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Well, it may look beautiful out here, we’ve had another sprinkling of snow overnight to freshen everything up, but I can’t take any more pleasure from it. I’m ready for it all to end now. I’m finished with winter and its doom and gloom. I’m eager for spring, and more pleasant topics of conversation. I know the sky is blue and clear, and the crispness of a fresh drop of snow is welcome, it’s certainly preferable to that grey sludge we had before, but I get less enthused each day it persists. I want it to stop and thankfully, I can see it won’t be long now. There are signs of spring everywhere, my dear, look, see all these green shoots, poking out there, and over here. The snowdrops have broken out as well, I can see a couple of bunches visible under the oak tree. There’s also a group underneath that shrub which have yet to flower, I remember they’re there though, they took me by surprise last year, when the hedgerow was taken back. It goes to show what I always say about chopping the big things to expose something new, allowing the small things to have their day in the sunshine.
All the birds have gone. Well, not all of them, of course, but there are far fewer now, no flocks at all. There’s a large robin which turns up every now and then, all fluffed up, he likes to hang around while I dig, feeling safer now everything else has left. But I’m not digging too often in this weather, this cold snap has halted everything – at the very moment it wants to get going – you can sense the pressure building behind it. Life is about to burst through and be all the stronger for its delay. It’s hard to believe, though. It’s been grey and brown for so long, the winter colours are the familiar ones, so the green looks out of place. Too easy to forget how verdant and lush everything becomes when it’s in its prime. The whole place is like that, in truth, building its strength, readying its foundations, waiting for its moment in the sun. I understand how it feels. Primed, and preparing to pop.
*******
Getting chilly like this reminds me of the days I spent in the police cell, frozen to the bone. I was arrested in early February during a cold snap, and the hot air radiator was not able to compete with the draughts which criss-crossed the room. There was a dazzling overhead light which was always left on, even overnight, its harsh glare adding to the barren starkness of the cell block. There was a bang and an accompanying echo after each door slammed. Sometimes I heard pounding on a door, shouts for attention. Sometimes I heard other bumps. Sometimes, there were screams. The place had an overwhelming smell of bleach. Someone cleaned it often, and cleaned it well. I didn’t like to think about what they were cleaning up.
The officers weren’t used to having a woman like me in the cells. There was a custody sergeant on duty, and he had a jailor with him, and though the jailors changed, I always saw the same sergeant. He worked days, he said someone else worked the nights, but I never heard from him. Sergeant Peters, that was his name, lovely fellow, Scottish, older than me, his hair on the turn from dark to white. He was a kind man, he smiled a lot. He had one of those ways about him that more mature people often do. That sense of having seen enough of life to know nothing was ever as simple as it appears.
He explained that, usually, the women in the cells were drug addicts and prostitutes. Sad souls from his depiction, though I heard one of them screeching when she was locked in the cell next to mine, offering all sorts she was, if they’d let her go free. Thankfully, she was processed and released quickly, I wouldn’t have liked to try sleeping next to her with that racket going on. Every morning, Sergeant Peters found a WPC to take me for a shower in the female officers’ changing rooms. I don’t think they call them that anymore, do they, women police constables? Oh well, this was the early eighties, it was all different then. Anyway, he didn’t have to do that for me, the WPCs made that clear, and it was those little acts of kindness that gave me some hope that, although I’d reached the dark moment I’d been dreading, I could dream of seeing the dawn again.
Six days, I stayed in that cell. This was before there were laws about how they have to treat you, but there must have been some rules in place, because there was a clear structure to my day, and I knew what was supposed to be happening, and when. Some detective sergeant, I never did bother to catch his name, he came to speak to me every afternoon. He asked me the same questions, over and over. How did I murder Frank? Why did I murder Frank? What drove me to murder Frank? Did I plan his murder, or did I murder him on the spur of the moment? Always murder, murder, murder, never kill, or any other euphemism. I have never accepted I murdered Frank, and so I told him I hadn’t murdered him. It was the truth as I saw it, though it didn’t seem to please this man very much.
My solicitor would join me for these interviews. He was nothing like the fancy-pants lawyer I had at court. He was much older, much quieter, and he didn’t even ask me how Frank had treated me. He wasn’t interested in his drinking, in his gambling, how he behaved with our girls, none of it. In fact, I’m not sure he had a wife of his own, the understanding he showed for family life was non-existent. Still, Sergeant Peters told me it was important that I have him with me when I was interviewed, and that I listened to his advice, and so I did. My solicitor told me to tell the truth, and then justice would be served. I told the truth, though like I said, it was my truth I was telling.
Gary visited me every morning. He had his own key to my cell, and would let himself in with a couple of cups of tea. He would sit with me for a while, and update me with what was going on in the investigation. He wasn’t directly involved in the case, but he was interested, of course, as my friend. He was a detective inspector then, had been for a couple of years, and he was proud of his position. I thought it meant he would investigate more serious crimes like this one, but he said it was more paper pushing than crime fighting. He didn’t say it, but I knew he missed real police work. I could tell by the way he talked about my case, his eyes lit up when he discussed it with me. He hadn’t looked at me like that since our early years together. He didn’t like the detective sergeant, that was clear, he didn’t go as far as to tell me not to talk to him, not to trust him, but when you know someone as well as I knew Gary, you can tell when they are trying to help you out.
While that was all as grand as it sounds, I was getting ground down. Each day brought the same questions from the same people. No one seemed to believe me when I said that I hadn’t murdered Frank. It turns out that there was no trail of him after that evening in 1972. Now, of course, I knew there wouldn’t be, as he’d died and I’d buried him in the allotment. However, it turns out that even when people try their best to disappear and not be found, they leave some traces of themselves. No one had discovered Frank’s tracks were missing until they started looking for them, and no one had bothered to look for him for all these years. Not his parents, not his friends. No one. It made me quite sad to think about it, truth be told.
*******
On the fourth day, Gary brought his cups of tea to my cell as normal, and I didn’t need a clock to know he was later than usual. He spilt my tea as he handed it to me, but then he didn’t sit down. He paced up and down my cell, which was only about three strides wide, so he spun about a lot. I tried to wait him out, knew he’d speak when he was ready, but my patience had worn a little thin, I admit.
“Sit down Gary!” I was loud, too loud, here was not the place to be heard calling him by his first name but, oh my, he had pushed my buttons that morning. He glared at me and didn’t respond immediately but, thankfully, he stopped his infernal spinning about.
“Be quiet and behave. I’ve been trying to help you, and I think I’ve found a solution to your problems.”
“Well, that’s great news Gary, how lucky for me.” Perhaps I was still too loud, because when I saw the look on his face darken further, I decided to quieten down and pay more attention. “Sorry, it’s been a long few days. Please, sit, tell me about it.”
“Can’t escape explaining a bit about Frank, if you don’t tell them they’ll make something up. I know, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but we need to give them something, and then use that to get you the best hearing possible. It’s the only way to sort this mess out and put it behind us.”
He hadn’t sat down, although he did appear to be trying to stand still, so at least that was something. I didn’t think it was the right time to remind Gary that this was my mess, not ours, and that we wouldn’t be putting anything behind ‘us,’ not anymore, but never mind. I needed him and he was offering to help, so I wasn’t going to be belligerent. In fact, I nodded, which he took as encouragement.
“Rather than talk about it, why don’t you give us Frank’s body? Let him do the talking for you, you won’t need to explain what happened, we can get all that from the forensic examinations.”
He paused, I smiled for want of a comment in response, so he continued, bouncing on his toes as he shared his plan, like a schoolboy seeking an extra portion of pudding.
“I’ve negotiated a deal, agreed that I can take you out to show us where he is. I’ll take charge of the recovery operation, make sure he is treated with respect. That way, I can say you’ve been helping us, and that is crucial for getting you a lower charge. I’m working really hard for you, grafting behind the scenes, making sure that happens, and now I need a little help from you.”
“I guess so,” I agreed, nodding along as he spoke. I certainly don’t recall thinking it was a bad plan, or that it wouldn’t benefit me. I thought it was the best way forward, given my current predicament. I didn’t have many other options. “I’ll talk to my solicitor when he gets here this afternoon.”
“Actually, I would rather move quicker than that, if we can, and make a start before he arrives.”
“He’ll get put out if he’s left out, he’s pernickety like that.”
“He’ll try to insert himself in my negotiation, and he’ll bugger everything up. He’s already tried to bargain on your behalf once.”
Now, this was news to me, and my face must have shared my surprise with Gary, because he went on to explain.
“He promised that you’d tell them how you murdered Frank if they were willing to release you on bail ahead of your trial. Bail for a murder suspect is unheard of, but he made a big deal about you being a mother and needing to be at home while you can be.”
Gary was pacing again, his agitation growing.
“I’m sure his next move would be trying to delay a trial. Not getting it over and done with, not arranging a lower sentence, just buying time, delaying the inevitable. No, my advice to you, Mrs Thompson, my strong advice, is that we go now, we get it done, and we move you out of this cell. Quicker started, quicker done.”
“Really, even now, you’re calling me Mrs Thompson?”
He lent over so his face was close to mine, placing his hand on my shoulder and squeezing gently. For a moment I thought he was going to kiss me, and that I would have to remind him, we don’t do that anymore. But he didn’t.
“Yes, even here, especially here.” Dropping his voice even lower, so I could barely hear him, he said, “Remember, from this moment forward, the walls have ears. You are never alone, and cannot speak freely. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have friends, don’t have people you can trust. Please, believe in me.”
“It’s hard to know what to do for the best. It’s being stuck here, in this cell, it messes with my sense of reality.”
“You know I’m your friend, though, don’t you? I mean, after everything that’s happened, I still love you, you know.”
“Gary, now isn’t the time–”
“I know, but I can’t help you unless you trust me.”
“Okay then.”
With my agreement, Gary rose back up, looking relieved, and he returned his voice to a normal level to thank me, then waited, allowing the air between us to become thick with anticipation.
“Frank’s body is buried in my allotment. I have to say, I assumed that would be obvious.”
The tension left the room immediately.
“Course, doesn’t surprise me, seems a perfect place for him. But I didn’t want to guess. I’ll need you to come and show me exactly where, though. Will you do that if we go now?”
I shrugged my agreement. My bones ached, my eyes stung, and my stomach was trundling. I wanted this to be done, and Gary’s offer seemed as good as any other option I had. He was happy enough with my levels of enthusiasm. He had it all in hand.
“I went there yesterday, actually, had a poke around, made sure there wasn’t anything up there that might embarrass you once the police arrived. Carol helped.”
Anger spouted from me, and I forgot to keep my voice down. “Like what, Gary, a love letter that might incriminate you? What exactly do you take me for?”
“No, course not, nothing like that, we didn’t want anything to get worse, that’s all.”
He seemed distracted, reassuring me by rote rather than remorse.
“Looked beautiful, there was a frost all over everything, be a shame for you not to see it again. And the last thing I want to do is dig up everything if we don’t have to. If you come and show me where he is, I’ll make sure the lads don’t destroy too many of your plants.”
There wasn’t much more left for me to say. I agreed to help.
*******
At the time, I struggled to understand why my allotment hadn’t been dug up already, it seemed obvious to me that that’s where Frank was. It remains a mystery but my hypothesis is, they didn’t believe I could do it, physically move a body, bury a body. Of course, you know that I can, my dear, because I’ve already told you how I did it, and I would suppose it’s hard for you now to imagine otherwise. Besides, if I tried to tell you that you weren’t strong enough to dispose of a man’s body, you’d remind me of girl power or whatever it is you’re saying these days, and that would be the answer, whatever the truth of the matter might be. Anyway, back then, being a woman had some good points and some less-so good points, and I was used to accepting them as they were. I’m sure if I hadn’t told Gary that Frank was in the allotment, they’d have looked there eventually. I wasn’t changing the outcome, only quickening it up a little.
Was it saving my plants that motivated me to help? Hard to believe that’s what was worrying me, given the pickle I was in, But I was tired, and I didn’t want to drag it out. I reasoned that if Frank could be brought out of the ground and laid to rest properly, I could relax, and so could my girls. It was the right time for it to happen. The girls were nineteen years old, they had lives of their own, they weren’t sitting at home with me anymore. I was forty years old myself, ready for my next phase of life. I had tried to make plans to move on, but the past had caught up with me. So it was only right I tidied up the loose ends from my previous mistakes, that way I could be free from them for my future. This is easier to say now than it was to do then, though, that’s for sure.
As time’s gone on, I’ve been wondering more about Gary’s role in all this. I always trusted him to have my best interests at heart. Certainly, until his comments at court, I didn’t think he’d done anything to harm me. Do you know that was the last time I laid eyes on him? I’d even stopped thinking about him after the first year or two in prison. I always assumed that his negotiations had failed, or that he’d been taken advantage of by his colleagues, who didn’t follow through with their end of the bargain. But now, my dear, every time I mention him to you, your face tells me a different story. That’s making me re-examine his role, his motivations, his influence on these events. I’d have thought it was too long ago for it to hurt me anymore, but I must be more emotionally brittle when it is this cold.
*******
Gary drove me up there, with a WPC sitting in the rear with me who didn’t say a word the entire time. We strolled along the grass path towards my allotment, at the far end, of course, and I waved cheerily at a couple of fellow gardeners as we passed. All of them were eager to chat, but we didn’t slow our pace, and so they nattered with each other instead. I have no doubt there was plenty of gossip about the officers that came in our stead, complete with spades, a stretcher, synthetic bags. It was one of those dreary days at the end of winter, mizzling, turning to slush at its edges but frozen in the centre. They weren’t going to find it easy to dig, so I hoped they’d be grateful that they weren’t going to be wasting time searching.
I stepped over the herbs and approached the rhubarb crowns I had planted, harvested the previous autumn and now peeking through the bare ground beneath. I allowed myself to wonder how swiftly the weeds would reclaim my patch once I was unable to care for it. I thought as to how Carol seemed interested in taking responsibility for my house and my car, but less so about caring for my allotment, but then I berated myself for judging her so harshly. The depression left in the ground after I’d buried Frank was no longer visible, but I could feel the incline by tapping away through the leaf mulch, around a buddleia bush and between some self-seeded foxgloves which were due to flower for the first time in a couple of months. Having defined the grave, Gary guided me away, and we retreated to the shed while they dug. I was pleased the WPC stayed outside to watch them.
The shed was rickety but provided us with some protection from the elements and the officers, and we both knew it would be the last time we would be alone together. There was a small window, so I was satisfied he wouldn’t try anything, but then, he was never one to push himself upon me. He preferred to speak, and here, he was no different.
“We’re safe to talk for a while, Maureen, I’ll make us some cocoa while we wait.”
I pottered about the place, clearing a second seat, tidying away some packets of seeds, brushing loose soil from the dinky table between the chairs. There was a red ceramic stove which Gary was brushing out and re-laying, and then he pulled out my pan and looked puzzled as to how to proceed.
“There’s some clean water in those bottles there, if you want to give it a rinse first.”
Gary heated up too much milk which made the cocoa weak, but it felt good to wrap my hands around the warm mug and breathe in the chocolatey fumes. Gary perched on his chair, poking his head up to the window to peak at what was going on outside, before he leant in close.
“I didn’t want you to move away, you know that,” he said, running his hand through his hair, one of his signature moves, but today, it only drew my attention to his strands of grey, and the lines at his temples. My bear was ageing, as we all were. I hoped he wasn’t about to re-start these discussions, it seemed rather pointless to re-visit our rows about our future when I was in this predicament.
“I hope you know though, none of this is because of me, I didn’t say anything to anyone.”
“I’m sure you didn’t, Gary, but someone did, otherwise why would I be here?”
“Anonymous tip. Someone called and claimed you would apply to have your husband declared deceased, and that you knew he was dead because you murdered him. A report like that the morning before you fill in the paperwork at the police station, what else could we do? I didn’t know until it was too late, there wasn’t time to warn you.”
“Anonymous? You may not know who it was, but I’ve no doubt. Only one other person knew we were filing the request that morning.”
“You can’t really believe she’d do that, can you?”
I let out a long sigh. Neither of my girls wanted me to report their father dead, nor sell our family home. They didn’t want to remember that night, nine years ago, when Frank choked on the dining room floor. I’d made them think about it, and neither of them liked it. They reacted differently, though. One fled, and the other lashed out. It was a pattern they’d repeated many times over the years, one I should have predicted and prepared for.
“I asked too much of them both,” I replied, unwilling to share any more with Gary. He was, after all, unwillingly my ex-boyfriend, with his own views as to what I should or shouldn’t be doing with my life. Not to mention that he was the senior police officer in charge of digging up my dead husband. He sensed my reluctance to discuss it any further.
“I’ll always be your friend, Maureen, I trust you know that. And I’ll keep an eye on the girls for you, help them wherever I can, I promise.”
I nodded along, smiling sweetly. “Well, here’s hoping it’s all over soon.”
The WPC poked her head around the door, startling us both. “Boss, we’re ready for you.”
I went out too, of course, I thought it was only right that I watched as Frank was brought out of the ground and placed on the stretcher. There were a few scraps of flesh left on him, no clothing, of course, and it appeared his left foot had become dislodged, as they had to burrow around to find that, and brought it out separately. Other than that, it was rather anti-climactic. He no longer looked like Frank, unsurprisingly I suppose, one skeleton does look a lot like another. He had lost his charming grin, his sagging jawline, his blonde hair, the broadness of his shoulders. Everything about him that had made him my terrier, the man I loved and shared the best years of my life with, were gone. All that was left was the consequences, which I knew I would face, alone.
*******
The rest, as they say, is history. My solicitor refused to speak with me again, after he learned what I had done to help the police, but that didn’t seem to incumber me in any way. The detective sergeant continued to ask his incessant questions about Frank’s murder. The body didn’t conclusively tell them otherwise, and so, he continued to believe what he wanted to believe. I wasn’t sure what came of Gary’s much vaunted ‘negotiated agreement.’ because I didn’t see him again. I was charged with murder, and there were no more visitors bringing me cups of tea.
They moved me to the remand facility for women, which at that time was barely a wing of a male prison. Another heavy door slammed shut. Where the police cell had been bright but bitter, the prison cell was dark, damp, drab. My mood fell to match my surroundings. That was my grimmest day ever, my first day in prison. My hope that it may prove to be a short stay fell as the night drew in, as when the night is at its gloomiest, that’s when it’s hardest to trust that the sun will soar again.
*******
Now that the temperature is rising, it’s melting. The cold is lingering in the shade, but wherever the sun reaches, it casts its defrosting glow. I’m glad we’re here so early today, my dear. That mist, over there, hovering on the horizon, makes it feel like a new dawn. The signs of spring are abundant. There are buds everywhere, little green pods of new life, ready to explode as soon as the weather is consistent enough. The first daisy is here, try not to stand on it, my dear, there’s a bunch of crocuses over there. They are awakening. At this time of year, each and every day of sunshine sparks visible growth, that can be spotted with the naked eye. Like small children, they change so much, and they bounce back quickly too. I almost believe I can watch it happening, if only I could stay out here long enough, and I observed closely enough. It gets easier to be still as you get older, you see, in truth, I’m getting forced to slow down. Maybe it’s more engaging for me to watch nature’s display than it is for you at your age. Perhaps I should plant some more bulbs. The borders look bare in places, but it’s too late to plant for this season. Besides, I won’t be here to see any of these bulbs rise next year.
I’m frantically clearing the ground now, trying to stay ahead of spring. I have waited too long, there’s new growth which needs to see the sunshine, I cannot be hiding it like this any longer. Time to set it free, to introduce it to the daylight. I’ve got to hope we’ve seen the last of the bad frosts, and that any drops in temperature won’t be too sharp. At some point, you have to trust that it will be okay. It is something else though, isn’t it? Look at this, my dear. The brown, dead leaves of last year’s plant are perfectly centring the bright, brand new, green growth at its base. The whole plant appears to have died back, and a new one taking its place. Of course, it isn’t a new plant, it’s a new generation. It may look different on the surface but it has the same roots underneath. It’s replicating itself, year after year. Who knows how many more years it will last, I only know that I won’t be around to see it. Oh my, I am maudlin today, I do apologise, my dear.
There is not a single bud on the condemned oak yet, not as far as I can see. The ivy is green all year round, of course, but that only makes the remainder of the tree look even more bare than it would otherwise appear. Perhaps it is wondering if it is worthwhile, all that effort it needs to make if it’s going to be in leaf again, to go through another cycle, when it must sense the end is coming. How can it gather its energy if it doesn’t have a future of its own? How long should it be expected to stand there, waiting to be chopped down? Once condemned, it is only humane to make it quick. I cannot stand to think that it is aware of its fate, but not of the timeframe for its deliverance. At least I know how long I have left.