Kemp Secret Letterbox

1. Auflage 2013
ISBN: 978-1-4835-0216-8
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 240 Seiten

A murder mystery with paranormal undertones, set on the rugged landscape of Dartmoor.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Kemp, John

Leseproben

Chapter 3

Wednesday, 5th December, 2012

Being with a partner for ten years gives you a certain aptitude for understanding the subtleties of one another’s body language, the unsaid words and the interpretation of each other’s thoughts.

Even without words however, none of these skills were needed. I was in a sulk, and my partner absolutely knew it.

Besides, words are often unnecessary and on this particular morning it was deemed – for a while at least – more beneficial not to use them. My brain tried to figure things out, but it had shut down like my laptop does on bad days.

I leaned forward against the balcony, slightly hunched over, smoking while I gazed into the distance. After a while my wife, Mayra came over and gently placed her hand on my back. I nervously twisted on a decorative ring that I always wore. She noticed this and we exchanged a look.

Mayra went back to her magazine, and pretended to read, but in reality, eyed me and my erratic behaviour. I looked out across the street once more. After a while, I briefly turned around to see Mayra give me another empathetic semi-smile.

Again, no words were expressed. She looked solemn and even mirrored my own frown for my benefit. It was quite touching really.

When I finally came back in, I broke the ice and the words came quick and without pause.

‘That’s three days now.’

‘It’s only two, isn’t it?’

‘Three.’

‘Okay, three,’ she conceded. ‘When did you last hear from your brother?’

‘Over a week ago.’

‘Didn’t he call last Sunday?’

‘I had a brief message.’

‘What did it say?’

‘He had a lot of things going on and he was busy.’

‘It’s only Wednesday.’

‘I’ve had one short message on Sunday and no call yesterday; Tuesday.’

‘He could have gone away,’ she suggested.

‘Where?’

‘I don’t know. Where would you go in Cornwall?’ she asked, and removed her glasses.

‘Nowhere, everywhere is close by… Anyway, why is he suddenly so busy?’

‘Is that what he said?’

‘Yes.’ I scoffed. ‘He was really busy.’

She threw her hands up. ‘Maybe he has gone somewhere else, then?’

I shrugged. I had already considered that and countless other possibilities. ‘He would have told me.’

Mayra had one more suggestion. ‘He could be sick.’

‘He would have still used the phone… and besides he wasn’t sick, I would have sensed it. I would have known. There’s something else.’

‘What do you think he has been up to?’

The last time I actually spoke with him, he said that he had returned from a hike on the moors.’

‘With who?’

‘A new friend who he called, Professor Ted or something. They had been letterboxing.’

‘I thought you had given up letterboxing after Alan…’

‘I was surprised as well,’ I added, ‘and a bit concerned.’

‘Did you ask him why he was going?’

‘He said that this professor was interested in learning about it.’

‘How did he sound?’

‘Depressed and preoccupied about something… And now, suddenly, he was busy.’

Mayra straightened up, her eyes fixed on me. ‘What do you think he’s preoccupied with?’

I shrugged. ‘No idea. He said they’d had a good day and he was off to the professor’s home for an evening drink.’

She gave me a doubting look. ‘Are you sure that’s all?’

‘Of course,’ I assured her.

‘Did you two have words?’

She theatrically placed her hands on her hips and gave me a penetrating look. I knew the look well. She had sensed something else about our recent conversation.

‘No,’ I confirmed again.

She let it go. ‘What will you do?’

‘What can I do?’

‘Wait for his call?’

‘I can’t wait.’

‘Of course you can.’

‘What if something is wrong?’

‘Why do you always imagine the worst?’

I forced a smile. ‘It’s in my DNA.’

Mayra rolled her eyes. ‘Boy, do I know it.’

I shrugged once more. ‘It’s saved us a few times.’

‘Has it?’

I responded to the challenge. ‘The time I insisted we leave to avoid the hurricane…’

‘That was over 500 miles away.’

‘It was coming our way.’

‘It dissipated in Pensacola.’

‘There was a lot of flooding.’

Mayra gave a hollow laugh. ‘It was a bit windy.’

I moved on. Our dispute over the seriousness of the meteorological conditions and the closeness of the hurricane would have to wait until another day.

‘If he is in trouble, every minute is a delay.’

‘I know where this is going.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course. A bit like the time you were driving to the airport bound for the UK.’

‘That was different.’

‘I contacted the public address system at the airport.’

I shrink at the memory. ‘Not this again.’

She pushed her chin up and in a corporeal voice impersonated some arbitrary announcer.

‘Can Mr Havers call his wife,’ (this next bit was not actually said but is part of her joke at my expense, of course) ‘as his brother Steven was simply not at home to receive your call due to his sleepover at his new girlfriend’s house.’

‘Very funny.’

‘It puts it into context though.’

‘It’s totally different.’

‘Is it?’

‘We call each other three times a week, regardless: Sunday, Tuesday and Friday. We have done so for 20 years, even when he was in China… Then I was in Bolivia, he was in Brazil…’

‘And nowadays, you are on Amazon!’

I rolled my eyes at the last bit. ‘Yes! And that’s…’

‘What all triplets do?’

‘Yes!’

‘Well, maybe he doesn’t need you smothering and brothering him anymore.’

I gave a laugh. ‘Oh, he needs me alright.’

My wife sighed and gave up. She shook her head, turned away and under her breath muttered, ‘lord knows what for.’

Mayra teased me but she knew my torment, and she knows me well. Of course, she has helped me with my sorrow over the years, more than anyone in fact.

I suppose having been born triplets I have not been able to let Alan go, at least in my own head. Mayra says that I (and Steven) haven’t been able to allowAlan to die. She’s right.

As children we continued to imagine Alan was still there, playing with us. We did this after his death, and for as long as I can remember. That probably sounds strange to outsiders, but it was our way of dealing with losing Alan and our irreplaceable loss.

Our parents, who had suffered so much, either ignored it, or humoured us. At one time or another, they each had a go at dissuading us from including Alan in our imaginary games, but they finally gave up in the end.

So, Alan played every game, kicked every football and walked every mile with us. And this was not something I would have shared with anyone, for fear of being taken away or sectioned, but I sensed that sometimes he actually was there…

I did not say anything to Steven when we were growing up; it was kept like a guilty secret. I tried to broach the subject a few times, but being a child with a furtive imagination, I was worried I would be locked up. So, just as Steven did, I ‘pretended’ Alan was there with us, when at times I honestly believed - and felt - he actually was there…

‘Come on, let’s go out and get some breakfast somewhere,’ Mayra suggested.

It’s funny how serious matters can sometimes start with inconsequential banter and irrelevancies.

We ate at our local diner. I fretted some more. At one point, I made a verbal list of reasons verging on the absurd as to why Steven could be so ‘busy’. Mayra just laughed at me and my list.

She tried to calm my nerves, and told me how Steven would show up on a fishing boat, or from a beer cellar with a big hangover, or he had fallen into a tin mine in a drunken state and would soon skulk home when he awoke. (Steven liked drinking ‘real ales’ and his Saturday evenings ‘out’).

Mayra always made a joke about this, particularly after having witnessed Steven’s homecoming on a number of visits to the West Country and the resulting ‘state’ he was in. Of course, I was always stone cold sober and acted as his designated chaperone to get him home safely.

By the time I had downed my coffee and had asked for the bill, Mayra had succeeded in distracting me from my earlier imagined, life-threatening scenarios.

I soon crashed back to earth. The light on the answering machine was flashing upon our return home.

Presently, as I drive through Devon, I recalled my brother’s hesitant voice, or was it panic? I also recall my faltering emotions.

My...