The Family Pool Read online

  The front door opened. Mary put the note back into the book, electrified. She lugged the heavy tome back to its spot and struggled with it until it was back in the shelf; then she grabbed a random book - a book on gardening - and took it to the desk and opened it. And John peered into the library.

  "Keeping yourself amused, Baby?"

  "Supper's ready," was Mary's slightly unamused reply. She wished he'd let her know by which time he'd be back from conferring with the High Command.

  Late that night, after John had gone to bed and was sleeping soundly, Mary sneaked back to the library. She turned on a low light and searched out the tome of the family genealogy again. The book hadn't got any lighter since she last lifted it; but she lugged it back to the desk and opened the cover once more, scanning Suzine's note once again. So the old lady had painted? She'd be curious to see her art! And then she unfolded the other note.

  "Mary," it read, "this is Jenny. Listen to me. This family is a trap! Get out as fast as you can, you have no idea. Protect yourself and your baby; it's too late for me and my kids. Love - Jenny."

  She sat there dumbstruck for several minutes before putting the note into the pocket of her dressing gown, closing the book and replacing it into the shelf.

  She had just had her feelings of unease consolidated by Jenny's warning. But - leave John? She loved the man, for crying! He was Donny's father! If she was leaving the clan, she'd take him with her.

  She turned off the light and ghosted back to the bedroom in the dark, stopping in the lounge to place the note in her wallet. No place felt safe enough for it. John must never find it.

  She crept back into bed, feeling icy.

 

  V

  Mary Adams peered at the page in the genealogy, by the light of her torch.

  The library had become her shrine, and the huge tome her Book of Mysteries; every time she couldn't sleep at night because of Donny being restless or her hugely pregnant body being simply too uncomfortable in the oppressive early heat of September, she came here and read further in the book.

  She had stopped hiding her fascination for the Adams generations from John. He hadn't once found her in here yet reading the large volume; but she had resolved that all she was doing, was studying the family she had married into. Because there was no real explanation for the morbid fascination that gripped her every time she stole into this room to pull the book from its position. She felt as though she were digging in forbidden information.

  The genealogy had a bit of detail on many of the family members, hand-written into the book on pages opposing the family trees. Some members got a long, thorough mention, added in many different hand-writings; others just a brief naming. She was by now about halfway, figuring out the countless cousins and nephews from two generations back. It wasn't always easy to see who the family boss was for any given generation. It took a bit of sleuthing.

  Her finger trailed along the family tree, tracing the torch beam. There were occasional dead-ends - people who had died childless. She found a footnote on one specific one on the current page and looked it up. "Timmy. Very sweet and obedient boy, his parents' pride. Drowned in Richardsmere aged 10."

  How tragic, thought Mary, her hand touching the bump that housed her own youngster. But... Richardsmere? She paged back a few pages and then a few more... there it was: "Alexandra Adams, mother of Ben and Orville, drowned in Richardsmere in 1967 while vacationing. She shall be missed."

  Two drownings in the same spot? Mary checked the date of the young boy's demise. 1987. Twenty years removed. And yet... why the same place?

  *

  The holiday came as a surprise. John had taken a week's leave from his business while she herself was already on maternity leave; waiting for the baby. He proclaimed that he wanted to spend a few last days with his wife before she was claimed completely by a squalling pink-foot. Mary leaned back in the car seat, eyeing the green landscape contentedly. Perhaps she ought to relax about this whole clan business; her own suspicious attitude was beginning to wear on her and John's relationship, and right now she was tired enough that she only wanted to relax into the lap of luxury so kindly extended to her and accept all the great things that came her way, without challenging. Perhaps this holiday was exactly what she and John needed.

  She was going to break to John tonight that she really wanted to call her son Donovan rather than Daniel. It wasn't such a huge change. It was her right as a mother.

  The car drew up to a spacious double-story house.

  "We've got upstairs," said John. "We don't really need the whole house, do we? Aunt Elaine and my cousin Tamara are in the downstairs at this point. But don't worry - the privacy is complete, they don't want to be bothered either."

  Mary smiled. She had caught the Adams clan out at less-than-opulence.

  That was, until she ascended the stairs - arriving at the top only marginally winded - and opened the door to the upstairs apartment of the house.

  "Wow!" Drawn magnetically by the panoramic view, she found her way to the glass sliding doors and unlocked them, and moved out onto the balcony.

  The rolling Midlands landscape spread out before her, bathed in sunset light. Down in the valley a lake wound around the hill. The gardens were a fairytale of huge trees in which, the way her mother would have put it, pixies still lived; rose-covered trellises and bushes trimmed into dividers. And it blended into the natural landscape apparently without a clear division.

  "Family-owned, I presume," she commented at John as he stepped out onto the balcony, placing his arm around her shoulders.

  "And how," he grinned hugely.

  That night Mary got her next surprise. This time, less pleasant.

  She found the guestbook and opened it to write a thank-you note into it. And saw the last entry.

  "So this is it. My last visit here. I had an inkling it would all end at Richardsmere... well, kids, have fun and remember to forget the Crow! Aunt Suzine."

  Aunt Suzine! Suddenly Mary was feeling intensely unwell.

  "Darling, won't you please try to find an open pharmacy and get me something - anything that's safe - not feeling that well..."

  John took one look at his wife and dived for his keys. "Should I call the ambulance? Is Junior arriving? Do you have contractions?"

  "No contractions," groaned Mary. "Just feeling sick."

  "The panic button is right here," said John and handed her a remote control with a single red button. "I'll be right back. Hang tight, babes!" And he stormed out of the door.

  It would take him at least half an hour to get to the nearest village, and then it was debatable whether he'd find an open pharmacy. Mary Adams fished her cellphone out of her bag and started frantically dialling numbers.

  After quite a bit of searching she found the coroner's number. She got a young assistant on the phone, probably because it was after hours. This suited her well. She demanded details on the death certificate of Suzine Adams.

  A cultural struggle and ten minutes later she was cradling the cellphone in her hand, staring blankly out of the window. Her suspicion had been confirmed.

  There had been no cancer. Suzine had drowned in Richardsmere.

  VI

  "It's a pity," said Uncle Daniel, gravely patting John on the shoulder. "She looked like such a lovely girl, and with so much promise! She would have looked stunning in a mink. Sorry about your baby too."

  John did not answer as he stared at the coffin on its way into the incinerator.

  Her pregnancy hadn't suited Uncle Daniel or the clan at all. There was a certain rhythm in moving up. You needed to adjust to the pace of the family, allow them to educate and cultivate you; learn to appreciate the finer things in life. She had so resisted wanting to learn about Wedgewood, Waterford and Swarovski. The fine marble finishings in the kitchens had escaped her notice, and she had mercilessly sprayed insecticide on th
em, regardless. And she had so very much resisted quitting her job. No Adams wife ever had to work when it was time to raise children.

  He glanced at the gathered clan. The only person present who was in pieces was her father. Old Mr Jenkinson. John felt very guilty at doing this to the old man.

  "At any rate I believe you handled yourself very well, John, my boy," continued Uncle Daniel. "You've managed it all with a lot of dignity. I'm proud of you. Surely it won't take you long to meet another nice, suitable girl - someone a bit stronger perhaps, who can stand her place in the clan a bit better?"

  John turned a tired gaze to his uncle.

  "Uncle Daniel, surely this is not the place to speak about that. Her body is not yet cold."

  "I would have thought it is, after that dousing," said Uncle Daniel with a trace of mirth. And then he retrained his face into a sombre expression. "Sorry, my boy. Of course you will be given enough time to mourn them both. Would you say, about eighteen months?"

  John sighed. "Years, more accurately, Uncle."

  "Ah," said Uncle Daniel. "You loved her."

  John nodded and moved off. He approached his father-in-law with caution.

  "Tom?"

  "John," said Mary's father, looking up. "I'm so sorry."

  "And I," replied John. "I meant to tell you - she wanted to call the baby Donovan. Donovan Thomas Adams."

  Mr Jenkinson nodded and did not comment.

  John watched that coffin move through the door to oblivion.

  "She should have yielded," he found himself muttering. "Should have given way on that one little issue."

  *

  Optional Epilogue

  “That’s good, my boy,” came Uncle Daniel’s voice on the phone. “Take some time out, do London. It will broaden your horizons. Might just be what your business needs. Maybe you’ll find yourself a new girl there too.”

  “Uncle Daniel,” said John, his voice straining. “Please.”

  “Sorry,” replied Uncle Daniel with a jovial chuckle. “I forgot, you’re not quite ready for that. Well, let time heal the wounds, my boy. You’re a real Adams now.”

  “Thanks, Uncle,” replied John.

  “Did you manage to get Mary’s accounts unlocked?” asked Uncle Daniel.

  “I’ll do that when I’m back,” said John.

  “Happy hunting,” called Uncle Daniel cheerfully and rang off.

  “Yes,” muttered John to himself as he switched off his phone. “Happy hunting indeed.” He looked up at Mr Jenkinson.

  “So where are you taking me, John?” asked the old man.

  John lowered his voice. “Tom, do you trust me?”

  Tom Jenkinson nodded.

  They boarded the Boeing.

  *

  John leaned back in his seat. He had ushered his father-in-law into the window seat, because he himself flew so often, it didn’t really matter.

  He had been uneasy about the family custom of the Family Pool since he was a child. He’d known that sooner or later, everyone’s turn came. But he hadn’t expected that it would be that sinister, and that he’d be expected to perform the deed himself. In fact it was one of those things you never tried to think about if you were an Adams, because the mind boggled if you tried.

  Many Adams’ had been lost in and around Richardsmere. It had also, apart from that, been the family’s prime holiday destination. He’d really meant to take a last-minute break with his Mary until the Order came.

  There was no space for a baby in the family. It was Jenny’s turn to have toddlers, and Wendy’s; and on the other side of the family, Anneline’s. Not Mary’s. So the forced move up into the house had upset the whole family; especially as poor Aunt Suzine had to be sacrificed years before her time. She had been going dilly and strange with age, but she hadn’t yet been over the hill. He had personally always thought that she was merely eccentric, as she had been all her life.

  He hadn’t expected the Clan to take action and do away with her! Mary had been right; they could easily have stayed in that spacious apartment raising babies until the youngster or two were at least a few years old. But the Adams’ didn’t work that way. You got married; you moved up. The apartment had been empty for years; this was why it had been available right away and he didn’t have to wait with marrying Mary. Then, you had a baby; you moved up; into a child-safe house. When your children were of school-age, you moved into a larger house with more facilities. All was nicely timed; it had been ticking neatly for generations. But sometimes there was simply one too many… like his twin, Timmy. He was actually quite surprised that Mary hadn’t picked that up.

  Mary had been right; they could easily have survived in the Midlands or even Durban on her salary while he stayed home and built the business. Besides he liked having his son named after a dynamic family saint. But that was not how it had been destined to go… and now, everything was uprooted… he had to start again. And he was currently just tucking in a few loose ends.

  He leaned back in his seat and tried to sleep while ice floes floed past underneath. One thing was certain: Uncle Daniel was never going to see him again.

  To command him to drown his own wife and unborn baby! The power of power.

  *

  “This is not England,” commented Tom Jenkinson with a wry smile as they drove the small yellow rental car through the streets of Adelaide.

  John shook his head. No, it was not England. And Uncle Daniel would be arrested right around… now. The bottom of Richardsmere would be dredged, for all those Adams’ and attachments who had “gone missing” over the years. The only two entries into the genealogy, which had been handed over to the forensic police, of actual drownings in Richardsmere were indeed that aunt in 1967, and his brother Tim. After this the genealogy had begun to look a bit strange.

  He had not drowned Timmy. He had in fact not even known it was happening, or he would have come running to his brother’s rescue. All these years he had seriously believed that it had been accidental. And he had beaten himself up for surviving, and for not being there, and all sorts of things.

  He stopped the car and helped Tom out, and led his father-in-law to the lifts of a huge flat block overlooking the sea. He could see that Tom had no inkling of the whole sinister setup back at Richardsmere. Poor Tom!

  They stepped out on the tenth level. John glanced down to the floor, thirty metres down, over the not very high rail. A very unsafe place. Especially for an elderly man who wasn’t completely steady on his feet. If Tom tripped…

  He knocked on the door of number 1023. It opened, and a young woman with mousy-brown hair cropped short in a pixie-style faced him, with a tiny baby in her arms.

  “John!” she squealed delightedly, and, “Daddy!”

  John bent over his son and kissed the newborn baby on its fluffy head.

  “Pleased to meet you, Donovan Thomas Adams,” he said with a tender smile. And after kissing Mary too, and allowing her to greet her father and usher them all into the flat, he turned to the overwhelmed Tom.

  “Sorry that I had to fool you into thinking she was dead, Tom. It was the only way to get her out of that accursed family pool. We’re starting over. We can’t afford to bring any money over, they’ll find us that way. Sorry about your pension, Tom, you’ll have to rough it with us for a while, but I didn’t want them to find you, either. We have the lump sum Uncle Daniel gave me as spending money; I transferred it into a new account that he can’t access. It’s enough to tie us over for a little while, until I find a job.”

  “Rubbish, John,” replied Mary. “I’m qualified and there are three companies who have already made me an offer. Good offers! You do what you do best and build a new business, okay? I think I got used to Swarovski and fine art.”

  “Oh dear,” said John. And Donny opened his mouth hugely – and yawned.

  *

  Author’s Note:

 
Thank you for reading “The Family Pool”.

  The story originated one year around Halloween, and originally I blogged it, chapter by chapter. The upbeat epilogue was added to appease my friend and editor, Leslie Hyla Winton Noble, a YA author himself who firmly believes in happy endings and would not allow such a crime to dangle. I do feel it improves things.

  If you enjoyed this story, please feel free to browse through the rest of my books, here (some are free, others are not) :

  Also consider looking at this story by “gipsika”, which was equally written around Halloween:

  If you would like to leave a review, this is also very much welcomed.

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