The Life and Second Life of Charlie Brackwood (The Brackwood Series Book 2) (5 page)

I began to shout Emma’s name as I frantically looked in every room of the house. She was nowhere to be found. Down in the hallway I noticed her coat was no longer hanging on its usual peg. Overhead I heard the sudden, threatening sound of thunder and a blanket of rain pelted the house.

I needed to find Emma.

I realised from the fact that she had left a vulnerable baby on his own she wasn’t in the right frame of mind, and my initial anger turned to worry.

I strapped Ben in his pram, ensuring the plastic cover was down, then grabbed my raincoat and ventured out into the raging storm. The wind was strong and held a sharpness that made my exposed face ache. I continued walking, pushing Ben in front of me. Miraculously he was asleep while chaos raged around us. I could see that a few of the shops were still open in the village and I poked my head into the general store to ask Mrs Higgins if she’d seen Emma. She shook her head and looked concerned but I had no time to explain and hurried to the chip shop next door. Mr Bateson nodded blithely when I asked if he’d seen her and then proceeded to tell me about a group that had come in earlier and ordered fifty lots of fish and chips. Regrettably, I lost patience then and shouted at him, asking him to point me in Emma’s direction. He looked astonished by my outburst but waved in the direction of the river.

The dark grey sky was sombre and cruel. A bright flash of lightning seared it, making it appear as though the sky could fall in at any moment. I turned to my son’s sleeping face and was glad he wasn’t awake to see it. I quickly found the bank of the river and peered left and right, desperate to catch a glimpse of Emma’s red hair in the storm. Not a soul could be seen through the rain that seemed to fall in sheets.

In the distance I noticed a bend in the river. I had to explore what was beyond it. I pushed Ben hurriedly towards it and sighed in relief as I saw a splash of auburn in the distance. She was sitting on a bench, soaking wet without an umbrella, staring at the raging swell of the water.

I approached noisily, screaming her name and waving my hands, but Emma didn’t look up. Her gaze was transfixed by the fast-flowing water in front of her. 

I shouted her name just as a loud echo of thunder rumbled above. If she heard me, she showed no reaction. I sat down next to her and tried to ignore the cold, damp droplets now seeping through my jeans. I took one of her hands, clammy and cold, and attempted to warm it up in my own but she moved it swiftly out of my grasp.  

“What’s wrong?” I asked, confused by her sudden coldness. “I’ve been so worried.”

She turned her head to look at me. There was no trace of emotion on her pale face.

“I know,” she said quietly. “I know everything.”

Chapter Five

I left the cottage bright and early the next day and walked straight into a brief shower of rain. As I rode up Lucy’s driveway the clouds parted and the sun broke free. The birds began to sing and the day started to look brighter and more positive. I looked down at my light blue T-shirt that now clung to my body like Lycra, and hoped the sun lingered long enough to dry it.

As I made my way to the side gate I noticed a man lurking by the garden wall. He was standing on the tip of his toes, obviously desperate to catch a glimpse of something on the other side.

I approached him quietly and spent some time observing him before I made my presence known. He was middle-aged and wore a plain white shirt tucked in to light blue jeans. His jet black hair was parted at the side and carefully gelled, suggesting he took pride in his appearance.  My eyes fell to the camera he held in his left hand, which had a large zoom lens connected to it.

I cleared my throat loudly; the sound startled the man. He stumbled, stretching one hand to the ground to steady himself, and looked up at me. I studied his features. He had a goatee beard that appeared to accentuate his long, sharply pointed chin, and hooded dark eyes that made him seem bored and emotionless.  

“Can I help you?”

“I was just looking for Mrs Whitman, is she around?”

It took me a while to realise he was talking about Lucy; she had always been an Elliot to me.

“Have you tried the doorbell?”

“Several times, I—”

My patience was wearing thin. I had made up my own mind as to the reason for his unwelcome presence.

“What business do you have with Mrs Whitman?” I asked abruptly, eyeing the camera in an obvious manner.

“Just want to ask a few questions, that’s all.”

“Questions about...?” I asked.

“Her husband’s accident.”

“OK,” I said angrily, “you can leave now.”

“I will do no such thing,” he said forcefully.

“Yes, you will,” I said, taking him by one elbow and dragging him off the property.

“I have a job to do, just like you.” He squirmed. “Get your hands off me… I am a human being, not an animal!”

“That’s debatable,” I said sternly as I shoved him on to the public footpath outside the grounds.  

I turned away from him, ignoring the insults he shouted in my direction as I walked back to the house. I had always loathed the press and detested the way in which they preyed on the vulnerable. They earned their living shadily, reporting in lurid detail on tragic events and sombre circumstance, writing their lies at the expense of the innocent. I couldn’t allow that to happen to Lucy. I looked up at the house and wondered if anyone was home. Russ would be spending his time working on his business today so I was alone.

I found the equipment I needed in the shed and started on some of the repairs I’d seen the day before. Perhaps my return to my old home was to blame for the memories that assailed me as I worked. Happy memories that I had previously forgotten: Lucy’s first day in her new job, the two of us celebrating an important business contract that secured one year’s work for me, nights spent in the treehouse wrapped in a blanket and sipping hot chocolate out of oversized mugs.

After Lucy moved back in with me I remember asking her constantly if she was OK, I was so eager to please her and make her happy. If she was feeling down and dejected, I took on her sadness and absorbed it. She became the focal point of my world, and if she was suffering I couldn’t concentrate on anything else but making things right for her.

One day she came home from work looking distressed. Her job often involved communicating with local farmers and providing them with information to increase awareness of the effects of certain agricultural chemicals on local wildlife. During wet weather, pesticides and fertilisers often wash off crops and leach into freshwater streams and ponds that provide important habitats for local species. This can cause changes to the environment that often lead to the death of wild animals. Usually the local farmers were welcoming and polite to Lucy when she went to advise them on wildlife protection, and many of them enjoyed seeing her on a regular basis.  

However, that day she had encountered an arrogant, pretentious and uncompassionate character who had threatened to ‘put his shotgun to good use’ if he ever saw her on his property again. Understandably the threat had caused Lucy’s anxiety to flare up, which made me angry. Consequently, I decided to pay him a visit the next evening without Lucy’s knowledge. After a hostile start, he invited me in for a pot of tea and we had a caustic, but civilised, conversation.  

He explained that he was going through a bad time, that he had just lost his wife to cancer and when he saw Lucy approach he had already decided he wasn’t going to listen to what she had to say. I asked him about the threat he had made towards her and reiterated how intimidated she’d felt by it. He apologised and stated that it was just his temper talking.

As we spoke I found myself analysing him and saw a man who had become hardened by grief and therefore neglected by his community. I saw a man who would benefit from my help. I explained that my own father was a sheep farmer and that I understood the work involved was often hard and stressful. I told him about my dad’s bowls group and how it had helped him to relax. They were always in search of new players… why didn’t this man go along one day and see for himself? At first he was stubborn and gave a hundred weak excuses, but eventually I wore him down.

On the drive home I thought about the farmer and his wife. There were no children and he was a man dedicated to his profession and the animals that provided his livelihood. I felt the pain mingled with his loneliness and hoped I would never be unfortunate enough to experience that level of misfortune. Months passed after our encounter and still I hoped he would follow my advice and take up a hobby. I never found out whether he did, I just know he never turned up for a game of bowls with my dad. Yet sometimes the company of others can be the best medicine for a broken heart.

I forced myself to think of something positive. I moved the ladder so that it was underneath one of the windows of the treehouse. I’d seen a piece of wood that needed replacing around the edge. I climbed the ladder with ease, heights were never a problem for me, and peered in through the window of the library I had carefully built for Lucy. As I looked through the  round window, I came face to face with a large, wet, pink nose… the same nose that had caused smudges to appear on the other side of the glass. Snoop was wagging his tail furiously and attempting to lick my face despite the fact that two panes of glass separated us. He ran off to collect a ball from a nearby basket of toys and then I saw her.

Lucy was sitting on the sunken mattress I had installed as a comfortable reading area for her. She was surrounded by oversized cushions and her knees were drawn up to her chest.  Her head was resting on them and I was confident she couldn’t see me. I wondered why she wasn’t at work – not that she seemed to be in any fit state. I faced a dilemma. Should I drop what I was doing and comfort her or should I know my place and carry on with my work? I knew which of those options was the most attractive to me but decided on the safer course: to happen upon her with the pretence that I needed something, a tool of some sort. I climbed down the ladder and opened the door to the treehouse.

“Mrs Whitman?” I called into the silence.

No answer.

“Lucy?” I tried again. “I just need a hammer so I can make some repairs to the treehouse.”

I waited for a response.

“I’m up here,” I heard a small voice call down. I had to strain to hear it.

“I’m coming up,” I called.

I was halfway up the stairs when I was greeted by Snoop, his tail wagging so hard that it spun round like a propellor. I made my way to Lucy’s library and found her in the same position I’d seen her in through the window, except now she was smiling nervously and I could tell she had frantically wiped tears from her eyes just moments before. Her attempts to appear happy when she was clearly anything but had always worried me. To open up and admit that she was struggling was something Lucy had always found challenging.  

I stumbled towards her, my feet suddenly heavy and clumsy.

“I’m looking for a hammer,” I told her.

“OK. I think all the tools should be in the shed. At least that’s where Charlie keeps them.”

“Charlie?”

“Er… Jamie. My husband.”

“OK, I’ll take a look in the shed then. Thank you,” I said, secretly pleased by the slip.

Lucy nodded and looked at the floor. I headed for the stairs but hesitated before leaving.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

She looked at me blankly.

“I’m sorry, you don’t need to answer,” I added.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just gathering my bearings. I often come here to think.”

“I heard about your husband. I’m very sorry, Luce… erm, Lucy.” I cursed myself for the slip up; I’d hardly ever called her Lucy when we were together, always Luce.

“It’s all been a bit of a shock.”

“How is he?”

“Much the same… prognosis isn’t good.” She said the last part quietly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“Do they know what happened?”

“The police have a theory, I expect that’s why a reporter was lurking around this morning”

“What theory?”

She looked at me with a hint of sadness in her eyes.

“A completely wrong one.”

“Do… do they think you had something to do with the accident?”

She looked at me in a way that suggested she was unhappy disclosing that kind of information to a stranger. However, despite herself, she answered my question honestly.

“Yes.”

I looked at the floor.  I already knew she was innocent. Lucy still harboured a lot of anger and resentment but she wasn’t capable of murder.  

“Why?” I asked, and immediately regretted it. “You don’t have to answer that… I’m sorry… again,” I said, knowing that I must sound like a bumbling fool but it was hard not to fall back into the nurturing, easy relationship we’d once had.

She took a deep breath and I realised what she was about to say couldn’t be good. I knew her mannerisms just as well as I knew the landscape all around.

“I’m not really sure… they’re saying that some things don’t add up and I don’t have an alibi. I guess they have to look at every possible avenue of enquiry.”

“You didn’t do it, you couldn’t...” I said, before I could stop myself.

She stared at me for a minute, obviously shocked by my outburst. I was practically a stranger to her and the way she continued to look at me, as though I was an oddity she’d never encountered before, was unfamiliar and unsettling. I had never been exposed to this side of her before.

“How do you know that, you’ve hardly spoken to me?” Lucy said coolly.

“You just don’t seem to have the kind of cold, calculating personality a crime like that would require. You come across as a caring person.” I nodded at Snoop, sitting at her feet. “Someone who enjoys taking care of those with no voice of their own.”

“Well, I don’t have a great track record when it comes to husbands, I’m afraid.”  

I chose to stay silent.

“Maybe that’s why they suspect I had something to do with it.”

She let out a long sigh as I stood watching her blame herself for the past.

“Anyway, I think that’s enough self-pity for one day. I’ll show you where the tools are kept.”

She led the way back to ground level. I felt uneasy as I followed her outside. I didn’t know what evidence the police had that would lead them to suspect Lucy. I stood by my instincts. I knew she’d played no part in the accident. However, there was something about her behaviour that was worrying me. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.  

Lucy walked towards the shed at the other end of the garden. As she walked past the treehouse her gaze hesitated on the light blue hydrangea that grew beneath it and she stopped suddenly.

“Isn’t that the hammer, lying there near the hydrangeas?” she asked pointing at the ground.

I followed her gaze and saw it lying innocently in the place I had left it. I hadn’t expected her to help me in my search for a tool used merely as an excuse for me to enter the treehouse.

“Oh, yeah. I must’ve misplaced it.”

She looked at me with a semblance of uncertainty in her expression.

“You don’t remember taking it out of the shed?” she asked.

I hesitated, desperately thinking of a way to talk myself out of my careless mistake.

“I do now you mention it.”

She looked up at the repairs I’d spent the morning working on.

“Do you also remember using it to nail those pieces of wood up there?” She nodded at the treehouse.

“Yeah,” I said, keeping my gaze turned upwards and avoiding her eyes at all cost.  

Eventually, I risked a glance in her direction and was surprised to see a small smile appear on her face.

“Have a nice day, Adam,” she said before turning towards the house.