Free The Will To Live by Tanya Landman Page B
Authors: Tanya Landman
If he really did marry her then the place will go to Lydia.”
“Lydia?” I said.
“Lydia?” Graham echoed.
Across the kitchen table, Graham’s eyes met mine. I was so startled by Jennifer’s explanation that I couldn’t help blurting out, “Except James
didn’t
die first!”
I’d been speaking to Graham but it was Jennifer who demanded, “What on earth do you mean?”
I couldn’t wriggle out of it – I had made too dramatic a statement. All I could do was say hesitantly, “Well, when we found the body in the graveyard I noticed his nails were super clean. Yet Lawrence’s were dirty – like
he
was the one who’d been sleeping rough for years. I know it sounds weird, but we thought that maybe they’d swapped clothes.”
“But that would mean…” Jennifer’s lips went a horrible lilac-grey and her skin faded to the colour of ivory. It was just as well that Graham was holding the baby because she slumped forward, cracking her head on the kitchen table.
Jennifer had only fainted and it didn’t take her long to come round, but when she did she burst into noisy, gasping sobs. I found some kitchen roll to mop up her tears and Graham bounced Marmaduke up and down awkwardly, and after about five minutes Jennifer said, “I wondered if it was Daddy! Just for a second, you know? The thought flashed through my mind. I hadn’t seen him for so long, though – not since I was a child – and he and Lawrence always looked so alike. I thought I was being silly. But it
was
him. It really was! And he held Marmaduke before he died! He knew he was a grandfather! I’m so happy!”
She didn’t sound it. She was crying again, and making so much noise that her choking sobs acted like a homing beacon on the vicar, who now appeared in the kitchen. Graham and I took the pans off the stove and poured boiling water into the teapots while Reverend Bristow sat beside Jennifer at the kitchen table, patting her hand and murmuring soothing phrases.
“It’s all been a terrible strain,” he said. “There, there, let it all out. You’ll feel better after a good cry.”
When Jennifer told him that the man lying upstairs in Lawrence’s bedroom was actually her father, the vicar looked at her as though she was stark, raving mad. His training clearly hadn’t prepared him for this.
“Are you sure? I can imagine how badly you wanted him to be at the christening…” The sentence was left trailing, that word “imagine” seeming to echo around the kitchen. You could almost see the thought bubble hanging over the vicar’s head – “Her mind is playing tricks on her!” He was even more perplexed when Graham and I told him what we’d just told Jennifer about the whole clothes-swap thing. “I’m sorry…” he said. “I just can’t believe it!”
“Let’s go and take a look, shall we?” I suggested. “It’s the only way to prove who’s who.”
We soon discovered that marching through a manor to take a look at a dead body isn’t the kind of thing you can do without people noticing. Jennifer was still in noisy, gulping hysterics so we hadn’t even reached the bottom of the staircase when Julian emerged from his bedroom and Gethin came hurrying through from the drawing-room demanding to know what was the matter. Graham handed Marmaduke to his father while Jennifer garbled an explanation. “It was Daddy!” she concluded.
“Is this some kind of sick joke?” Lydia and Lancelot had heard the uproar and come to find the source too.
The swelling on Lancelot’s face had gone down slightly, but the bruising had spread from ear to ear and he looked hideous. “What idiod’s suggesding dey swapped clodes?” he demanded.
Wordlessly Jennifer pointed at me and Graham. Sally glared at us from the midst of the crowd that had gathered to watch but she didn’t get a chance to speak. Lydia sneered witheringly. “You’re paying attention to a couple of brats? Ridiculous!”
But she followed nonetheless when the
“Lydia?” I said.
“Lydia?” Graham echoed.
Across the kitchen table, Graham’s eyes met mine. I was so startled by Jennifer’s explanation that I couldn’t help blurting out, “Except James
didn’t
die first!”
I’d been speaking to Graham but it was Jennifer who demanded, “What on earth do you mean?”
I couldn’t wriggle out of it – I had made too dramatic a statement. All I could do was say hesitantly, “Well, when we found the body in the graveyard I noticed his nails were super clean. Yet Lawrence’s were dirty – like
he
was the one who’d been sleeping rough for years. I know it sounds weird, but we thought that maybe they’d swapped clothes.”
“But that would mean…” Jennifer’s lips went a horrible lilac-grey and her skin faded to the colour of ivory. It was just as well that Graham was holding the baby because she slumped forward, cracking her head on the kitchen table.
Jennifer had only fainted and it didn’t take her long to come round, but when she did she burst into noisy, gasping sobs. I found some kitchen roll to mop up her tears and Graham bounced Marmaduke up and down awkwardly, and after about five minutes Jennifer said, “I wondered if it was Daddy! Just for a second, you know? The thought flashed through my mind. I hadn’t seen him for so long, though – not since I was a child – and he and Lawrence always looked so alike. I thought I was being silly. But it
was
him. It really was! And he held Marmaduke before he died! He knew he was a grandfather! I’m so happy!”
She didn’t sound it. She was crying again, and making so much noise that her choking sobs acted like a homing beacon on the vicar, who now appeared in the kitchen. Graham and I took the pans off the stove and poured boiling water into the teapots while Reverend Bristow sat beside Jennifer at the kitchen table, patting her hand and murmuring soothing phrases.
“It’s all been a terrible strain,” he said. “There, there, let it all out. You’ll feel better after a good cry.”
When Jennifer told him that the man lying upstairs in Lawrence’s bedroom was actually her father, the vicar looked at her as though she was stark, raving mad. His training clearly hadn’t prepared him for this.
“Are you sure? I can imagine how badly you wanted him to be at the christening…” The sentence was left trailing, that word “imagine” seeming to echo around the kitchen. You could almost see the thought bubble hanging over the vicar’s head – “Her mind is playing tricks on her!” He was even more perplexed when Graham and I told him what we’d just told Jennifer about the whole clothes-swap thing. “I’m sorry…” he said. “I just can’t believe it!”
“Let’s go and take a look, shall we?” I suggested. “It’s the only way to prove who’s who.”
We soon discovered that marching through a manor to take a look at a dead body isn’t the kind of thing you can do without people noticing. Jennifer was still in noisy, gulping hysterics so we hadn’t even reached the bottom of the staircase when Julian emerged from his bedroom and Gethin came hurrying through from the drawing-room demanding to know what was the matter. Graham handed Marmaduke to his father while Jennifer garbled an explanation. “It was Daddy!” she concluded.
“Is this some kind of sick joke?” Lydia and Lancelot had heard the uproar and come to find the source too.
The swelling on Lancelot’s face had gone down slightly, but the bruising had spread from ear to ear and he looked hideous. “What idiod’s suggesding dey swapped clodes?” he demanded.
Wordlessly Jennifer pointed at me and Graham. Sally glared at us from the midst of the crowd that had gathered to watch but she didn’t get a chance to speak. Lydia sneered witheringly. “You’re paying attention to a couple of brats? Ridiculous!”
But she followed nonetheless when the