Deborah Crombie - Dreaming of the bones

“I didn’t mind so much at first,” McClellan continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “She swore she didn’t know for certain, and I felt generous then. She’d chosen me, hadn’t she? And a child was a child, after all, and I was a civilized, enlightened man.” He laughed.

Nathan touched Kincaid’s arm. “Is he saying Kit’s your son?”

“I didn’t know,” Kincaid said quietly. “Not until a few days ago.” He turned back to McClellan. “What changed, then?”

McClellan shrugged and looked away. “I thought there would be others. A son of my own… a daughter, even. But she was too concerned with her career. ‘Not this year,’ she’d say. There was always some excuse. And all the while she watched him.” He turned his sharp glance back to Kincaid. “I must say it didn’t take her long after I left to think of an excuse to call you.”

“It was no bloody excuse, man!” Kincaid shouted, furious again. “She’s dead, for God’s sake. Don’t you feel anything for her?”

“What would you know about what I feel?” McClellan shouted back. “What I feel is none of your fucking business, so why don’t you just shut the fuck up, okay?” He wiped spittle from his lip with the back of his hand, and his eyes were wet with unshed tears.

Gemma stepped in close to McClellan, separating him from Kincaid with her body. “Look, Ian, why don’t we all start over from the beginning,” she said. “You two standing here blaming one another is not going to get us anywhere.”

“Then let me get on with things,” said McClellan with a weary gesture towards the house. “I’ve a few more boxes to load before I turn the keys over to the estate agent.”

Kincaid stared at him blankly. “Estate agent? “You’re not-”

“Selling up? Did you think I’d come back here, to live in this house?”

“But what about Kit?” said Kincaid, shaking his head in disbelief “He should go back to his school-”

“Who said anything about Kit? I’m going back to France, just as soon as your friend the Chief Inspector finishes checking my visa.”

“But you’re Kit’s legal guardian. You can’t just-”

“Chief Inspector Byrne said he was with his grandparents. I’m sure that’s what Vic would have wanted for him.”

“What Vic wanted? How do you know what Vic wanted?” Kincaid was shouting again. “And you-you raised him as your son. How can you abandon him like this?” Raising his hands in angry frustration, he saw that they were shaking. Oh, Christ, he was losing it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. For Kit’s sake, he had got to pull himself together. Gemma said something softly, anxiously to Nathan, but the words were snatched by the wind.

Kincaid blinked. Use your head, man. Pretend it’s a case, just another case . He dropped his hands, lowered his voice. “Look, Ian. We need to talk. Why don’t we go inside for a bit?”

“I’ll make us some tea,” offered Gemma.

McClellan seemed to look at her for the first time. He shook his head. “Not in the kitchen. They said she…”

“I’ll bring it to you in the sitting room,” Gemma said. She led him towards the house, and Kincaid and Nathan followed.

“I didn’t know about Kit.” Nathan sounded bewildered. “She never said.”

Glancing at him, Kincaid thought he had the stunned look of someone who’d been punched once too often. Was he wondering what else Vic had kept from him? “Vic was good at keeping secrets. And so, I think, was Lydia. Perhaps that’s one reason Vic was so drawn to her.”

In the sitting room, Nathan perched uneasily on the footstool, while Ian sank into the chair occupied just a week ago by Vic and Kit. The room had the cold, stale smell of disuse and long-dead fires.

For a brief instant, Kincaid tried to imagine the three of them-Vic, Kit, and Ian-together as a family. What arguments had Ian’s jealousy and resentment fueled? And what wounds had Vic kept to herself? “Where were you on Tuesday, Ian?” he asked as he sat down.

“Don’t you start,” said Ian, but without much aggression. “I’ve been over all that with Chief Inspector Byrne. I was in the south of France, where I live with my lover. It was through her parents that the college reached me. I came as soon as I heard.”

The graduate student, thought Kincaid. Ian had found unquestioning adoration from a woman too young to know better, and he was not going to give that up in order to take responsibility for an eleven-year-old boy he didn’t consider his own. “You weren’t even going to see him, were you?” he said in disgust.

“It’s not what you think,” Ian protested. “I didn’t want to upset him-”

“Bollocks! How do you think he’s going to feel when he finds out you couldn’t be bothered-”

“Shut up!” Ian rose half out of his chair. “Just bloody shut up. It’s too close. I can’t bear it. I can’t see Kit without seeing her in him, and I don’t think I can stand that. Don’t you see? I loved her-” He broke off and covered his face with his hands.

After a moment, Kincaid said, “Listen, Ian. Kit’s not with his grandparents. He ran away.” He caught a glimpse of Nathan’s startled expression and raised a restraining hand. “I found him here. He’s staying with some friends in London until we can get things sorted out.”

Ian raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot, the lids swollen. “But why would he do such a thing? He was always a good kid, in spite of-”

“All this-Vic’s death… I don’t know how bad things were with his grandmother before, but she’s impossible now. She means to keep him, and she’s not fit to do it. And I don’t know how much power her husband has over her.”

“Oh, Christ.” Ian rubbed his forehead. “Eugenia was always a bloody bitch. But I thought with Kit-”

Kincaid shook his head. “Kit won’t stay, and we can’t take a chance on what might happen to him if he runs away again.”

“I can’t have him with me, do you understand? And I can’t come back.” There was a hint of apology in Ian’s words.

“Let me tell you what I have in mind.” By the time Gemma came in with the tea, Kincaid had outlined a plan.

When they’d filled their mismatched mugs from the teapot, Kincaid said, “Ian, as far as Kit’s concerned, you’re his dad. He needs to see you. Tell him these arrangements are your idea of what’s best for him. Tell him you’ll have him for a visit at the end of term. Surely you can give him a half hour, after what he’s been through.”

Ian looked away, and Kincaid thought he would refuse even that. But after a moment, he rubbed at his face again and sighed. “All right. I’ll come this evening. And I’ll make the necessary arrangements with his grandparents. They’ve no right to dispute my decision.” He wrote Gemma’s address on a page torn from Kincaid’s notebook.

Kincaid met Ian’s eyes as he returned the pad. “Don’t tell him about me. He doesn’t need that right now.”

Ian held his gaze, then gave a barely perceptible nod of agreement. “I’ll get the rest of my things,” he said. “Now-if you don’t mind…” He gave them a slightly sardonic smile as he stood.

“Ian,” Kincaid said before he could leave the room. “You haven’t found one of Vic’s books in with your things, by any chance?” He described the Marsh memoir. “And there were some poems-”

“Lydia’s poems?” said Nathan. “The ones Vic found in the Marsh book?” He frowned at Kincaid. “Why didn’t you ask me before? Vic gave them to me.”

Cambridge, Addenbrooks Hospital

15 December

1975 Dear Mummy ,

No, I can’t come home. As much as my heart cries out to see your dear face, and to receive the comfort only you can give, I must get well on my own. Oh, physically, I’m all right-a few lacerations, bumps and bruises, nothing that won’t heal. They shall keep me in hospital, “under observation,” for another day or so, and after that Daphne will come and look after me as it’s her Christmas break .