Линда Ла Плант - Buried

‘We’ve just found a dead body, at the scene of a fire, next to approximately £1.8 million in non-legal tender, inside a cottage whose last occupant was a mounted police officer.’ Jack knew exactly what Ridley wanted him to say but he couldn’t; his subsequent silence told Ridley, loud and clear, that his dad was more important. ‘Take the rest of today, Jack. This lot will take an age to process and transfer across to us anyway. I want every one of my team to be on their best game, and if you’re fretting about what may or may not be happening with your parents, then you’re a million miles away from your best game.’

Before Jack could thank him, Ridley had walked away and got into the driver’s seat of the car they’d shared to get there.

Fuck , Jack thought to himself. This is going to be one shit drive home!

Maggie got up at her usual time of three o’clock and went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. On the breakfast bar was a scribbled note:

Gone to Mum and Dad’s. I’ll call you when you’re up. Don’t worry. Jack xx

And then Maggie’s phone rang.

‘Hello, lovely,’ Jack whispered. ‘I’m on a train so, if I lose you, I’ll call you back. I brought the car back to the flat for you.’

‘What’s happened? Are Penny and Charlie OK?’

‘Not sure. I’m two hours away, so I’ll call you when I know.’

Jack wasn’t being standoffish, and Maggie knew it. He just hated talking on trains, surrounded by strangers who couldn’t help but listen in. And this — especially this — was nobody else’s business. So Maggie did the talking.

‘OK, honey. Well, I’m in work from four, but I’ll keep my phone on vibrate and, if you need me, you call me. I may not be able to pick up, but I’ll get to somewhere quiet and call you back as soon as I can. Was it your mum who called?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, it’s Charlie?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK. Well... whatever it is, we’ll be fine.’ Jack’s phone pinged as a text message came through — which he ignored for the time being. Maggie continued, ‘We can cope with anything, you know — the four of us. And if you need me there, you ask, OK? Don’t think I can’t come, Jack, because I can. I’ll make work understand—’

And then the phone went dead and Jack lost signal.

The text message was from Laura –

Ridley told me. Hope you’re OK. L x.

Jack texted Maggie –

Love you xx

— and then watched it fail to send. Seven times. On the eighth attempt, it finally went through. He spent the rest of the journey looking out of the window, thinking about how to react if his mum told him that his dad was dying.

Charlie and Penny Warr always knew that they couldn’t have children of their own; it was something to do with Charlie, but they never dwelt on the details. Adopting had been a very quick and easy decision for them.

It was June 1987. Jack was four years and seven months old when Lillian, his social worker, walked him across the village green towards the little Devonshire pub where they’d all agreed to meet. Penny and Charlie watched for what seemed like an age, because Jack was constantly distracted by the world around him — he’d pause, look round, change direction, sit down — and all the while, Lillian gently encouraged him to keep on track. Little Jack smiled the entire time, his wide brown eyes taking in every detail.

‘She’s wearing the same pedal pushers as me,’ Penny whispered.

Charlie looked at his wife, noted the tears welling in her eyes, and they both burst out laughing.

‘What a ridiculous thing for me to say! I’m just so nervous. Look at those amazing brown eyes, Charlie. Look at him looking. He’s so smart.’

Charlie put his arm around Penny’s shoulder and she slid along the pub bench, closer to him. They sat there, sipping lime and soda, watching their boy toddle towards them. And by the time Jack had covered that small patch of grass, they loved him.

Jack didn’t clearly remember any of this first-hand, but, like many memories that actually belong to someone else, this one had oddly started to feel like his own. As the train continued towards Devon, he could even recall the colour of Penny’s pedal pushers and the smell of Charlie’s aftershave as he fell asleep in his big, working man’s arms.

At Rose Cottage, Laura watched the last of the evidence, including the cut hose pipe, being bagged and loaded into the back of a police van. She checked her mobile for the umpteenth time, but Jack hadn’t texted her back. In her heart of hearts, she knew he wouldn’t; but, like many women in love with the wrong man, she couldn’t bring herself to give up hope.

Ridley stood with forensic pathologist William Fox, as the grumpy Aylesbury undertaker opened the back of his white van and the overwhelming smell of over-barbecued pork hit them both. The transfer journey to the London mortuary had only taken an hour and a half, but still, the driver clearly hated moving around the capital and couldn’t wait to get home.

Will backed away from the smell, slipping his jacket off as he moved.

‘Bloody hell, Simon. You didn’t say it was a fire. That smell sticks to everything and this jacket’s new, you know!’

Ridley smirked to himself.

Will was only in his late thirties, but he was one of the foremost forensic pathologists in the UK. His mind was as sharp as his dress sense, he was loved by everyone and he showed an unrivalled passion for his profession. His sense of justice had originally taken him towards the police force, but his height, or lack of, his small frame and his aversion to physical confrontation forced him towards a behind-the-scenes job. And from the second he chose forensics, he shone brighter than anyone else in his class.

Will, or Foxy as he was sometimes called, played the sexy Silent Witness pathologist card on women all the time — and it worked. He referred to himself as ‘The Death Detective’ and made out that the police couldn’t make a move without him. Ridley didn’t mind; it wasn’t entirely untrue and, besides, all he cared about was his team being exceptional. And Foxy was exceptional.

The Aylesbury undertaker handed Foxy a large evidence bag and pushed the gurney indoors. Ridley explained.

‘His left foot came off when they picked him up.’

The walk from Totnes railway station to Charlie and Penny’s bungalow was visually quite an ordinary picture of semi-rural life, but emotionally, for Jack, it was borderline enchanting. Every step was a memory: the pub where he’d had his first underage drink; the back garden where he’d first touched a girl underneath her clothes; his first fight, his first heartbreak and the pub where he first saw Maggie. She was horrible to him. But they were both drunk and were showing off with their respective groups of friends.

The day after, Jack had gone to the café where Maggie worked and apologised. He’d stayed for four hours until she finished her shift and then taken her for a drink... Three hours later, they knew everything there was to know about each other. Jack wasn’t Maggie’s first love, but she was his.

Of course, he thought he’d been in love before, but he hadn’t really — he’d been in lust. Love was calm, lust was frantic. Frantic because Jack never knew exactly how long it would last, so he had to make the most of it while he could. But with Maggie, he knew immediately that he had all the time in the world. She was going nowhere.

Jack stared at the bungalow he’d grown up in. Every light was on. Every light was always on. He smiled and shook his head. He watched Penny fussing in the lounge through always-open curtains, then in his old bedroom — she was fluffing his pillows, probably for the twentieth time. He was sure she was checking she’d put every toiletry under the sun in his en suite, just in case he’d forgotten anything — which would be handy on this occasion because, in his rush to get here, he’d forgotten pretty much everything.