Adam stood to one side of his shed, gazing out at his beautiful garden. Down by the natural swimming pond, the heron sculpture looked particularly fine in this pale, pre-dawn light, a tall grey outline against the deep late-April green. He and Julie had bought it from Messum’s gallery, to celebrate the success of Adam’s big Chinese project in Chengqing, ten years before. In Chinese culture herons symbolised strength and patience, which was hardly the mark of their marriage, but never mind, they had once watched one flapping low over the water on a sailing trip in the Camel Estuary in North Cornwall in their happier days.
Adam felt again that lurch of unreality: that he was here, and yet not here. The world was so sumptuous and colourful and extraordinary, and he was no longer part of it. How did people still in it take it so much for granted? How could they grind themselves down with petty worries about jobs and relationships and transport and money and news and social media, and all the things that kept them from just stopping still and gazing in wonder at the magical splendour of what was around them: this palest of pink dawns, the clouds turning yellow and crimson as you watched; a patch of bluebells in a green shade; a fallen confetti of blossom on the dewy grass.
A poem! But no, he didn’t have a pen with him, did he? Or a notebook. Even if he had done, he couldn’t have written a word. He was glad now, in this post-life powerlessness, that he had struggled on with his poetry while he was living, even if, as Julie had so memorably said, it was never going to make him money or make him famous as a poet, so what was the point? ‘It’s my version of mindfulness,’ he’d once replied to her. The terrible irony being that it was one of his poems that had allowed his murderer to get away with his death.
Now his poetry had outlived him. It was still there, part of his legacy, such as it was; printed up, in the little handmade Christmas booklets he had distributed to his friends and favoured clients year after year. And it couldn’t be that bad, could it, otherwise Roland wouldn’t have been so threatened by it, would he? ‘Stick to architecture, mate,’ he had said to Adam once, his jagged teeth stained dark with red wine, like some literary vampire, in the bolthole of his London club, the tiny Academy in Soho. ‘Those are constructions you do understand.’ Patronising git, why had Adam even bothered staying friends with him?
‘Hi, Dad.’
Adam span round. It was his son, materialised into hologram form, at least to his eyes, joining him by the shed, as arranged, at dawn.
‘Leo, there you are! How did you get on?’
The boy was grinning. ‘Lots to report, Dad. I’ve been all over.’
After Jeff had sped off from Fallowfields, and Adam had followed shortly afterwards, Leo had stuck around. To keep an eye on Rod and Julie. But nothing much had developed, he told his father. No obvious guilt had been displayed. And Rod was actually, Leo thought, quite a sweetie, running downstairs to get Julie’s post-coital herbal tea for her.
‘The creep,’ said Adam. ‘Of course he’s going to be nice to her. For the time being at any rate.’
‘Maybe he’s just a nice guy.’
‘Your murderer. Maybe he is.’
Anyway, Leo went on, ignoring this, after Rod and Julie had sat chatting in bed for an hour or so, they had got up and had a late lunch. A simple salad with fresh tuna, washed down with a glass of white wine.
‘Which white wine was that?’ Adam asked.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Where was the bottle from?’
Leo didn’t know. Actually, come to think about it, he did. ‘Cloudy Bay, Ti Koka or something. Would that be right?’
‘Te Koko! One of my best wines, the bastard. How dare he?’
‘They seemed to enjoy it.’
‘Of course he did. Freeloader. That’s forty quid a bottle. He’ll be driving my car next. And then what did they do?’
‘D’you really want to know?’
‘They went back upstairs and shagged some more?’
Leo made a face; he didn’t need to answer.
‘Did you watch?’ Adam asked.
‘To be honest, I don’t know why I did. I think because I was alone I wasn’t so embarrassed. It was weirdly fascinating. Like porn, only with people you know. But then again, completely unarousing, even though I was right there. It was like they were behind glass.’
That was exactly how Adam had felt, though he didn’t particularly want to discuss that with his son. ‘Sure,’ he said.
‘Anyway, I was doing my duty. Checking that there weren’t any high-fives or more cries of “We did it!”’
‘“Yeehah, we’re killers!” that sort of thing. Presumably there weren’t?’
‘Nothing.’ The rest of the day had been the same. Rod was around the house, then helping out with various odd jobs.
‘What a slimeball.’
‘He sorted out some jammed Velux blinds on the top floor, then there was a cracked pane of glass in one of the windows in the utility room…’
‘Julie’s been banging on at me for months about that. Don’t tell me, he helped her in the garden as well.’
‘’Fraid so. They were planting marigolds.’
‘Marigolds! Julie knows I can’t abide them. The height of suburban kitsch.’
But there had been nothing to indicate that Rod had recently put his Mr Fixit skills to work in faking a suicide or a car accident. ‘Sorry.’
Eventually Leo had got bored, nothing was happening, so he’d gone to Abby’s.
‘In Hendon? You got down there okay?’
‘Like you showed me. Hands together. Thought about the front room. Bang. I was there.’
‘And?’
Leo looked sad. His fiancée had been there alone, making supper and getting ready for bed. He had watched her, then wondered whether he should try to talk to her. And then, when she was in her nightie and had started sobbing, he decided he had to, even if it would freak her out. But he hadn’t been able to get through.
‘Nothing. Why, I have no idea. I tried. I was desperate to communicate.’
Adam made a sympathetic face. ‘I’m afraid it’s still a mystery to me, as well. Why it works sometimes and not others.’
‘Anyway, I was so frustrated I decided to hop off and visit Granny. See if I could have more luck with her.’
‘Did you?’
‘No.’ Leo laughed. But here was the news. He had found his grandmother and Jadwiga in her sitting room, discussing her will, no less. Patricia had it open in front of her and was going over it, point by point.
‘Really? Who instigated that?’
‘I don’t know. I came in halfway through. But Granny was literally asking her what she should do with my share. Give it to Matilda, or Claire…’
‘Or Jadwiga herself?’
‘It didn’t come to that. Not while I was there anyway. But she’s definitely being an influence.’
‘Although Granny does love these little power plays, doesn’t she?’ Adam said. ‘She might just have been winding Jadwiga up, getting her advice, making sure she stays loyal, doesn’t bugger off to some other old lady.’
‘Why wouldn’t she stay loyal?’ Leo replied. ‘It’s a beautiful house, she’s got a big room to herself, it’s quiet, there’s a nice view, Tempelsham’s just down the road. For a carer it’s a bit of a plum position.’
‘So what then?’
That was it. Patricia had gone to bed. Jadwiga had given her her special sleepy drink and she’d conked out. Leo hadn’t particularly wanted to spend the whole night watching her snoring with her mouth open so he’d moved on to his Aunt Claire’s, arriving at the house to find her and Dan in the middle of a row. About Maya and some private school they might send her to.
‘Heathcote House. Oh for goodness’ sake! Don’t they ever stop?’
‘But then it spun off from there. It was like, “This is what you always do, Dan.” And then something about him being so mean. Then suddenly they got on to the house. Granny’s house. And what’s going to happen to it when she dies. Now that you’re dead and it’s all theirs. Is that right, Dad?’
‘It will be,’ Adam said. ‘In a few months.’
‘Julie doesn’t get a share?’
‘Claire and I were joint tenants, so no. As I told you, “Survivor takes all”. Funnily enough, that was Dan’s advice.’
‘Funnily enough,’ Leo repeated. ‘Anyway, Claire starts saying she’d like to live at Larks Hill, because she was happy there as a child, and Maya could have the kind of childhood she’d had. And then Dan was saying, “You can’t go back in time, Claire. Anyway, you had a brother then…”’
‘Did he say that?’ Adam asked.
‘Yes. “And Maya doesn’t,” he went on. Then Claire said, “That’s not my fault,” and Dan was saying, “So we’re back on to that one again, are we?” and Claire was saying, “Yes, we are, and I should never, ever have let you talk me out of it,” and Dan was saying, “We weren’t even married at that point” and then Claire was in tears and Dan was just standing there, hands dangling by his side, saying nothing. He’s such a dick.’
‘What was she trying to say? That he’d forced her to have an abortion?’
‘They didn’t use that word, but yes, that’s exactly what I thought. The next thing I know Aunt Claire is crumpled up on the couch, sobbing, and Dan’s finally gone to her. And he’s trying to soothe her with his big hands, and she’s pushing him away, then she’s saying, “What’s wrong with us living in a beautiful house, and what’s wrong with me trying replicate a time when I was happy?” And he replies, “Aren’t you happy now?” And she says, “Why did we bother with all this, if we’re not going to try and be happy?”’ Leo looked at his father triumphantly. ‘Those were her exact words.’
‘Interesting,’ Adam said. ‘But pretty unspecific. Hardly incriminating in themselves.’
‘But what did she mean by “Why did we bother with all this”?’
‘They could have been referring to the tax scheme, I suppose,’ Adam said.
There was silence, while the implications sunk in.
‘How about you, Dad?’ Leo asked. ‘Did you get anywhere with Jeff?’
Adam hesitated for a moment, reluctant to tell his son what had happened. But then: why not? As he’d said to Eva, it had hardly been his fault if Jeff had had a pre-existing heart condition. Scrooge had survived a visit by his business partner. Hamlet didn’t drop dead when his father appeared.
Leo surprised him by laughing. ‘Result!’ he said, giving his dad a high-five.
‘So you don’t think I’m a murderer?’
‘Certainly not. Anyway, the little shit’s been trying to get you out of the firm for ages, hasn’t he?’
‘He has. By the nastiest, most underhand methods.’
‘So. Just deserts, I’d say.’
‘Thank you, son. I’m glad you’re here. And on my side. I was starting to feel as if it was all my fault.’
‘Well, it was your fault. But nothing for you to feel guilty about. Revenge is sweet, as they say.’
Adam was about to follow up his description of Jeff’s heart attack with an edited account of how the firm had taken it, his evening with all his old employees in the pub, his sad chat with Eva, back at hers – when he realised they weren’t alone.
‘Hello,’ said Leo, eyes spinning with surprise.
The apparition he was gawping at stared back at the pair of them like a stunned goldfish (albeit a goldfish that looked somewhat like a weasel).
‘Where am I?’ Jeff asked.