Стивен Бут - Drowned Lives

‘I remember the boaters saying that. They knew him as the Captain. I suppose it was a mark of respect.’

Frank hesitated. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But I always thought it came from his wartime service.’

I frowned. The Second World War was a very long time ago, and it hardly seemed relevant. There were more immediate things that I needed to know about.

‘When did he develop this idea about the book?’

‘That I don’t know.’

‘But you knew he was working on it.’

‘I knew he was working on something. But you could never tell with Samuel what it might be next. He was a bit unpredictable, especially after Mum died. He was never quite the same.’

‘Old people do get more eccentric. But I know what you mean — he tended to go off at a tangent at a moment’s notice.’

‘Like I say, he was a surprising man. You, too, Chris. Perhaps you take after him.’

‘Me? How am I surprising?’

‘Well, for a start, you turned up at Samuel’s funeral, large as life. We never expected you to, not after what Caroline said about you. We felt sure you’d stay away. But no, you faced it out. I’m not sure I’d have been brave enough to do that, knowing that people were talking about me behind my back.’ He shrugged apologetically. ‘Well, you know the way they do.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘And you didn’t stay in the background either. We seemed to see you everywhere, mingling with the other mourners. And then, in the end, you even talked to Caroline.’

‘She had nothing good to say to me.’

‘Still. That was what made me think you might be determined enough to see this thing through. A lot of people wouldn’t. Me, for one. But you, Chris... I have a feeling you won’t be stopped from going on with Samuel’s book.’

‘Would you want to stop me?’

‘If I thought I could, yes. I’d try to persuade you, but I don’t think you’d take much notice of me.’

‘It would depend on what your reasons were.’

‘There you are, you see. If I told you that, there’d be no point in trying to stop you.’

I frowned again, more puzzled by the minute at his attitude.

‘In any case,’ he said, ‘there are others who’ll try harder to stop the book. Much harder.’

I turned at a sudden rattling of the gorse bushes that was so loud I thought a crowd of football supporters were rushing down the slope. But it was only the east wind getting up, chilly gusts that stirred the water on the shoreline. We reached a small, sheltered pool and crossed a causeway of stone slabs set into the water. Something splashed into a dark corner of the pool. A moorhen maybe, or a water rat.

‘Frank, there’s nothing in Samuel’s book that anybody could possibly worry about being published,’ I said.

He stopped abruptly in front of me, making me lose my balance slightly on the causeway and dip my foot in the shallow water. It was very cold.

‘Isn’t there?’ he demanded, and watched my face intently.

‘No.’

He relaxed and turned away. He mumbled something to himself. It sounded like, ‘He might have changed his mind then.’

‘It’s a history,’ I insisted. ‘A hundred or two hundred years old. Ancient stuff. It just happens to be about Samuel’s ancestors. And mine.’

‘All right, all right.’

‘But I didn’t come to talk about the book. I want to ask you about Samuel. What caused the rift between him and my grandfather? Why did he change his name? Why didn’t I know he existed until it was too late?’

He carried on walking, loping easily up the embankment with his back to me.

‘Frank!’ I shouted. ‘Why?’

He turned then at the top of the slope, his thin figure outlined against the grey sky, with his sparse hair lifting untidily as the wind plucked at him.

‘I can’t help you, Chris. I know nothing about that.’

His attitude really made me angry. It had been his idea for me to come to Chasetown. He’d led me on, and he couldn’t let me down now.

‘Can’t or won’t?’ I said. But he didn’t answer. His gaze drifted away from me, out towards Chasewater again. But there was nothing out there for him to see. ‘What are you frightened of, Frank?’

He shook his head and turned to descend the far side of the banking. I scrambled after him and ran a few yards until I caught him up and laid my hand on his shoulder. We were looking down on the streets of Chasetown, spread out before us.

‘Tell me. I need to know.’

‘There’s nothing for me to worry about, if all you’re writing is history. But if you’re digging up secrets that ought to stay buried, then we’ve both got plenty to be frightened of. If that’s the case, then don’t try to involve me and Sally. We don’t want to know. I’m only telling you what I told Samuel.’

Frank seemed calmer now as we walked along the embankment, back towards the football ground and the car park.

‘What did Samuel tell you about the book?’

‘Not much.’

‘He must have told you something to make you so worried. But there’s nothing in the manuscript to concern yourself about. There’s nothing about anybody living, even.’

As we approached the road, we saw Sally pass in the Cavalier on her way back to Cop Nook Lane. The back seat of the car was stacked with Safeway carrier bags.

‘Fine. Let it stay that way then. Let the dead stay dead. Don’t try to dig them up.’ Frank’s eyes followed the Cavalier as it disappeared. ‘I think it would be better if I didn’t invite you back inside. Sally, you know...’

‘No problem, Frank. Thanks for talking to me anyway.’

He caught the sarcastic tone. ‘I know I haven’t been much help. You’ll have to find someone else to answer your questions.’

‘But there isn’t anybody else left.’

‘Except Caroline.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘There’s Caroline.’

He hesitated for a moment before we parted. Then he surprised me by sticking out his hand to shake mine, as if we were two businessmen sealing a successful deal. It was a firm, warm grip, and in a strange way it reassured me. It made me feel I was in real communication with another human being who understood me. It made me believe, for once, that I wasn’t completely alone.

I’d arranged to meet Laura at lunchtime in the Jarvis George Hotel, where she was staying until she went back to London. This was one of the most expensive hotels in Lichfield, and I wondered again where her financial resources came from. Hadn’t she said she was unemployed? Clearly unemployment didn’t mean quite the same thing to her as it did to me.

She was waiting for me in the bar with a bright red drink on the table in front of her. She offered to buy me a beer, and I didn’t object.

‘Not drinking wine today, Chris?’ she said.

‘I don’t make the same mistake twice.’

‘What have you been doing today, then?’

‘I went to see the Chaplins. Or at least Frank Chaplin.’

‘Was he helpful?’

‘Not in the least.’

‘That’s a shame. There aren’t many other relatives to talk to, are there? Apart from Caroline, of course.’

‘Yes, Frank pointed that out as well. But there must be other avenues.’

‘Relatives should always be the first line of approach. They can give you information which will save an awful lot of time and point you in the right direction for your research.’

‘Caroline wouldn’t want to talk to me.’

‘Do you think she might speak to me instead?’

She said it casually, and it didn’t quite register at first. Then I put down my beer and grinned at her.

‘Does that mean you’re going to help?’

‘I thought about it last night. It does sound quite interesting. But I’d only be able to give a certain amount of time to it. If a job comes up, I’ll have to drop everything, you understand.’