Chapter 1
Our liaison officer Caron called in with an update. A police boat had explored the rocky area where Francis
thought there might have been to a cave. They unearthed no evidence of any caves and were making enquiries
down at the docks to establish if any of the fishermen there knew of a rocky area containing caves. It had
come to the attention of the police from another police force that a boat containing pirates had possibly
sailed several times this way. We were surprised to hear about the pirates. Seemed ridiculous! ’Francis, do you
have access to a computer?’ Caron immediately asked. ‘Yes!’ ’It is too much to explain now, but if you have a
little research on modern-day piracy, it may give you some idea. Did either your husband or sons ever
mention the word pirate?’ ‘No, they did not,’ remarked Francis before adding, ’Well, apart from the time a
of caves over there.’ ‘Oh yes,’ I said. ’I also went to a place like that with Frank, but I do not think it was over
local fundraiser for the children’s play area did that Peter pan pantomime.’ ’They raised good money too;
there is a new swing, a sandpit and a new climbing frame. Oh, I added and the time they went to see pirates
of the Caribbean! Francis added Bless all of them for taking part,’ while giving me a disapproving stare. As I
have mentioned before, my mind wanders without my consent. Caron had left, Francis was on her computer,
and I was visualizing Captain Hook with a crocodile. We both assumed the police were getting somewhere as,
within days, Caron returned. Did either of us know a man named Andrew Rackon? We were asked. Initially,
neither of us did, but then Francis said, ‘Yes, hang on a minute. Is he related to Kevin Hilton?’ ’Yes, that is
correct, they are cousins. Did any of your husbands or sons ever mention him? How did you know him,
Francis? ’Well, I do not know him, I only know of him. It was a bit of a twisted web. Two-second cousins
married, the marriage did not last, and Kevin’s mum remarried a Somalia chap. His first name was Aaden; the
word biblically means Adam or to create. I do not know what his surname is. I heard he hit her about the
bastard! But that may just be gossip.’ I cringe here we go Francis is swearing again. Perhaps I forgot to
suggest the adoption of Apfelsaft. I was thinking what a wealth of local information Francis is. The village
had raised money and built a village information post next to the post office, shut now due to lockdown, of
course. Still, Francis would be the ideal person to be employed there. The village council is always fundraising.
They have raised enough to get the village war memorial cleaned but cannot get it done until the country is on
top of this horrible pandemic and out of lockdown. With Caron gone, I ponder while we sat in the garden
conversing on lockdown and how shocking the death toll had become, why Francis had never stood for the
role of town councillor! I think she has missed her vocation in life as inside that housewife sleeps a leader of
men. ‘Huh, Pirates,’ Francis muttered on her way off into bed. I sat a while longer before retiring to Francis’s
spare room. I now slept there most nights. The next day when out for a walk, Audrey Hilton, who must sit at
her open window all day, shouts over, ‘Everything okay, Francis?’ Francis answered sarcastically, ’Oh, what a
disbelief to see you sat at your window again! How is Aaden Doing? I never hear you talk about him. Hope
he is not in prison for wife-beating!’ Audrey fastened her window closed in a rushed manner. ’I am confused,
Francis. How are these people connected to each other?’ ‘Let’s sit on the sea wall, and I will explain it.’ We
did, and she started explaining. ’There were two sisters Audrey and Sheila; Audrey married Albert Hilton and
had three children, one of them being Kevin, ‘the stag do chap’. The other sister Shelia married her second
Cousin Syd Rackon and had a son Andrew Rackon. The marriage ended and Shelia remarried a Somalia man
named Aaden! Understand now?’ ‘Yes, I think so. So why does our liaison officer ask about them?’ ’Mary, I
have no idea.’ ’I heard that Audrey and Shelia’s mum passed on the Christmas day of the pandemic, which
was the same day Kevin Hilton’s fiancé Lucy Mare’s dad got admitted to hospital with it.’ ’Oh, the joy of it.
Look ahead, Mary, here approaches Stella Phillips with a tongue full of gossip, no doubt.’ I was not as
flattened as Francis by her appearing, as I like to think of it as taking an interest in our community. And I had
never come across someone with a tongue full of gossip before, a head full yes but never a tongue full. ’Good
morning to you both, and how is Froggy?’ she asked as she knelt down for some ear-licks. She stood back up
with a quizzed expression. I think she was deciding if to tell us something or not, rightly apprehensive after
her last encounter with Francis. Stella had no ability to keep it to pleasantries and move on. ‘Well,’ said Stella,
‘You know Kevin Hilton’s Mother, Audrey?’ ‘Yes, why?’ Francis asked. As she shuffled a little closer, Francis
reminded her of social distancing. Stella took a step back and pulled the side of her facemask away from her
face. I guess she thought we would hear her better, but Francis was having none of that irresponsible
behaviour. Just spit it out, Stella. We have things to do.’ Now having permission to tell, Stella was not looking
anxious. And like turning a bottle of treacle upside down out it poured, she let all the gossip out in one
breath. ’Audrey’s sister Shelia and her husband Aaden bought that house outright in cash, outright in cash she
repeated while raising her eyebrows! Wendy is either related and living there gratis or is a tenant! Francis
interrupted, asking Shelia if she knew Wendy’s surname, with a beam Shelia replied she loved knowing things
that others did not. Well, what is it snorted Francis? Shelia lifted her facemask up from her chin to under her
nose and said Row; it is Wendy Row and slid her facemask back into position. Francis replied do not be so
stupid Shelia; it cannot possibly be Row that would make her son Hedge Row! I was trying to retain
composure while Shelia affirmed it was Row. Francis concluded thee only logical explanation was Wendy was
backwards in learning. The child will be bullied at school said Francis, what was Wendy thinking, she requires
educated folks in the poor girls life, I will invite her over once lockdown has lifted. Shelia thought lockdown
was awful because she used to get to hear so much working in the salon. I bumped into Wendy out with
Hedge in the pram. She was very abrupt to me, saying the house is mine, it is in my name and who bought it
is no one’s business. I also heard Shelia and Aaden had bought several other houses outright around here. If I
find any more out, I will let you know.’ ‘Yes, I am sure you will. Bye!’ The next time Caron called in was to
inform us they had found some caves and think they may be the ones we referred to. A team of police
officers searched them, and no evidence of any of the six missing men was found. The caves remained under
surveillance, and we were asked if we would accompany her to the caves to see if we can identify them as the
ones we visited? Which we did so willingly. If they were the only caves that existed there, then they must be
the ones, but one lump of rock looks very much like another. So, no one can really tell. At least we could not.
On seeing them, we both agreed and identified them as the caves we had been to before. We filled Caron in
on everything that Stella had told us. She was extremely interested and made notes. Francis found helping the
police with their enquiries very satisfying. (On the bottom of your notes write, “Beware, was informed by a
gossip”, because Stella is an expert in filling in the blanks herself.) duly noted said Caron. We were at last back
at home. There really is no place like it. After a little while, Francis asked me to sit for a bit in some low-
down sunshine. The vase of flowers looked beautiful, and I complimented this to Francis, who had set them
there, which was quite unlike herself. I said, ’you do not usually pick your flowers. I thought you said they
look much prettier in the garden.’ ‘I make exceptions for special people; these are for your sister Betty.’ I had
no words in response. I just closed my eyes and thought of nothing in the last bit of daylight. In the morning,
our shared supermarket delivery arrived, and with it came the strict unpacking regime that Francis had
devised. ’You take out the bags, and I will mark it off on the receipt. Here we go, Bread, correct. Next
item! On and on and on we went. ’Kippers, what! She checked Kippers against our original list, which had been
printed off in advance of delivery. We had not ordered Kippers this time. We put them to one side so we
could see what they were a substitute for. When the grocery was all done; we could not reckon what they had
substituted it for? In the end, Francis figured it out. ’We ordered eggs, rice and decaf tea bags, which have
been substituted for with Kippers and green tea. That is, it, Mary. Get those four-layer deep facemasks. We
will go straight down there!’ We went to the store where a shy young girl, not really suited to customer
service, suggested that the Kippers maybe a protein product substituted for eggs. Oh, why did I not think of
that,’ snarled Francis. ‘I should go home and try substituting Kippers for Eggs in my cake recipe, yes?’ While
waiting for the manager to come, Francis had much to say to customer service about the lack of social
distancing she was observing. Next came oi, ’Oi yes, you there in the green coat, do not pick things up and
put them down again, look with your eyes, not your hands. If you are not going to buy it, do not touch it.
Disgraceful, do you know we are in the middle of a pandemic?’ The manager offered Francis a twenty pounds
voucher, which she could use online as a gesture of sincere apology and said her comments about how he
managed the shop had been duly noted and thanked her for bringing them to his attention. Outside, Francis
remarked, ’I think he was pleased I brought those issues to his notice, and just look around, Mary! People
walking about without masks, that man over there patting someone else’s dog. I feel affected, take some
photos of them Mary, do it on your phone!’ ‘Is that legal, Francis?’ ’I do not care about legal; I am going to
show them to Caron and write a sharp letter to the council. Mary, I feel scared and infected. I think we should
go home, shower and put our clothes in the wash.’ ‘Okay, let’s do just that!’ At home and fully sanitized, we
sat in the garden with Caron, who had answered the call to come and look at shoppers breaking the rules. She
said, ’Francis, although all the files remain open, it is a separate operation we are investigating, which so far
finds no links that connect your missing sons to it. I could have told you that interrupted Francis; my boys
were not raised to be criminals! Anyhow continued Caron, I want you to know that we have found no
Toilet tissue,’ ’as if she did not have enough of these already in pre lock down storage. ‘Correct, next item!’
evidence of your sons’ whereabouts and that might remain the case. That does not mean we are forgetting
about them, for if in the future any evidence arises, we will of course contact you.’ ’Did you speak to Stella
Phillips?’ Francis asked. No, we are unable to interview Stella as she has tested positive for the virus and is
self-isolating at home. Two weeks later, Stella passed away. The neighbours laid flowers on her lawn as they
had done for each deceased resident in the street. We express emotions of grieving and mourning, perhaps by
genetics, when a known loved one passes its auto Matic. It is no longer a personal thing as we share our
mourning together with the world for every single number given out as the daily death data each day on the
news. It is utterly overwhelming and soul-destroying to mourn for millions, but we do it every day, from the
eighty-eight-year-old on the other side of the world to the forty-nine-year-old here at home, and on this day,
we did it for Stella. Not one taken by the pandemic will be forgotten. ’The street will not be the same without
her, will it, Francis?’ ‘The sad thing is Mary, streets all over the world today will not be the same again.’ Part of
the boarding school roof had been damaged by a recent storm, and until suitable arrangements were made, a
number of boys, including the triplets, were sent home for the weekend with strict instructions to isolate and
on return, they were to be in isolation for two weeks.’ The weather being unpredictable had turned from a
windy storm into the snow. The snow was a wonderful respite for the local children, who we stood outside to
watch play. A snowball hit Francis, who swiftly made one and with an overarm lob, hit her target. We all
laughed. Watching her play and laugh with the local children confirmed what I had already come to know that
is in Latin qui Se Amat. She loves people. Looking around, I noticed that Stella’s Salon looked almost
picturesque. No one had swept the snow from its path. No treads from the soles of shoes patterned the area,
just flowers laying crisp and frozen. We had heard that Audrey Hilton’s sister Sheila and her husband Aaden
had put in a bid with the estate agents. I wonder if it will remain a hair salon if they do buy it. I am sure
Francis will inform Caron of this news. Turning to view the other direction, I slipped, twisting my ankle,
which almost instantly became swollen. Finley and frank assisted me to a seat, as weight bearing was
uncomfortable. Francis, who had great organizational skills, soon nursed me with an ankle compress on and
my leg elevated. That afternoon, we stayed in and played board games and chatted with the triplets hearing
their tales of boarding school and silly jokes. This filled the room with much needed happiness. Francis
beamed with pride every time she looked at them, and they beamed back. I am probably too selfish to truly
understand unconditional love but watching Francis with her boys seemed to come pretty close in making me
believe it existed. That evening the triplets got to choose a film. We watched it together and finishing it, put it
away neatly in its case. Francis remarked that she did not think it would be her type of viewing, but she
actually, ended up liking the robot thingy. The triplets in harmony replied, ‘Mum, that is R2D2,’ and laughed.
Incapable to make it up the stairs, Francis formulated me a bed on her sofa. The next morning, I woke up to
tea in one of my mugs. I popped next door to fetch you a chipped mug said Francis, ’I know you are not a
fan of a cup and saucer, what with your ankle and everything.’ ‘Well, you know! Thank you, Francis!’ ’It is the
boys’ last day. I was going to take them for a walk with Froggy, that is, if you can manage?’ ’Yes, I can
manage. You enjoy your walk.’ Over the weekend, the boarding school had prepared a temporary hall of
residence for the pupils while repairs to the roof continued. We both felt deflated that the kids were going
again, so soon. Snow had turned to dirty slush and was no longer picturesque. The triplets returned to school
to soon. The laughter of the days gone by at home with the children there already seemed distant and faded.
But Francis and I carried on with our bond. ’I think there may be crutches or even a wheelchair in my shed,
Mary! I will top up that awful mug of yours and then go and look.’ Sat in an old, dangerous-looking
wheelchair, holding Froggy on his lead away, Francis pushed. Froggy stopped at every yellow patch of slush,
sniffing for predators leaving behind a warning scent. One week on, feeling several pounds heavier due to
being spoilt with homemade cake, my ankle felt much better. I informed Francis that I could now walk up the
stairs, so I was ready to sleep back at home.
I went back to Francis’s in the morning, to find her already up and busy. ’I am writing to the government,
Mary! I have had enough of these holiday adverts during the lockdown and certain supermarkets advertising
chocolate cake! It is not essential.’ ‘I need a cup of tea Francis I am not awake yet,’ I tried not to resonate too
grumpy. ’No time for that Mary, I was only corresponding while waiting for you to get up, you need to get
healthier Mary it is inconsiderate being so lazy when I require your assistance! I cannot find Froggy, and I am
concerned he could be chasing cyclists again.’ Approaching the car to drive into town, we heard a commotion
coming from the end house. We found it only neighbourly to investigate. We found Froggy there, and a
frustrated man scooting him on his way. ’Stop that, I will report you to animal welfare snapped Mrs Fillet.
Come here boy, come on.’ What are you thinking chasing my poor Froggy with a broom? It was the third
time this week that he had gotten in the cat flap and eaten Mr. Shelby the cat’s food. The sneaky dog did not
come to Francis. We were unable to catch Froggy, who loved this game of chasing. Off he went through the
cat flap. ’It would be swifter if we came in, blocked your cat flap and caught him in your kitchen. Francis
insisted she would replace Mr. Shelby’s food, what kind of food is it you eat Mr. Shelby? Cat food, of course
retorted the man! Francis grimaced while proudly stating Froggy has freshly cooked butcher meat. Anyway,
this is Mary, and I am Francis.’ Without introducing himself, the man pointed us in. The small, cramped
kitchen was not dissimilar to a builder’s yard, and being observant, Francis noticed that the back patio had
been excavated and sealed back in with what she later passed on to Caron as a coffin- sized hole. A pile of
quarry tiles in a corner was ready to be laid, and a letter waiting unopened on a kitchen worktop addressed to
Mr. Shelby! Why would anyone correspond with a cat? I think Mr Shelby’s owner could possibly have been in
Somalian, as his accent was not dissimilar to how I remember Aaden’s being from passing pleasantries with
him in years past. Francis, triple face masked and under the guise of a member of neighbourhood watch,
revisited. The cat’s owner, who said, ‘Everything is fine, thank you,’ and closed the door, Mary I fear there is
something suspicious about Mr. Shelby ! Who the cat? I asked, no Mary Mr. Shelby’s owner.
Concentrate patience first you get up late when your needed, then you think someone non-criminal would call a cat Mr.
Shelby. Theres something suspicious about that man, you can’t trust someone who keeps quarry tiles in their
kitchen. Mary thought to herself Mrs Fillet referred to neighbourhood watch schemes as okay, but in our
neighbourhood, they were no more than busybodies searching for gossip, but I did not remind her of that.
Mr. Shelby’s owner, who we bumped into while out walking, introduced himself to Francis. ’My name is
Liban, which means to ‘Preserve something precious’. I run the local neighbourhood watch. I did not see you
log into this month’s online meeting or last month’s come to think of it! I also volunteer at the local food
bank. My wife’s name is Hani, meaning ‘happiness’. She is a science teacher at a boys’ boarding school, which
she is staying at during lockdown to help the boys. I have just experienced a burst water pipe under my back
patio. I have three sons who are all married, whom I am only in contact with via Skype due to lockdown. My
cat is pedigree, and since your dog continues to use my cat flap, I will soon be boarding it up and building a
Catio, which is a small fenced-in area for my pedigree cat to enjoy some fresh air without being accosted by
Froggy.’ My big mouth blurted out, ’All we need is another Stella, who always got the wrong end of the stick,
much of which she had invented. ’ to which Francis replied, ’If that is what you think I am, then you can call
me Mrs. Fillet again as we are no longer friends.’ With that, she snatched Froggy’s lead from me and marched
away saying and good day to you Mr. Shelby. Standing there speechless, Liban said good morning to you and
walked away. Shouting through Mrs. Fillet’s letterbox, I went, ’Come on, Mrs. Fillet, I am so sorry it just came
out. I did not mean it. Please open the door. You are the only friend I have. ‘Go away,’ was all that she
responded with. With my tail between my legs, not unlike Mr. Shelby when looking at his empty bowl, I
sluggishly went home. I do not know how many lonely days passed when I received a letter through the post
from Francis! It commenced with, ‘Dear Ms. Fillet,’ and I immediately sensed hostility. I thought it better to
return it to its envelope and revisit with a cup of sweet coffee. Francis penned that she felt hurt by my
comments and that since talking with Caron, she has been finding everything and everyone suspicious. She
Mary! I informed Francis I am pretty sure the cat is called Mr. Shelby. Mary at times you really do test my
was at the point that if she saw any clues that might have helped her find her missing sons, she would
question them and will make no apology for trying to find them. Amazed at the words Mary thought what!
Mrs Fillet in her desperation that her sons might be buried in Liban’s patio. She went on to write how she
missed each one of them so very much, which made me devastated for her. Before I had finished reading, I
was out my door in a most unsuitable nightie, losing one slipper en route to Mrs. Fillet’s. She ignored my
knocks; I called through her letterbox. She replied, ‘Go away. I am not ready to speak to you or anyone yet.’
The only thing left for me to do was to write back. I started off with Dear Mrs. Fillet, and wrote pretty much
what I had already shouted through her letterbox; sorry, please forgive me; I miss your friendship, etc. I
posted it through her door as I saw no point in queuing for a stamp. All I can do now was wait. If she did not
reply, I was going to get a cat and a cat flap so that she would have to call around to catch Froggy. I shall
name my cat Penitents. That is Latin for sorry… or just something Latin, which I supposed Mrs. Fillet would
like. I had no one to talk to. All this not being friends business was exhausting for me. I started feeling very
drained of life and off I went to bed for the day. I saw no reason to get dressed in the days that followed,
which I spent briefly in the kitchen but mostly in my bed. I felt breathless and absolutely exhausted. I missed
my Friend Mrs Fillet so much. I did not wish any ill towards my best friend Mrs. Fillet and hoped that she
would talk to me again soon. Every organ in my body was crying out in my loneliness for a lockdown
adventure with my best friend.
My Name is Francis Fillet. I am Mary’s next-door neighbour, but reading through Mary’s scribbles, you
already know that. I have taken a mental note that she broke our secret by telling you all about my skirt and
knickers episode amongst other things. We will chew the bones of that one when she is feeling better. I am
just scribbling a few notes so Mary can read up on events when she is up and about again, which is when I
will encourage her to rise earlier in the morning and take more concern of herself. Or in the future as a
reminder to let you all know the final outcome of my missing sons. Well, it is only polite to do so, do you not
agree? Mary has a high temperature and a rotten headache, and I am popping in and out with soup. I wear an
old boiler suit, goggles, gloves and a four layered material facemask which I fashioned myself for this very
purpose. Even with such a responsible level of protection, I have also elongated the soup-feeding spoon with
some of my barbeque kebab skewers. I do the most exquisite summer barbeques but now is not the time to
not tell you about my secret fish fillet coating. I have fashioned Mary a temporary mailbox out of an old
rabbit hutch and fixed a note stating clearly to the postman that all mail must be inserted in it for disinfectant
purposes. Once considered safe, I take all Mary’s mail into my house and open it. I do not think it is right to
bother her with posts when she is unwell. Seeing Mary so breathless and incapable made me realize why none
of her scribbling’s contained dates or places. It is because they are insignificant. She recorded the events
which to her was far more important than on what day they happened. Mary represents people all over the
world who are gasping for their life. Who live in different places and on different dates? The dates they die
have little significance only the fact they died. In the evenings, I sit beside Mary’s bed and hold her hand while
telling her the village news or reading her a book. Mary tested positive for the virus, and her health is
deteriorating quickly. I am dreading the hour she goes into hospital. For selfish reasons, I am scared I will
never see her again, and she will become another statistic on the evening news. Enough of those bad
thoughts. There is no need to think like that. I am keeping Mary and her bedroom spotless to speed her
recovery. Daily, I give Mary a quick wash down, rolling her on to her side to keep all necessary areas sanitized.
It was during this my eyes were drawn to a tattoo of a fish fillet on the cheek of her bottom. Inside this
permanent skin etching, it read the names Fergus Finley and Frank. I wondered if they were my three sons or
hers. I also wondered how she got away with having a tattoo without me finding out. I looked at her
pondering how many other secrets she holds. Another thing I pondered was perhaps a glass or two of whisky
when she is feeling a bit better might speed her healing. It was while looking at her I realized I had done all I
could and it was now the time to telephone for an ambulance. Just before she was taken away by paramedics,
I whispered in her ear, ‘Please come back, Mary Fillet.’ All the years I have known Mary, I considered her
weak and insignificant. Now, I was willing her with my all to be strong and fight. Mary, being sedated and put
on a ventilator, was showing no signs of improvement. It was a beautiful winter day. Cold and crisp with no
warming low-down sun to stand in when she departed. R.I.P Mary Fillet
’Come have a look, Lulu. You get the first pick out of three rooms. There are four rooms, but I have
temporarily locked the fourth until I have a chance to straighten it out. As you can see, each room has a
name. This one is named Sunflower; it has sunflower curtains with matching bedding complimented by three
lemon-painted walls and a feature wall with sunflower wallpaper. It is bright and uplifting. ’Room two is
named Lilac. It is decorated with lilac painted walls & matching lilac bedding. Room three is named Sky. It
has light blue painted walls and dark blue bedding. Room four, which is temporarily unavailable, is named
lowdown Sunset. As you can see, each room has a name plaque on the door, as it is not encouraged to enter
each other’s room without consent. Therefore, the plaques should facilitate. ’The bathroom, kitchen, living
room, garden etc., are shared areas. Let us go down to the kitchen and have a cup of tea. Your very quiet
Lulu, is there anything you would like to ask me?’ ‘Um yes, where is your room?’ ’Oh, no, I do not live here.
My dear friend Mary lived here. I cannot believe it has been two years since she passed away. In Mary’s will,
she requested that I have her house, but not to sell but to use as a home for those living on the streets. I live
next door. Which room did you like?’ ‘My favourite colour is blue, so I think I would like Sky, please.’
‘Lovely,’ I said. ‘That is sorted then, the Sky room is yours.’ ’Am I allowed to enquire anything about you story
is much the same as most females living rough. An Abusive stepfather, lots of quarrels, you know that
sort of thing. I have been living rough for almost two years and am so looking forward to a comfy bed
tonight.’ ‘Lulu, do you know Nigel?’ ’Yea, he brings around hot drinks at evening times, and he was the one
who gave me your address.’ ’ Lulu, He told me there is a very vulnerable girl sleeping out down by the river. I
think he said her name is Mia. Do you know of her? ‘We do not ask or tell each other our real names,’ replied
Lulu, ‘but yea, I think I know whom you mean.’ ‘Well,’ I said, ’Nigel has asked me to go with him tonight
with the optimism she will speak to us. Um, so Lulu may not be your real name?’ Lulu did not reply. ’I will
leave now; let you have a look around. I have done a food shop; there is plenty in the fridge and freezer, help
yourself. I need to go see what Froggy has been up to; I am only next door if you need anything.’ I was
deeming rather smug with myself, and once outside, I glanced up to the sky saying, ’Mary, we have our first
guest.’ Walking up my garden path, I had fashioned a satisfied guise thinking to myself what a lovely person
Lulu is and how much I am looking forward to the challenges that lay ahead. And sure, inside me that Mary
would approve. For the past two years, Mary’s house had looked like a silhouette, just an outline of a building
with no life. Now interesting people were heading to make it colourful again. I thought given her individual
style; Mary would have approved of Lulu. At 8 p.m., Nigel arrived. He was trying to enquire if I, who at the
time was wrestling with an over-excited dog, was ready? Pointing a finger at Froggy, I said, ’Now calm
yourself down, or you will stay here.’ My pointing made no difference as Froggy seldom listened to
instructions. Approaching the river, a minor fire was visible, with a few bodies stood around it swigging from
bottles and rubbing their hands and bodies as if they were cold. Chitchatting away as we ambled, Nigel said he
had been conveying hot drinks to the homeless for just over a year. He articulated with compassion about
those who had perished in that time, habitually from alcohol-related conditions. Froggy was relishing it and
was already swathed in mud from the riverbank. When they reached the fire, Mrs. Fillet calculated six people,
five men and one woman who were 109stood around an old rusty oil drum made into a fire. The flames from
being homeless?’ I asked Lulu. ‘I am okay with it if you would rather not.’ ‘No, that is okay,’ said Lulu. ’My
the small fire flickered and sparked in the darkness. They all knew and acknowledged Nigel. There was
evidence of sleeping bags and cardboard boxes, suggesting that this would be a resting place tonight. Nigel
enquired about Mia, but no one had seen her for a couple of days. Furthermore, no one knew of an
alternative location she may be sleeping. Nigel assured them he only aspired to help her. ’If you know
anything, please say.’ A weasel-looking chap the others called Dodge, who was obviously drunk, said, ’I think
some nights a bloke picks her up in his BMW car. She might be with him tonight.’ Another one of the group,
a man who was stunted and stocky whom they called Racer butted in saying, ’She could be earning some
money. She is a pretty girl.’ I felt both angry and scared at such a comment, and quietly reasoned Racer
looked too fat and unfit to race anywhere. Obtaining zilch of Mia’s whereabouts, Nigel and I elected to walk
home. Nigel said, ‘We will return tomorrow night.’ With an Inquisitive kindness I asked Nigel was supporting
their lifestyle instead of changing it a positive thing to do? Nigel replied that he had to start someplace, and he
thought securing their trust was his first step. Reaching my front door, I mutter, ’I guess you are right. Good
night, Nigel. See you tomorrow.’ The next morning bright and early I was chomping at the bit in anticipation
to go next door and enquire how Lulu’s primary night went. Pacing the floor, I could hold out no longer, and
at 10 a.m., inept to control my eagerness, soon found myself knocking on the door. ’Good morning, Mrs.
Fillet, come in.’ ‘Did you sleep okay, Lulu?’ ’Yes, thank you, I have just boiled the kettle. Would you like tea
or coffee?’ ‘Let me show you where I keep my own cup to. I was never keen on Mary’s chipped mugs.’ ’Did
you find the girl last night?’ Lulu asked. ’No, regrettably not. One of the men residing there said sometimes
Mia goes off with a man in a BMW car. That is all we know.’ ‘Excuse me,’ said Lulu as she responded to the
doorbell. It was Nigel and with him accompanied a homeless woman who gave her name as Peach. She wore
hippy style clothes, with what I thought was matted hair she referred to as her dreads. Her demeaner was very
outgoing and friendly, she looked very vulnerable, I felt pleased to see how she and Lulu seemed to instantly
hit it off. Peach selected the room with the plaque reading Sunflower, and just for a few minutes, all seemed
good with the world, leaving Lulu to show Peach around, and once outside I said to Nigel I think we should
110keep the Lilac room in case they can locate Mia. Although it has been two years, I still need a little more
time before I can clear out the Sunset room where all Mary’s personal belongings are stored. And perhaps
after Peach has settled in, I will help her comb her hair, I find dreadlocks inappropriate for such a pretty face,
what do you think Nigel? Nigel smiled and replied with just a single word perfect. He will call around tonight
and they can look for Mia. ‘I go for 1 hour, and you have chewed the mail again,’ I felt vexed, but all Froggy
heard was, ’Pleased to see me? ‘Silly dog,’ I smiled, ‘I had only been next door.’ Nigel arrived at 7.30 p.m., and
they walked the same route as the night before and spoke to the same group of people. Sadly, no Mia.
Reaching her door, Nigel and I both agreed on the same pursuit the next night. 10 a.m., just as I was
unfastening my door to venture next door to see how Lulu and Peach were getting on, a man on my doorstep
said, ’Good timing, I was about to ring your bell. My name is Neil Plaice. Spelt Plaice as in the fish. I am a
reporter and fathom you are opening your house up to the homeless. I wondered if we could have a chat.’ I
was taken back by his sudden appearance, and took a few seconds to reply, finally saying no thank you. ’I am
a friend of Nigel’s, please hear me out. I am also aware of your missing sons; I monitored their story closely.
Honestly, I am not here to dig dirt or write an abysmal story about you. My daughter got in with an unhealthy
crowd and, on drugs, became a homeless person. I hunted and searched for her. I would have never given up
until I found her. I did find her; she had died of drug abuse and was cremated by a local council 250 miles
away where she was living on the streets. I feel so guilty,’ he said with a solitary tear glistening in the corner of
his eye, like a drop of dew on a spring morning. I felt a connection to him, like we had known each other for
years. I replied, ‘I am thinking of going back inside and having a hot drink. You’re welcome to join me.’ We
chatted for hours all through my platter of corned beef sandwiches. By early afternoon, there were chuckles
of laughter and an offer by Neil to revisit his file on my missing sons. I dropped the Mrs. Fillet, and suggested
he call me Francis; it was an absolute yes to finding my sons. That evening, Neil accompanied Francis and
Nigel, again no sign of Mia. Weeks passed by, and each day they spent hours looking through Neil’s files on
the missing Fillet men. I studied each scrap of paper, photograph and newspaper cutting, searching in hopes
of new ideas. As it generated back excruciating memories, Neil could see the pain in my face and consoled me
with a gentle hug. ’Francis, let us have a day off tomorrow. We could go for a drive, my treat. Fish n chips in
a pull in. Come on, say yes, Froggy needs a walk; he will enjoy it.’ I appreciated it. It had been awhile since I
was sat eating fish n chips, it was with Mary sat on the sea wall. Glancing over I truly saw Neil, in a moment,
from being a reporter; he had become a person, an intelligent, attractive, well-spoken man. With the bluest
eyes and untidy ginger hair. Neil also, for the first time, saw Francis as someone else. Just like Mary’s house,
the silhouettes had become colourful. That night hugging my pillow, I imagined a future. A future was
something I had not contemplated in a very long time. Drifting to sleep, I could not wait until morning to see
Neil again. Their first sexual encounter did not move the earth. It was a combination of an itch scratched and
‘oh alfelspelt, I need to change the sheets.’ Neil was more loving and clingier than I. I thought to myself that I
should be happy and grateful, farting rainbows as Mary would have said, but I was not. The months came and
went. Lulu and Peach went back to living on the streets. A few other street folks came and went. They were
like annual flowers; their presence and petals were uplifting and beautiful, then they were gone. Something
about street life beckoned, and one by one, they responded. That summer, Neil proposed. I carefully
considered becoming Mrs. Plaice, but after much deliberation, kindly declined, making the joke that going
from Mrs. Fillet to Mrs. Plaice was a bit fishy. I thought Mary would have found that joke funny. The couple
remained friends with no further intimacy taking place, and Neil offered to help with the thing I had been
dreading the most: Packing up Mary’s personal and private belongings from the sunset room. Unlocking the
door, I stood there still quite frozen for what seemed an eternity with so many happy memories of Mary in
my heart. I picked up a pile of bits of paper with scribbles on; it had no date, it just said, “Francis made me
laugh so much today I almost wet myself”. ’Is that why you keep scribbles Francis? I replied ’after my dear
friend Mary passed, I found a lot of her notes. I attempted to put them in order somehow. One note was
scribbled on the back of an old envelope and read, “I put no times or dates, no real intimate details of people
because my notes signify all of us, everyone. Just everyday commonplace people each surviving by their own everywhere
I go.’ ’Francis, shall I open the curtains, or would you prefer to keep the rain out? I replied that I
had once commented to Mary that unlike mine she did not have windows that complimented a rainy day! It
takes a certain kind of frame with the correct size glass to really appreciate the beauty of a rainfall from inside
looking out; Mary’s panes are too small. Neil grinned while asking shall I keep all scribbled notes we find
together in this empty shoebox?’ ‘Yes please, Neil.’ ’Francis, we have been here over an hour. You are
obviously very upset. Let us stop for today. Let’s go next door, and I will make you a coffee.’ I nodded okay.
Over coffee, I asked Neil why apart from his deceased daughter, he has never spoken of any family. His reply
saddened me. ’I have no family, Francis. My daughter Emily as you know is dead. Her mother passed away in
a fatal car accident, a drunk driver drove into her. My parents died in a house fire. I am an only child, and I
was born in South Africa. I probably have family there but do not know for certain.’ ’Tell me more about
your work, Neil? You are a reporter who investigates others’ families but have never searched for yours?’ ’I
work for myself; I have no office or workmates. I search out stories and sell them to the highest bidder.’ His
life sounded so lonely to me, I almost wanted to say, “I have changed my mind, let us get married,” but
refrained from doing so. The following day, Neil and I sat on the beach skimming through the notes written
by Mary that we had found so far. Mary put no dates and I did not need dates. I remembered with fondness
many of Mary’s scribbles. ‘Oh my, I miss you so much,’ I blurted out loud. I then said, ’I think Mary was
precise to leave the dates off. I reminisce so many happy days with my parents, husband or my children. I
could not tell you the date, but nevertheless, they are precious to me. Neil wanted to reply but was unable to
do so as I was answering my ringing mobile phone. It was the boarding school. Fergus was fitting and had
been procured by ambulance to a hospital. Arriving at the hospital, I was unable to see Fergus as he was
having an urgent MRI scan. ‘I cannot do this; I cannot do this,’ I ranted over and over again. No one was able
to calm me. It was decided I was to be admitted, put in a side room and sedated. The next day Neil came with
flowers, fruit, chocolate, and a selection of magazines. ‘I cannot do this,’ I said. Neil reached across and
challenges and their ability to repay what is owed.” I cherish that scribble of Mary’s; I carry it in my bag
rubbed my arm. ‘We will do it together, one step at a time.’ I was livid I could feel the red fury rise inside me.
‘One step: one bloody step?’ I shouted as I paced the room, projecting everything Neil had brought into the
bin. ‘Bloody pointless sodding steps.’ Neil asked quietly, ‘what is the subsequent step for Fergus?’ I took the
bunch of flowers back out of the bin and hit Neil over the head with them again and again. As a pleasant
aroma broke from them wafted amidst the bitter air. ‘Annual flowers,’ I said, ’here for a beautiful moment,
then gone. For three days and nights, I had sat by his bedside. Those stupid idiot doctors sedated me and
alone without me, Fergus had another fit and died. So, his subsequent fucking step for my Fergus is heaven.’
Hearing myself swear I quietly repeated the word Apfelsaft twice. Alone, I sat in the room with Fergus. ’I
know you can hear me, son.’ I went on to tell Fergus that Mary was his birth mum that she even had his name
tattooed on a bum cheek. ’Fergus, I love and have loved you with all I am, you are my skin and my bones, the
blood that runs through my veins. Today more than ever, I understand why your birth mum wrote no dates
on her scribbles. At first, it irked me that Mary scribbled her life on scraps of undated paper, instead of
writing it on the correct dated page of a diary, yet today I understand as I also do not need a date. As today,
will be every day, for the rest of my days.’ I did not know who she was, but some hospital woman nipped her
head around the door. ‘Everything okay?’ ’No, everything is not okay, piss off,” came my reply. A few
minutes later, in came two hospital workers. ’Come with us, Francis. We will make you a cup of tea. You have
been in here quite a while. Let us have a break, you can come back later or tomorrow.’ ’When you sedated
me, you said have a little rest Francis and see Fergus in a little while, Francis. You did not say see Fergus dead
in a while, Francis, did you? After this cup of tea when we come back, will you have cremated him? you
bunch of incompetent bastards?’ ‘Francis, please come with us. We do not want to call security.’ I kissed
Fergus on the forehead, saying, ‘I will be back after a cup of tea, my sweetheart.’ Looking at the two hospital
people, I said, ‘And he better be here.’ I was aware of how hard the hospital staff were trying to comfort me, I
felt my anger wane into numbness. Taking their advice, I went home to get some silent time. Well, silent apart
from Froggy’s initial excitement to see me. Froggy, not usually known for his empathy, sensed I was hurting
and snuggled up close to me in an armchair where we both slept for hours. Froggy seeming to know exactly
when to snuggle and when to give me space. Neil, who called around each day to walk Froggy and drop off
food, I do acknowledge his friendship during this horrendous pain. The church permitted Froggy to attend
the funeral. The coffin bearers were His brothers, Finley and Frank, along with four of his classmates. The
church was heaving, every pew taken, with both an overspill of mourners inside and outside of the church.
Light blue and white shirts were all around, with a little sunshine face motif that reminded me of those garden
ornaments people have; you know a sunshine face on a stick stuck in plant pots. Cheap and tacky probably
made in China. As well as the mourners, even Froggy wore an Argentina football strip. I could not stand his
coffin draped with an Argentina flag looking alone at the front, so Froggy and I stood beside it. His Math’s
teacher Mr. Barton spoke of Fergus’s passion for football, how he has a large poster of the Argentina player
Lionel Messi on his bedroom wall. Fergus played for the school’s team and, without doubt, was the school’s
highest ever goal scorer and the reason so many football trophies adorned the school’s sports cabinet. One by
one, the teachers and classmates spoke. Mr. Connor, his history teacher, said, ’Fergus excelled on every
subject, he was well liked and had many friends. Once standing in for the art master who was recovering from
a minor operation, I asked the pupils to draw life. This was the only instruction: “Here is a piece of paper and
other art materials, you have ninety minutes to draw life.” ’Fergus began by folding his paper concertina style.
In between each fold, he drew with much skill one item. I cannot remember what all those items were except
one. Between each fold, he had drawn one item to represent each member of his family. I asked which
represented him. He explained with knowledge and reason that his was a ball, not because he loved the game,
but because one day life or circumstances will kick it, and his destiny will lay him somewhere new.’
Neil, come through to the garden. I have had a sunshine plaque made for Fergus. I am in the process of
situating it on the back wall. Then I will make us a hot drink.’ ‘Okay, thank you,’ replied Neil, moving on to
say Fergus passed away three months ago tomorrow. ‘I know,’ I said, endeavouring to keep time and dates
irrelevant. After a disagreement with the council, I had received permission to leave dates off his headstone,
which was soon to be erected. Once the earth that holds him has settled. ‘If you are deeming up to it,’ said
Neil, ’I thought together we could parcel up a few more of Mary’s things. With the boys back at boarding
school and no guests next door, I notion you might be feeling at a loose end. My control over life did indeed
feel loose so I agreed. I folded clothes neatly and paired shoes together, ready for charity. At the same time,
Neil found more scribbled notes, which he put into an empty shoebox. ’Do you mind me reading the notes as
I find them?’ ‘No, not at all Neil, I like to hear them.’ Also, Francis I note her bed is still made up shall we
change the bedding? Francis said oh no! We will chuck it all away and get new, Mary salivated during her
sleep always dreaming of pudding I guess, she loved a good pudding. When she slept in my spare room I
noticed nighttime dribble on my pillows, whereas my pillows are spotlessly white, dreaming of food is
something I do not do. Neil, who was also guilty of dribbling on his own pillows during his sleep, said
nothing just amusingly grinned. ’This one is written to a person named Cedric, it just says sorry. Who is
Cedric?’ Francis replied, ‘I have no idea.’ ‘Francis, do you object if I look into Mary’s past?’ ’Why? Mary was a
beautiful, gentle person and my best friend, do not try digging up dirt on her, you will not find any.’ Neil
instantly spoke, ’Francis, I thought as she was your friend. You may like to know a little about her past. I have
no intentions of digging any dirt; we could do it together. We could find out who Cedric is. He may be a
friend who does not know Mary has passed away.’ Plucking up an England football shirt from the floor, Neil
asked was she a fan? I replied I also have one! I do not care for the word fan I prefer patriotic. Throughout
Neil’s search for Mary’s chronicle, he found out only what I already knew. Mary was an only child from a
respected loving family, studied art at university, which stunned Mrs Fillet as Mary was dreadful at art. Francis
wondered if Mary had faked her bad drawings to make hers look best. and of course, inherited her
parents ‘look into finding him for a while longer if that is okay.’ Neil visited the local pub and shop in the area where
Mary grew up. A few locals in the pub did not remember Mary as the family moved when she was a child but
did remember her parents. Neil had visited many local towns and pubs during his reporting years. Talking to
locals in a pub gives a blurred and often exaggerated story. A mix of truth, folk law gossip. With a generous
sprinkling of imagination. The pints of ale flowed freely, and tongues loosened. Jeremy, a man with an odd-
looking stature, with rounded shoulders that hunched forward and did not have a local accent claimed he had
lived next door to the Fillets. He eagerly began his account, firstly confessing he had no idea if it was truth or
not. ’The locals here are very friendly and embraced my family and I instantly when we moved here years
ago.’ Jeremy, after taking a large gulp of his pint of cider, continued his tale. He had not swallowed fully
before continuing and wiped seeping cider from his chin with the back of his hand, ‘Well,’ he said, ’the story
was Mrs. Fillet birthing a child out of wedlock. It was covered up as well as it could be by her family, and the
baby was put up for adoption.’ After taking a pause for another swig of his drink, Jeremy said, ’the baby boy
had been born with some deformities and was not adopted but exhausted his life in a children’s home, by
exhausted I mean endured children’s homes and never placed with a family. The story goes when he was in
his teenage years, he hung himself. They say he was never fostered, not even for a short time, and was moved
around to a few different children homes when certain homes closed.’ He concluded his tale with remember I
do not know if that is truth or not. Another chap raising his glass at our table as if to make a toast said, ’Well,
I heard she was raped and that is why she did not keep the boy.’ A not too steady on his feet chap either
swaying to the jukebox or tipsy said, ‘I heard the boy haunts the village, several have seen him.’ Old Susan
Networth said she heard him crying in the bushes one night when she was walking back from bingo. He
haunts because they suffocated him, did not want a boy with such injuries. Someone at the bar, sitting on a
barstool shouted over, ’Old Susan Networth has too many sherry’s at Bingo, we all know that. My Missus
Reckons the Fillet woman had terrible depression.’ The whole pub had by now shattered into laughter and
house. ’ I remarked.’ ’I am pleased that you found nothing, Neil replied I am intrigued by who Cedric is. I will
jokes. ‘Oi Jeremy, what did the giant sunflower say to a little flower? “Hey BUD.”’ Neil could not and did not
want to note down every theory, especially the spacecraft one or the one where the boy was born with
superhuman strength. A chap named Bob, who had overheard the conversations from a nearby pub table,
leaned over to say, ’that is bloody nonsense Jeremy; you have had too many ciders, man. The boy was born in
wedlock, and old fishy fillet was the dad. The boy was born deformed and died a couple weeks old. Go down
to the churchyard and see for yourself.’ Neil did exactly that and came across a gravestone, which read, “Here
sleeps our precious son, Bernard David Fillet, beloved son, flown home by angels seventeen days old. And
our beautiful daughter Betty Gillian Fillet aged seven years. Rest in peace beneath the low-down sunshine.”
Neil clarified Bernard is Mary’s baby brother and Betty her twin sister? I that is right said Peter. Neil
continued speaking with the church grounds man Peter who was gathering lifeless flowers from graves and
having a general tidy up. He remembered the Fillet family and spoke highly of them. His willingness to talk
halted when Neil asked if he knew of any connection between the Fillets and someone named Cedric, He cut
the conversation off by saying he had work to do and walked away. Neil followed, explaining Mary had
passed away, that he had found a note mentioning Cedric, and was eager to contact and inform him of Mary’s
passing. Realizing it was a generous service Neil was aiming to do, he said, ‘Follow me.’ After a few minutes
walking, they came to a grave, which Peter indicated to, the headstone read Cedric Whitfield. ‘Oh my,’
exclaimed Neil; somewhat shocked that this lad was only eight years old when he passed away. ‘Yes, he was,’
said Peter. His headstone read a tragic accident! ‘Do you know what happened?’ Peter replied that, a group of
children were playing and a tragedy took place. ‘Was Mary among that group of children?’ Peter replied, ’in
this graveyard, there are some graves dating back hundreds of years. Because the villagers enjoy divulging to
visitors ghost stories once a year, the village council group advertise a graveyard tour. It is a very popular
event over in America but is often frowned upon here. I have a book passed down by my predecessors, and
from it, I tell the stories of some of the people beneath God’s ground. With permission from Cedric’s family,
his story is included in this book. The village council group typically charges for tickets to attend, and the
money benefits with the upkeep of the church. But, as you only want to receive one story, I will let you off
from paying a ticket price.’ Neil replied that he is happy to give a donation. And so, Peter began. “One
autumn evening, there were five children out playing, two girls, Mary and Sarah Jane, plus three lads, Cedric,
Antony & Koby. The night was commencing to draw in, as the Fillets used to say just a little low-down
sunshine left. Mary, Sarah Jane & Koby returned home a little late, not by much twenty minutes or so. Hours
passed, and still no sign of Cedric or Antony. A search party was assembled, and along with the police, hunt
for the two lads began.” Taking a breath and closing the book, he looked at Neil, saying, ’You are not a
paying customer, mate, so I am going to give you the short version, okay?’ ‘Fine,’ replied Neil. ’The lad
Antony was certainly not a normal lad. He had killed the Fillets’ dog, stabbed a policeman in the leg. The lad
was nothing but trouble.’ ‘Why the Fillets’ dog?’ ’Oh, I suppose you do not know this bit. At the time, there
were two Fillet families in the village. Mary’s parents, and I cannot remember off-hand the name of the other
family. I think the wife’s name was Florrie or Franny, something like that. Neil said, ‘Francis.’ ‘Yea, that is it,’
said Peter. ’Francis Fillet. It was her dog he killed. He was the first lad that Francis Fillet fostered. Before they
had started adopting, they fostered for a while to see how it went. Antony was their first foster lad. Fair play
to them, they stuck by him. If he had killed my dog, he would have been back in a home, quick smart. Shame
they did not hand him back. If they had, Cedric would still be here. Rest yourself well Cedric,’ Peter said,
looking at all that was left of the lad: a slab of stone with a few words on. A sobering thought replied to Neil
that all remains of a souls identity are a cold marble block! Peter revealed he did not know all the ins and outs
of it, but after being assessed, Antony Mayford was put into a children’s mental health hospital. Neil butted
in, ‘You mean Antony Fillet?’ ‘No,’ said Peter. ’He was locked up before they had a chance to adopt him. I
reckon they would have if they could; they stood firm beside the kid.’ I have heeded that fanny, Florrie, Neil
intruded Francis, yea that is her continued Peter, must have been some woman to stand by the boy! Wonder
where she is to now? Neil stood there, completely puzzled. His forehead all screwed up like one of those
Shar- Pei dogs. Out loud, he tried to put these extraordinary events in order. ’So, what you are saying is there
were two Fillet families living here? One Fillet family who lived here fostered Antony, who now lives in a
secure mental health hospital? This awful occurrence took place, and they moved? Some years later they went
on to adopt seven boys, Fergus, Finley, Frank, Fred, Ford, Fernando and Fricx. By sheer chance, they moved
to live next door to a completely unrelated family who had the surname Fillet. Who by coincidence was the
same family who they had resided beside before? The same Mary Fillet, who was also one of the children out
playing that day, turned out to be their new neighbours’ daughter? She married six of her next-door
neighbours’ sons? Who one by one disappeared while out on fishing trips? The seventh son Fricx, who has
dwarfism, is alive and well, living with his partner several miles away and often seen on television dramas
where a dwarf is required. My head is swirling like a tornado,’ said Neil, continuing to think out loud. ’Then,
of course, Mary, after her six husbands were missing and assumed dead, had triplets by a man, she met online.
Who her friend, neighbour, mother-in-law and mother of the six missing sons adopted. And chose to name
Fergus, Finley and Frank, the names of three of the missing men. One of whom not so long ago died of a
brain tumour, leaving two living full time at boarding school. This is truly unbelievable!’ wow you know more
than I do said Peter as he offered Neil to ‘Come over to the shed,’ ‘I have a hot flask of tea.’ The two sat on
two extremely rickety wooden chairs while sipping tea from grubby plastic cups. ’I do not know how I feel or
what I think,’ said Neil. ’In my years of reporting, I have been to many graveyards and conversed with many
grounds men. Never before has my head felt so solid with so much confusing information.’ Peter, constantly
the grounds man knelt picking a few weeds out by their feet, looking up at Neil with a quizzed expression
about him. He asked, ‘What do you think happened to those fishermen?’ I read about it in the local
newspapers, Odd all the boats were recovered, and I believe are still in the police pound! Neil, who had
followed the case and done extensive research of his own, remembered well that tempestuous seas with gale-
force winds had indeed, been case on all the six nights. He had always found it odd that no contents of six
boats washed up onshore, or indeed any bodies. ‘I am puzzled by it,’ replied Neil and had no ideas at all.
’Peter, you said the village council group received permission from the families of the deceased before
mother has passed on, but five miles from here Cedric has a father and brother. I know what 120your next
question is going to be, the answer is no. But if you happened to look without my consent while I was
popping to the loo, not much I could do about that. I will not be long. I am going to leave the book on my
chair.’ Neil hastily grabbed the book and wrote down the current address of Cedric’s family. On Peter’s
return, Neil bid him goodbye and returned home.
‘Good morning, Neil. Come in, the kettle is on.’ You are in a cheery mood, Francis. Have you won the
lottery?’ I chuckled. ’It is a beautiful day, sun is shining; let us go for a drive somewhere we can stop to walk
Froggy. ‘Great idea,’ said Neil, deciding today was not the day to trouble Francis with his informative day
yesterday. Neil drove them to a dog-friendly beach, where Froggy needed no invite to go play with the other
dogs. In fact, as soon as Neil had opened the dog carrier, which did little to contain his travel excitement,
Froggy was gone. Making friends with a spaniel who seemed to be enjoying Froggy’s interest. Froggy love’s
the beach; swimming in the sea, sharing the other dogs’ toys and treats. Neil and I sat on two foldable chairs
that Neil had purchased, keeping them in his car at all times for days like this one. He thought to himself if he
had not parked so far from the church, he would have used them yesterday at Peters, as he sat nervously
throughout thinking Peters chairs might collapse. I enquired what is that thoughtful smile about; Neil replied,
‘I am falling in love with you,’ ‘And I with you.’ Like teenage kids again, we laughed. Neil found a bit of stick
and started to draw a heart in the damp sand, but Froggy soon halted that piece of art. All sticks waving
around were fair game. On the way home, fish and chips followed a glass of wine and an enjoyable evening
together, before Neil settled himself in for the night in one of Francis’s guest rooms. ’Good morning,
including their story in the graveyard tour book. Does Cedric have family living here?’ Yes, that he does. His
beautiful. How do you fancy another day out, you, Froggy and me? Laughingly Neil finished his suggestion
with, ‘Come on girl, let us live dangerously.’ ’Oh, that sounds perfect, but I cannot today. I am going to visit a
friend.’ Over breakfast of marmalade on toast, Neil enquired, ’What do you think attracted Mary to six of
your sons?’ ’Putting her half-eaten toast back onto her plate, Francis said, ’Odd question, whatever kept her
kite in flight I guess, who knows. I have got to get moving or I will be late, will I see you later?’ ‘You bet ya,’
grinned Neil before gently slapping her bottom as she was exiting. Francis hastily corrected Neil let’s not
cross the friendship line too far. Francis thinking how inappropriate to touch a person’s person without
permission or invite. With a free day, Neil decided to visit Cedric’s father and brother. He thrived on this type
of investigative work. He knocked on the door apprehensively, expecting it to be slammed in his face. It was
opened by a young man who stood rigid for seconds staring then began twirling in circles. With hand
gestures, he beckoned Neil in. In, get in,’ he then sang. Neil followed his instruction and entered the house.
Appearing from another room entered a frail man with many deep wrinkles, like lines on a map screening the
directions only grief can lead you. ‘Who are you,’ he asked? ’My name is Neil plaice. I am looking for Cedric’s
family.’ The old man said, ’Well look, never further than here, we are it. I am Cedric’s father, Sid, and this is
his brother, William.’ William put Neil on edge; there was something about him. ’I visited the graveyard five
miles away, the grounds man Peter told me the story of your son Cedric, and I am intrigued to know more.’
Sid never questioned who Neil was or why he was asking these questions. It appeared he was just happy to
have a visitor. ‘Oh, I see you have a photo of Mary Fillet on your sideboard,’ Neil continued. ’Aye, she was a
bit of a childhood sweetheart of my Cedric’s.’ William was going in circles again, repeating the name Mary
over and over. ‘I do not know what has got into him. William!’ shouted Sid. ‘Stop, you will make me dizzy.’
Sid looked at Neil and informed him he has been like this for a while. Neil, taking a sip of the most foul-
tasting tea, which William had made, asked, ‘Did you see Mary often?’ ’It used to be about once a month. She
and William would go out and about together not far just short walks.’ ‘Love girl,’ bellowed out William. ’You
idiot,’ you have put something in the tea again. It tastes vile. We do not see anything of her now; I reckon it is
because William has turned so strange that she does not want to visit.’ Neil broke the news that Mary had
passed away at the end of the pandemic. William started screaming “body parts” over and over and threw
things. Sid requested that Neil leave. ‘Are you sure? Would you like me to stay and take William to a hospital?’
‘No, thanks,’ replied Sid, ‘you go and I will settle him.’ Neil listened to some guitar music on the car radio as
he drove back to see if Peter was working in the graveyard. Sure enough, he was. ’Did not expect to see you
back so soon.’ ‘Well,’ said Neil, ’I have just visited Cedric’s family. Is there anything you can tell me about his
brother, William?’ With a chuckle, Peter said, ‘you met him them? Bit of an oddball, isn’t he?’ ’Has he always
been like that? His father said his behaviour has been declining over recent years.’ ‘No worries with him,’ said
Peter, ’William is harmless. Being a bit different, the other kids would get him to eat a butterfly or stupid
bloody stuff like that. He is a clever lad who likes horror films. He used to be fascinated by this graveyard,
would spend hours here. He is all that Sid has got left now. Shame, the lad did not go to college, such a
passion for learning. Inquisitive about everything that makes the world tick.’ Neil remarked that they seem
isolated. ’A big house for just two of them and a five-mile walk to get help if needed. They both appear
123vulnerable, and Neil worried that they may not be in receipt of any social care? I think I will visit them
again, another day. Any chance there is a cup of tea left in that flask of yours?’ “You are in luck,’ Peter said,
passing Neil a tepid over infused drink, which was most welcomed after William’s tea, who liked to
experiment by adding different plant leaves to the pot. Neil returned to find Francis distressed. Nigel had
visited to inform her that both Lulu and Peach had been found dead from drug overdoses. And still no sign
of Mia. Francis spoke weakly through her tears, saying, ’A few years ago, life was so, so – I cannot think of
the word. Average, boring, I guess normal. I feel overwhelmed, I want to revert to that life, my life, the one I
had, the one I know.’ Neil, lovingly trying to console her, proposing that tomorrow that the two of them do
nothing. They would stay home, watch television and sit in the garden. After doing so for the following three
days, Neil apprehensively lipped in an uncertain voice, “I have a few things to do today.” Meaning visit Sid
and William, but he could not tell Francis that. When he arrived, they both seemed chirpy. ’I have brought a
picnic. I thought we could sit out on the grass.’ After eating their fill all three lay flat out on the grass, looking
up at the sky. ‘I am glad you are here,’ said Sid. ‘I have something I would like to show you.’ ‘I am intrigued,’
said Neil, looking up at the clouds slowly moving across the sky. He then pointed upwards, ‘Look, there,’ he
said. ’That cloud there looks just like a duck. Can you see, look over to the right there it is can you see its
beak?’ He continued chatting. Changing the subject, Neil asked, ’This is a very big house for just you and
William.’ ‘It is immense,’ said Sid. ’I think altogether it has twelve rooms. ‘Ha-ha,’ he said, ’that is, including
the loo. It also has a basement, cellar and a well. We shall never move, William and I will end our days here,
that is for sure.’ ‘Job jobbed,’ thought Neil to himself as he packed the picnic remains into the boot of his car.
‘You ready? I will give you a tour of the grounds?’ Sid pointed at an old broken tree swing hanging lifeless
from a branch. William and Cedric played on that. ’I can still see ’em on it. That was back in the times of fun
and laughter in this garden. William has an invisible Cedric that he talks to; he came about the time that our
Cedric never returned home, gives him comfort, I think. I like to think he is here in the garden with us today.
If you are listening to me Cedric, I have tried to right the wrong, my son. Sid follows with shed has seen
better days, although a knackered roof does not matter anymore. This overgrown bit to the left was once dug
and brimming with vegetables, onions, cabbages and runner beans.’ ’I suppose it is unique to have such a
deep well in the grounds of a relatively small property?’ Neil added. ’That is, it there, the well. Throw a stone
down the bugger; it is deep.’ Saying that, Sid looked Neil Straight in the face, and from nowhere, like an
instant blast, without flinching or blinking, blurted, ’The six Fillets are down there! I have to tell someone. I
feel innocent now, I have admitted to it. Our life stopped when Antony Mayford killed me, boy. Not bloody
Mayford; Fillet that is what he is, a Fillet. You know she, Francis, she still visits him. Her first little beloved
killer foster boy. Six of the Fillet men stayed in touch and do some odd jobs around here. Their guilty bloody
conscience, that is why. Anyhow, I got em here one at a time and I pushed ’em all one at a time down the
well. I have flung in a few bags of lime, which should speed up em rotting. Suppose it is a prison for me.
Will the police now to come and arrest me, Neil?’ ‘How old are you, Sid?’ ’I had my boys late in life, I am getting
on for seventy now, but I was still able to do right by my Cedric, they boys were stupid it was easy to trick em
close enough to push em in. I could not go to me grave without putting it good, could I? Like you said, it is a
big old house. Suppose a tiny prison cell will be a change.’ Neil sat on the grass as a thousand thoughts at
once sped through his head. Sid is old. What will happen to William? Francis hangs on to finding them alive.
How would I tell her? They have all suffered enough. Why does Francis still visit Antony? ’What are you
waiting for,’ asked Sid. Neil replied, ’Sid, tell no one what you have just told me. No one will benefit from
hearing it. William needs you here.’ William, crying, said, ’I told Dad not to tell. Francis is happier not
knowing. She is thinking they are alive and will one day return that is what keeps her sane.’ Putting his arm
around William, Neil whispered, ’It is okay, William. I promise I will not tell another living person. Your dad’s
secret is safe with me.’
My name is Neil Plaice. I sit with my head in my hands on a flattened top tree stump. By the axe’s indent
marks, I am assuming it was once used as a chopping block for firewood. Having spent most of my adult life
in journalism, descriptive words usually pop straight into my head. Yet the only word I can think of right now
is sad. How could such a tiny three- letter word sum up the enormity of this story? Of the lives it has touched
and those it has taken. But it was somehow the right word; sad, just sad. Distributing my fingers across my
eyes and peeking through their gaps onto the ground, I wondered why that day in Mary’s bedroom Francis
had said she had no idea who Cedric was. Surely it was a sadness she wanted forgotten! So many unanswered
questions await another day. I keep Sid’s secret to this day. I visit him and William often. Francis and I remain
close friends, and I remain silent as she forever awaits the return of her six missing sons. Most evenings, we
you keep a watch on William for me?’ ‘Did Mary know?’ ’No, only William and me. You going to telephone
sit together in the last of a day’s lowdown sunshine with a cup of tea containing a small cap of whisky of
course. It would be enjoyable if the paragraph above were true, but it is not. I did report Sid, who went to prison.
Francis no longer waits for her sons to return, only for the day she will be with them again. It is a day she longs for.
Until then they rest in their once empty graves. William was transferred somewhere up country. Francis and I never spoke again.
She put Mary’s house up for sale. How small is the word lie, yet how powerful it becomes when it enters and consumes you.
Perhaps there are situations when the truth rewards no one…… THE END.
