, his jaw had tensed into a hard line, abandoning any pretence of civility. The expression in his eyes hadn’t changed, because the smile had never spread beyond his teeth.

‘You may find the items were not Samuel Longden’s sole property in the first place for him to bequeath to you,’ he said.

‘I suppose you could challenge the will, if you think you could prove that.’

‘Perhaps I should.’

We stared at each other for a moment. I was trying hard to look much braver than I felt. Then Parker turned aside, ostensibly to admire the tetras and mollies in the tank against the wall. His heavy shoulders relaxed again gradually, and the smile began to twitch the corners of his mouth. He looked at me sideways, almost shyly.

‘Look, Christopher, we’ve got off on the wrong foot, and it’s entirely my fault. I suppose I ought to come clean.’

I noted the sudden switch to my first name, but I didn’t like the presumed intimacy any better than the oily courtesy.

‘That sounds like a good idea to me.’

‘What I’ve just told you isn’t entirely true.’

‘Go on,’ I said, far from surprised.

‘When I first introduced myself, you asked me if I was a relative of Samuel Longden’s, and I told you I wasn’t. That’s true, strictly speaking. But it’s a little more complicated than that.’

‘Perhaps you’d better explain.’

He sighed. ‘There’s something I should tell you. But this is very difficult for me. The subject is rather sensitive, both for myself and my family, just as it was for Samuel. I suggest it could be something you yourself are quite unaware of. Even though Samuel Longden was your great-uncle.’

I knew his ploy had been a calculated change of tactics. But I had to admit that he’d caught my interest now. I needed to hear what he had to say.

‘Will this take long?’ I asked.

‘A little while,’ he smiled.

‘You’d better sit down then. I’ll make us some coffee.’

‘That would be very civilised.’

Leo Parker settled himself on one of the yellow armchairs, close to the fish tank, where his eyes could follow the flickering movements. During the next few minutes, I began to wonder if his eyes moved away to watch the fish at moments when he was lying, but I possessed no facts to check his statements against. I had to accept what he told me at face value, for now.

‘Did Samuel ever mention my stepmother to you?’ he asked as I returned with a tray.

‘Why would he?’

‘Her name was Mary,’ he said. ‘Mary Parker.’

I stopped in mid-stride, almost pole-axed.

‘Mary—?’

Parker smiled as he casually let slip his bombshell.

‘She was also your grandmother.’

I felt him watching me like a hawk, and I couldn’t stop myself flushing with irritation and embarrassment as I clattered the tray down and slopped some coffee into a saucer.

‘I’m talking about your grandmother, Christopher,’ he repeated, as if I was deaf or stupid.

But I wasn’t either of those things. I was just thunderstruck, the way he’d no doubt intended me to be.

‘Of course,’ I said finally. ‘But did you say... your stepmother?’

He inclined his head. ‘Your grandparents separated and divorced. Mary went on to marry my father, Matthew Parker.’

‘So our families are related.’

‘I’d describe them as inextricably entangled.’

‘I had no idea,’ I admitted. ‘I knew that Mary left my grandfather when they’d only been married for a few years and already had a son, my father. But what happened to her afterwards—’

I must have looked sceptical, because Parker felt the need to convince me.

‘I can assure you it’s true. She married again.’

‘To your father.’

‘Yes.’ He hesitated. ‘Suffice to say that your grandfather’s marriage to my stepmother had its problems. Their separation was very sad. There were things that caused a lot of distress within the family, aspects I don’t really want to go into. You see, I’m hoping to avoid any more distress.’

As I recovered from the shock, I found the only emotion left in me was that profound sense of irritation.

‘Surely that must all have been many years ago,’ I said.

‘Oh, the late 1940s.’

‘It’s all been over and done with a very long time ago. It can’t mean anything to us now.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong, I’m afraid. I do wish it were true, but I fear that Samuel may have been planning to re-open old wounds.’

‘I can’t imagine that was his intention.’

‘But, as you said yourself, you knew very little about him.’

I had to acknowledge this was true.

‘What I’d like to assure myself of,’ he said, seeing me weakening, ‘is the fate of any documents or papers relating to my stepmother, or to my father. Any letters, perhaps?’

‘I’ve seen nothing of that kind,’ I said. ‘Nothing at all.’ This was quite true, as I’d yet to examine the files, apart from the first few pages of Samuel’s manuscript. It was rapidly becoming apparent, though, that I’d have to face the task soon, to find out what everyone found so interesting.

‘Are you quite sure?’

‘Mr Parker, until a few minutes ago I hadn’t even heard of your family.’

‘Yes, you said so.’ He waited, his lips pressed together in frustration, but his courteous exterior holding. ‘I know it’s an imposition, but might it be possible for me to have a look for myself?’

I bridled possessively. Much as I wanted to pump Parker for anything he knew, the attempt to poke his nose into what I was doing was outrageous.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘But—’

‘I think you’re going to have to trust me. Allow me to use my own judgement on any documents I come across, whoever they might mention.’

‘Oh, I’m sure I can trust you, but—’

‘You see, my great-uncle has given me a very specific task to carry out, to complete a book. This is a historical work, about one of my own ancestors, as I understand it — not a biography of Samuel Longden, and certainly not an account of his private life or his marriages. Anything relating to your family is hardly likely to be relevant, is it?’

‘I hope not.’

‘So I’m afraid we’ll have to leave it there.’

‘Very well.’ He stood over me, his shoulders hunched unhappily. I got to my feet, to feel at less of a disadvantage.

‘I can see you’re not entirely reassured,’ I said.

‘I’m sorry. If you understood the circumstances... But I can’t really explain it to you. At least take my card in case you change your mind.’

As soon as I’d got him out of the house, I went into the front room and looked at the files that had been delivered by Great-Uncle Samuel. What was in that musty heap of paper that was of such interest? Did something in there really hold dark, intimate secrets about Leo Parker’s family? Something that involved my grandmother Mary in particular? It seemed unlikely. There might be a clue about the split in my own family, though. That would be interesting, given the lengths that everyone involved had gone to in order to hush it up, to erase it from history altogether.

But Parker knew something about it, or wanted me to think he did. And if he knew, then other people must do, too. Perhaps there was something here, in these files, that would help me to ask the right questions. At last there was a little chink of hope that might cast light on my family. And I had Leo Parker to thank for it.

I looked at the window as I caught a movement. I was just in time to see the driver’s door of the BMW close and the car begin to drive away.

I was thinking about my grandmother Mary, trying to sort out my impressions of her, which had become much more fluid and confusing after talking to the two people who’d actually met her — Samuel Longden, and now Leo Parker.

I remembered that suddenly wistful remark of Samuel’s when he’d mentioned her. ‘She had the most striking eyes. The way she looked at you—’

And then I remembered her. It was like suddenly recapturing a detail of a dream long after I’d woken up. I couldn’t recall what the occasion was, but a distinct presence had just slipped into one of my childhood memories — an image of a quiet woman who nevertheless seemed to dominate our sitting room at Stowe Pool Lane, regardless of who else had been there.

I saw a forbidding figure sitting upright in an armchair, her hair tightly permed, her clothes redolent of some old-fashioned scent that I’d never smelled since and would always associate with a sense of trepidation, a feeling that something awful could happen at any moment. It seemed to me that the adults had all been uneasy in her presence. As a result, I’d been a little frightened of her, and tried to avoid attracting her attention.

But she’d noticed me all right. She’d possessed such a piercing gaze that I felt she could see straight through me, knew every secret in my heart, disapproved of every boyish misdemeanour. How old had I been then? Very young, I thought. Four or five perhaps. Small enough to be propped on a kitchen chair in the corner of the room and told to keep quiet. It must have been some family gathering, but there was no wedding or funeral that fit the bill from that time. Had she visited us one Christmas in a last, futile attempt at reconciliation with the Buckleys?

If so, no one had ever told me she was my grandmother. And she’d never come back again.