I had a bad feeling as soon as I heard the doorbell. I’m not sure why, as there had been plenty of recent visitors calling to pass on their condolences. This time felt different. And as soon as Lauren swung open the door to see who was there, I knew my gut had been right.
Standing in the cold, his breath smoking out before him, was a man I’d last seen from behind the cover of the neighbours’ large conifer. Carefully sculpted hair. Business attire. And yes – a glance over his shoulder confirmed it – that black Audi parked in the street. If I’d still been in possession of a heart, it would have been pounding like a double bass drum. What the hell was about to happen?
‘Hello,’ he said with the brief flicker of a pinched smile. ‘You must be Lauren.’
My sister frowned. ‘And you are?’
He extended his right arm through the doorway, spiky fingers emerging from a smart cuff. ‘Devlin. Charles Devlin.’
Lauren stared at his hand like something not to be trusted, before granting him the briefest of shakes. ‘Have we met before?’
‘No. You usually live abroad, I believe. Holland, isn’t it?’
She squinted at him, shivering as the cold outside air crept in through the open door. ‘You seem to know a lot more about me than I do about you, Mr Devlin.’
He offered that pinched smile again, sustaining it for longer this time. ‘I’m a good friend of your father’s.’
His words hammered a crack into Lauren’s icy exterior. ‘Oh, I see,’ she said. ‘Sorry. I didn’t realize.’
‘Such awful news,’ he added with what looked like genuine emotion. ‘I can’t believe he’s really gone.’
‘You’d better come in.’
I’d been standing at Lauren’s shoulder the whole time and this man – Devlin – had given no indication whatsoever that he could see me. Perhaps he is human after all, I thought. Just to be sure, I shouted as loudly as I could into his ear while Lauren took his coat. He didn’t flinch.
‘Who on earth are you, then?’ I said. ‘Dad never mentioned you. You can’t have been that close.’
‘Mum, there’s a friend of Dad’s here,’ Lauren said, leading Devlin through to the lounge.
My mother, red-eyed from a recent crying session, looked up from the newspaper she was reading on the couch. She’d been stuck on the same page for the past twenty minutes. ‘Oh, hello,’ she said, flashing a look of confusion at Lauren as she stood to greet the visitor. ‘Sorry. I don’t think we’ve met.’
‘Charles Devlin,’ he repeated. ‘Please accept my condolences. Your husband was a wonderful man.’
‘Thank you,’ Mum replied, her eyes asking Lauren who on earth she’d let into the house.
My sister, who was standing behind Devlin, shrugged her shoulders, mouthing that she thought Mum must have known him.
Mum, ever the polite host, invited him to take a seat and sent Lauren off to the kitchen to make a pot of tea.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m sure we must have met before, but I can’t place you. My head’s all over the place at the moment.’
‘We’ve never met, although I feel like we have. I heard lots about you and your family from Tom.’
‘Oh, I see. So how did you know each other?’
‘Through work. I’m a barrister. We collaborated on several cases over the years.’
‘That explains it. My husband was never one for talking about work at home. I was lucky to hear whether he’d had a good day or not. I suppose it must have been a while since you saw him, then.’
‘We kept in good contact, actually.’
Mum kept talking in a bid to hide her confusion, but I’m sure it was as obvious to Devlin as it was to me.
By the time Lauren had returned with the tea and poured everyone a cup, she and Mum looked as perplexed as I was about this mysterious man. And they didn’t even know about the fact he’d been following us – watching us – for weeks.
‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ Devlin said, his voice taking on a sense of gravity that you could imagine silencing a court room. ‘There’s no easy way to say this, so forgive me if I shock or offend you, but you deserve to know the truth.’
‘What truth?’ Mum whispered.
Devlin took a deep breath. ‘Tom and I were very much in love.’
It was a race to see whose jaw would hit the floor first.
‘I beg your pardon!’ Mum snapped as Lauren and I gaped at Devlin.
‘We were lovers,’ he said. ‘We had been for some time. Tom was going to tell you, so that we could be together. But he had second thoughts after William was killed.’
‘What in God’s name are you talking about? How—’
‘Tom was gay. I knew it the moment I met him. There was an immediate attraction between us, but it took him a while to accept after so long in the closet.’
‘This is preposterous,’ Mum said. ‘Is this some kind of sick joke? Who the hell are you?’
‘I’ve told you who I am. This is no joke, believe me. This is …’
Devlin paused, running a finger under each of his eyes and taking several deep breaths. ‘I’ve lost the man I love,’ he said with wavering voice.
‘I think it’s time you left,’ Lauren said, standing up. ‘The last thing my mother needs right now is more upset. She’s just lost her husband; I’ve lost my father. Why would you come here and tell these lies?’
‘I’m not lying. You say you don’t know who I am. I’m the person you left those voicemails for. I’m the one you called “the scum of the earth”. You asked me to call you straight away or to come around to the house. Well, here I am.’
His words were like a slap in the face to Lauren, whose eyes clouded over as she fell backwards on to the couch in muted shock.
‘That was … you?’ was all Mum could manage before she too sank into a stupefied state.
I felt like my brain – or whatever it was that kept me thinking as a spirit – was in meltdown.
Dad was gay.
What? That couldn’t be right. My father was the least likely closet homosexual I could think of: overweight and oblivious to fashion; stiff and unemotional; not remotely camp. And yet … some small part of me, somewhere I couldn’t put my finger on, wasn’t entirely surprised. The rest of me remained staggered, especially at the level of deception. How could he have kept a secret like this from his family? How long had he known in his heart that he was gay? My whole life? He’d never been the most open person, but I thought I knew him as well as anyone. How wrong could I have been? Apparently his family didn’t know him at all. Not the real him. He must have saved that for this Devlin chap.
I shook my head, like I’d been having a daydream and needed a reality check. But it made no difference. Nothing changed.
So this was the ‘much worse’ thing he’d mentioned. And it was me telling him that Mum knew about the affair, meaning he’d have to come clean, which had pushed him over the edge.
‘I’m sorry to have to break it to you like this,’ Devlin said, shattering the silence that had descended on the room. ‘I really am. But I had to tell you. It was the only fair thing.’
‘Why?’ Mum replied, stony-eyed.
‘Because it’s the truth.’
‘How does that help us now he’s gone?’
‘Surely you’d rather know who your husband really was.’
‘You think you can tell me that, do you? You knew him five minutes. I was married to him for forty years.’
‘It was a little longer than five minutes.’
‘Shut up. I don’t care. I don’t want to hear any more of your sordid stories. If you loved my Tom so much, where were you after he had his stroke? I was the one at his side; not you.’
‘I didn’t—’
The doorbell rang again.
‘Who’s that now?’ Mum said, looking at Lauren.
‘Oh, um, shall I go and see?’ my sister replied hazily.
‘Yes, please. Get rid of them if you can.’
I followed my sister to the door. She opened it to reveal the familiar face of a certain attractive newspaper reporter. She was wearing the same sympathetic smile as the last time I’d seen her, when my untimely demise was still breaking news. I’d been expecting her or one of her colleagues to get wind of Dad’s death; what great timing she had.
‘Hello there. Awfully sorry to bother you. My name’s Kate Andrews, from the Evening Journal. We heard the terrible news about Tom Curtis. I wondered if a family member was available for a quick chat. We’re very interested in running a tribute article.’
‘You’re from where?’ Lauren asked, confused.
‘The Evening Journal. Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met before, but I spoke to Mrs Curtis just after William died. She was very keen to speak to me then. Is she available at all?’
‘Could you wait there a minute, please?’ Lauren said, shutting the door in her face before letting out an exasperated sigh. ‘Why the hell now?’ she muttered.
‘Dammit,’ I said. She almost certainly knew it was suicide. That was exactly the type of information reporters sought out when they rang up the coroner’s office looking for news. The type of information that got them rushed out on death knocks by eager editors. The fact I’d been killed just weeks earlier made it a better story still. Probably a guaranteed front page.
As soon as Mum realized who it was, she flew into a panic. She did her best to hide it from Devlin, but I could see it in her eyes. Luckily, I don’t think he’d heard what was said at the front door; Lauren had the good sense to mention Kate’s name but not the fact she was a journalist.
‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave now, Mr Devlin,’ Mum said. ‘I have important business to attend to. I wish I could say it had been a pleasure.’
‘What? That’s it? Surely there’s a lot more we need to discuss.’
‘I have your phone number,’ she replied. And with that she swept him out of the front door, whisking Kate inside before either had the chance to properly register the other.
I was just thankful Ella was out of the house while all of this unfolded. On my advice she’d declined Mum’s offer to take a few days off school. I was hoping the pre-Christmas activities there might take her mind off all the misery at home.
‘Hello, Mrs Curtis,’ Kate said, shaking her hand while flashing a well-rehearsed look of pity. ‘I’m sorry to turn up unannounced, but we just heard the awful news about your husband. I couldn’t believe it. Especially so soon after your son’s death. You poor thing. They were going to send someone else to see you, but I insisted they let me do it. I thought it would be easier for you to talk to someone you knew. Please accept my condolences.’
‘Oh, you’re good,’ I said. ‘It’s nothing to do with the fact you want to get your paws on a juicy story, is it? Of course not. You’re just here out of the goodness of your heart. Watch out for this one, Mum. She’s more cunning than she lets on.’
‘Thanks, love,’ Mum said, oblivious as usual to my advice. ‘You’d better come through to the lounge. Can I take your coat?’
A little later, over a fresh cup of tea, Mum finished giving Kate the lowdown on Dad’s stroke. It was like she felt that she had to talk to her because I used to be a journalist. In fact, I’d have rather she kept quiet; particularly considering the bombshell Devlin had just delivered.
I couldn’t believe how composed she looked. My mind was all over the place, still reeling from the shock of what I’d learned about my father. I could only imagine that Mum was feeling the same, although she was doing a damn good job of hiding it. Lauren, on the other hand, had disappeared upstairs, unable to cope with the situation.
Kate, who had let Mum do most of the talking so far, took a long sip from her mug. A look of discomfort flitted across her disarmingly young, pretty face.
‘Brace yourself, Mum,’ I said. ‘Here it comes.’
‘This is a bit awkward,’ Kate said. ‘We, um, heard from the police and the coroner that your husband didn’t die from natural causes. They said foul play had been ruled out, so …’
Mum took a sharp intake of breath. I feared she was about to lose it: either to start shouting at Kate to mind her own business or to break down in tears. But she didn’t. Somehow she held it together. For years I’d thought of Dad as the strong one out of my parents, but it was clear now how wrong I’d been. He might have been the one with the big physical presence and the aura of confidence, but when his family needed him most, he’d cracked under the pressure; he’d taken the coward’s way out. Mum’s ability to keep on going no matter what – when things went from bad, to worse, to rock bottom – was incredible.
‘I see,’ she said. ‘Do you know how he did it?’
Kate winced, as if imagining the gruesome scene of Dad’s death. She nodded. ‘I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what you and your family must be going through.’
‘Will you be printing the details?’
The reporter shifted in her seat. ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to include what we’ve been told by the coroner, as it’s a matter of public record, but we’re not in the business of printing lurid details. We won’t be giving it the red-top treatment.’ She paused before adding: ‘I’ll happily include your side of the story. Anything you want to say. I mean, how would you describe your husband’s state of mind the last time you saw him?’
‘Don’t fall for that old trick, Mum,’ I blurted out. ‘She’s fishing.’
‘I don’t want to say anything about that,’ Mum replied.
‘You must be angry at the hospital, though,’ Kate added. ‘Where were all the doctors and nurses when it happened? They had a duty of care towards him. I’m sure you’re considering legal action.’
‘I don’t want to say anything about that,’ Mum repeated.
I thought for a moment that Kate was going to push her some more. If she had, I think that might have been the straw that broke the camel’s back. But it didn’t come to that. ‘Very well, Mrs Curtis,’ she said. ‘I understand, but please let me know if you change your mind. Do you still have my contact details?’
Mum nodded, although I could tell she had no intention of ever calling her.
‘Well played, Mum,’ I said. ‘You handled that just right.’
When Kate had gone, Lauren came back downstairs. Her face was red and puffy from crying. ‘Are you okay?’ Mum asked her.
‘No. Not remotely. What have we done to deserve all this shit; all this misery? It’s like our family is cursed.’
Mum didn’t reply.
‘How are you doing?’ Lauren asked her after a few minutes of silence.
She shrugged, her eyes unfocused. ‘I don’t know. I’m so numb. If anything, I suppose I’m wondering what’s next. I daren’t think that things can’t get any worse. I’m not making that mistake again.’
‘What did you tell the reporter?’
‘She already knew how he died, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘So that’ll be spread all over the paper for everyone to gossip about?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hold on. Does that mean Ella will find out?’
Mum frowned. ‘I’d not thought of that. Maybe. It’s unlikely she’d read it herself, but suppose someone else did and then said something to her. We can’t let that happen.’
‘So we’re going to explain to a six-year-old that her grandfather killed himself? There’s no way we can tell her how he did it. She’d have nightmares for the rest of her life.’
‘Oh God, I don’t know.’
‘What about the rest?’
‘You mean what that man said? Of course I didn’t tell Kate. Do you think I’m stupid?’
‘Do you believe what he told us?’
‘I don’t want to believe it,’ Mum sighed, her eyes somewhere else for a long moment. ‘But why would he make it up?’