Free Aftermath by Peter Turnbull Page B

remember, but a housekeeper is not a parent and is not a partner.’
    â€˜Jennifer was with me, I felt her presence. I still feel it.’
    â€˜Yes, that is interesting, I don’t doubt you.’
    George Hennessey smiled. ‘Oh, she’s here . . . she’s here . . . I can feel her presence. She loves her garden.’
    â€˜Yes,’ Charles Hennessey looked out over the neatly cut lawn to the hedgerow, which crossed the lawn from left to right with a gateway in the middle, leading on to an orchard in the corner of which were two garden sheds, both heavily creosoted. Beyond the orchard was an area of waste ground dominated by grass, within which was a pond with thriving amphibious life. ‘Her garden built according to a design she drew up when heavily pregnant with me.’
    â€˜Very heavily pregnant, you arrived a few days later.’
    â€˜I remember her. I remember being on her lap and looking up at her. It’s my first memory. I have continuous memory from about the age of four, islands of memory before that.’
    â€˜As is usual.’
    â€˜So unfair, sudden death syndrome.’
    â€˜Yes, just walking through Easingwold . . . on a day like today and collapsing. Folk thought that she had fainted but there was no pulse and her skin was clammy to the touch. Dead on arrival, or Condition Purple in ambulance speak . . . and you just three months old. As you say, so unfair.’ Hennessey paused. ‘So when do I see my grandchildren again?’
    â€˜Quite soon, they’re clamouring to see Grandad Hennessey again . . . tend to think it’s because you spoil them rotten.’
    â€˜Which,’ Hennessey smiled, ‘is exactly what grand-parents are for.’
    Later still, when Charles Hennessey had left to drive to his home and his family, George Hennessey made another cup of tea and carried it out to the orchard and stood where he had scattered one of the handfuls of his late wife’s ashes and told her of his day . . . as he always did . . . winter and summer, and then he told her again of the new love in his life and assured her that it did not mean that his love for her had diminished. If anything, he told her, over the years it had grown stronger, and once again he felt himself surrounded by a warmth which could not be explained by the rays of the sun alone.
    After sunset, and after spending a pleasant two hours reading a recently acquired book about the Zulu wars, which was already a valued addition to his library of military history, and after eating his supper and feeding Oscar, Hennessey took the dog for a walk of fifteen minutes, out to a field where he let the animal explore for thirty minutes and then man and dog returned to Hennessey’s house. Hennessey then walked out again, alone, into Easingwold for a pint of brown and mild, at the Dove Inn, just one before last orders were called.

THREE
    Friday, 12th June – 10.15 hours – Saturday 04.10 hours
in which more is learned about the final victim and the gentle reader is privy to George Hennessey’s demons.
    M rs Penny Merryweather revealed herself to be a slightly built and a warm and a bumbling personality. She was dark-haired and wore a ready smile and also instantly struck Yellich as indeed having a character which well befitted her name. She lived in a small council house set among six other similar houses in the village of Milking Nook. She smiled at Yellich upon him showing her his ID and stepped aside, inviting him into her house. Yellich entered and, following Penny Merryweather’s directions, found himself in a cluttered but neat and cleanly kept living room where he sat, as invited, in one of the two armchairs in the room. Yellich scanned the room and all seemed to him to be in perfect keeping with a householder of Mrs Merryweather’s age and means. The television in the corner was small and probably a