The Return of the Prodigal?
The week before uploading this story I was without my laptop. Although I still had access to pen and paper, I did not get much writing done. I did, however, read a lot. And a lot of what I read was cosy crime. So, when one of my writing groups gave me a theme of ‘Mistaken Identity’, I thought I try a bit of crime writing myself. Two brothers, but which one is the villain?
‘Patrick? But – it can’t be!’
‘I beg your pardon?’ The man at the bar, with the slightly too-long hair and the out-of-date jacket, turned.
‘But you’ve been dead forty years.’ The colour drained from the speaker’s face like water disappearing down an unblocked storm drain. His eyes were wild, staring; and a close observer might have noticed the perspiration on his upper lip and forehead.
The George and Dragon fell silent, even the domino players stopped. Surreptitiously, the landlord came round from the Snug, where he’d been serving, and moved to stand beside Lucie, his new barmaid. Before he could ask, the barmaid had shrugged, said she knew ‘nuffink’ about it, and she’d rather not deal with the stand-off, ‘thank you very much.’ Apart from making a mental note that he’d be looking for yet another barmaid before too long, the landlord stood aside to let the youngster depart to the Snug, but, along with the rest of the bar, he kept watching the dispute between one of his most faithful customers and a complete stranger.
‘If you’re not Patrick, you’re doing a bloody good impression,’ Bill leaned in and stared at the newcomer’s face, ‘You’ve even got his scar. And you know how to act like him: plonking yourself down in my seat without asking. Bloody typical.’
If Suzie had still been alive, she might have shaken her head over Bill’s language, but she would not have said anything. She hated disagreement, and harsh words so often did lead to disagreement, but she had learned to be dutifully submissive. However, it was assumed she would have agreed with Bill. The whole village knew the tale. The two brothers who both fancied her. Patrick was younger, better-looking – the rakish one. Tall, dark and handsome, and with a reputation for not accepting responsibility if he could avoid it. Even his own family damned him when he left the village with Suzie in tow, not saying where he was going, leaving no forwarding address, or any contact details of any description.
It had taken William using up his entire leave to track the guilty couple down, and bring Suzie back to where she belonged. Though this Suzie was very much quieter than the cheerful girl who’d gone away those few short months previously.
The reason why Patrick had fled with the girl became painfully apparent over the next weeks and months. Any lingering ‘well-if-she-hadn’t-slept-with-him’ thoughts were dispelled when the tale of Patrick and Suzie’s moonlight flit emerged, in fits and starts, over time. The long and the short of it was Patrick had not accepted Suzie’s ‘no.’ William and his parents were very supportive of Suzie’s wish to go through with the pregnancy, and the village was again sympathetic when Suzie had to disappear for a while. Visits were discouraged – William and his parents only. Stillbirth.
After it was all over, and Suzie had time to recover, William – the responsible, elder brother – had stepped up. He gave up his commission in the army. Even though he didn’t need to. There had been rumours he’d been stepping out with a young lady, the sister of a fellow officer, but the thought of him leaving Suzie in the lurch was not even a remote possibility. The village church was decked out in all its finery for a June wedding.
All went well, and, the following April, young Mark was the result. Young Mark has been the pride of the village: university, and a proper career and all. There were no other children, but they all said William, later his name was softened to Bill, loved his only child as well as any father could. It would be nice if Mark visited his widowed dad more often, but he led a busy life in the city with a family of his own. Bill still lived in the house he’d shared with Suzie, still kept to his old routines – especially now he’s retired – but his routines were, as everyone knew, fixed, unvarying, inflexible.
If the younger people didn’t joke you could set your watch by Bill Jones, it had more to do with the fact they did not wear watches, not that, at 12:15 precisely, Bill entered The George and Dragon for his pint of Old Peculiar. When he was half-way through this pint, at 12:25, he would order his ploughman’s lunch, which he would eat at the bar. At 1p.m., his knife and fork would be placed precisely side by side on the plate, and Bill would make his way down the street towards his home, not to be seen until the next day. It was assumed, when he wasn’t working in his garden, Bill watched a lot of television.
Today was different. When Bill walked into the pub, someone was sitting on his stool, someone had already been served a pint. Had it been the landlord on duty, the stranger might have been asked to move, but it was young Lucie, who didn’t know any better: after all, one old bloke looks just like another. And for her, anyone over thirty – thirty-five at best – is over the hill. This stranger had even tried making small talk. Which didn’t go down well. The George and Dragon is an old-fashioned free house, which ticks over just nicely, and quietly, thank you. Conversation never rises above a murmur.
Then Bill walked in, and identified the stranger as his brother Patrick. No question – not even after a gap of forty years. ‘Patrick’ had taken his time to lever himself off the bar stool and turned to face Bill.
‘There you are,’ said a triumphant Bill, pointing a wavering finger, ‘you’ve even got the scar by your right eye.’ He was repeating himself, but that was just his age.
‘Got the palsy, have you Bill? You do rather look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ said the other man, taking a step forward. To the surprise of The George and Dragon regulars, Bill stepped backwards, keeping the distance between the ‘brothers.’ ‘After all, Bill, you of all people, should know your brother should never be here. Not alive, anyhow.’
‘But … but everyone can see you!’ said Bill, ‘Can’t you?’ One or two of the regulars nodded at that. ‘See? You can’t be a ghost.’
‘So that means I can’t be your brother.’ ‘Patrick’ tugged at his thick black thatch, and the wig came off, leaving light brown, and much shorter, hair plastered to the scalp. A tissue, dampened with beer, dealt with the scar as Bill watched, open mouthed.
‘I’m not your brother, Bill. I’m your nephew. I never knew my father and my mother … Well, you made sure I never met Suzie as I was growing up, didn’t you?’
‘But – but you’re not supposed to find out! Patrick never said … he never should have taken her … he just laughed …’
‘Is that what you couldn’t take, Bill? His laughter?’ said Bill’s nephew, ‘Or was it the fact he’d taken “your” girl? The girl you “brought home.” You and your parents then covered it all up. I was put up for adoption, wasn’t I?’
‘Fostering.’
A shrug from the nephew, ‘Either way, I wasn’t a stillbirth, was I? For your information, I was adopted. If Suzie hadn’t been in shock, in –’ the nephew interrupted himself to raise his arms in the air. ‘You know, when I found her, she was in hospital – her last illness.’
‘I was her only visitor. She didn’t have family of her own.’
‘Yes, and if she’d had family of her own, maybe the truth would have come out much earlier. It’s taken me a while. Tracking down where she and Patrick hid out, but there’s been a bit of digging in the garden there – at my insistence. A bit of uncovering of bones. Oh, don’t worry, we’ve had a willing volunteer for the DNA. Questions are being asked. Questions, it is assumed, you know the answers to.’
Bill turned and headed for the door. The police – the uniformed police – must have been waiting outside. It was all too much for Bill’s heart.
The villagers now make new assumptions. They now know Bill’s nephew is a Detective Inspector. But only the most thoughtful wonder if maybe, just maybe, someone should have tried to take Suzie, orphan Suzie, all-on-her-own Suzie, aside forty years ago to ask her what really had happened between her, Patrick, and soldier-boy William …