Dear Little Corpses (eBook)

Nicola Upson (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2022 | 1. Auflage
320 Seiten
Faber & Faber (Verlag)
978-0-571-35330-9 (ISBN)

Infos

'More than just a brilliant mystery . . . wonderful.' Ian Moore 'Kept me guessing. Bravo!' Martin Edwards It takes a village to bury a child. 1 September, 1939. As the mass evacuation takes place across Britain, thousands of children leave London for the countryside, but when a little girl vanishes without trace, the reality of separation becomes more desperate and more deadly for those who love her. In the chaos and uncertainty of war, Josephine struggles with the prospect of change. As a cloud of suspicion falls across the small Suffolk village she has come to love, the conflict becomes personal, and events take a dark and sinister turn. 'A class above the usual crime fiction.' Independent

Nicola Upson's debut novel, An Expert in Murder, was the first in a series of crime novels whose main character is Josephine Tey, who - along with Agatha Christie - was one of the masters of Britain's Golden Age of crime writing. She was shortlisted for the CWA Historical Dagger in 2018 for Nine Lessons and longlisted in 2021 for The Dead of Winter.

Textauszug

3

Maggie Lucas sat on her daughter’s bed and checked the haversack one last time against the instructions sent by the school: spare socks and a change of underwear; night clothes; two clean handkerchiefs; plimsolls to wear indoors; and a toothbrush, comb and towel. It wasn’t a difficult list, and she must have been through it a hundred times already, but she wanted to make sure that Angela had everything she needed when she went away. She fastened the bag with a sigh and adjusted the shoulder strap, wishing they had been able to afford the rucksack recommended in the letter, but this one would do the job well enough, and other children would be packed off with worse. Bad enough that she had to go at all.

If she had to go.

There it was again, the doubt that kept her awake at night and plagued her during the day. She and Bob had talked it through until they were blue in the face, but still she wasn’t sure if they were doing the right thing – and she could tell that her husband felt the same, even if he was better at hiding it. Every instinct she had said that surely, if war came, it would be better for families to stick together and not go breaking up their homes? But the advice had been persuasive, couched in that brown envelope that sat behind the clock on the mantelpiece until Bob got home from work: a better chance outside the towns, they said; no guarantees – they wouldn’t go that far – but safer for the kids than the homes they were leaving behind. Then came the meetings, sitting in the school hall with rows and rows of bewildered parents, listening to speeches about knockout blows and casualties per ton until you’d think that the bombs were already falling. She could scarcely believe that there was a time when the word ‘evacuation’ had never crossed their lips; it was all they talked about at home now, sucking the air from the room whenever they were together, and eventually the decision was made. Bob had stormed out to the pub that night, even though it was only a Monday, while she retreated to the kitchen to make the tea, banging the pans and plates about in case Angela could hear her crying.

The haversack felt absurdly light as she took it downstairs, absurdly inadequate to keep her child safe. Angela sat at the table, her breakfast untouched, and the smell of bacon that filled the small kitchen turned Maggie’s stomach; it had the air of a prisoner’s last meal about it, although she wasn’t entirely sure which one of them was condemned. ‘Come on, sweetheart, eat your breakfast,’ she said brightly, hating the false note in her voice. ‘You’ve got to keep your strength up, and I’ve made you your favourite.’

‘It’s not my favourite. I hate it.’

‘Of course you don’t hate it.’ She sat down and tried to take her daughter’s hand, but it was pulled roughly away, and the bacon and eggs that were supposed to have been such a treat sat congealing on the plate between them. ‘You need something inside you, love. It might be a long day.’ Suddenly, the idea that Angela would leave the house hungry was more than Maggie could bear, and she fought back tears. ‘Please, Angie. What about a bit of toast?’ She reached for the pot of jam, but Angela shook her head, her young jaw set with all the bolshiness peculiar to a five-year-old. She pushed the plate to the edge of the table, not quite brave enough to send it crashing to the floor, and Maggie scooped it up and scraped the food into the bin. ‘All right, then. Please yourself. Now go and wash your hands and face. I don’t want them to think you’ve been dragged up.’

She saw the hurt and fear pass fleetingly across her daughter’s face and instantly regretted her impatience, but Angela ran from the room before she could do anything to soften it, much as she had done on the night they broke the news that she was to go to the country without them. They had put it off as long as possible – selfish, in hindsight, because it gave her no time to get used to the idea – and her reaction had been all that they dreaded, and more. Their nerves made them clumsy with words, and once the phrase ‘sent away’ had been uttered, it couldn’t be taken back; there was no other way to put it, she supposed, but still it sounded like a rejection. That night, and every night since, they had tried to explain to Angie that it was for her own good; that she would be with lots of other girls and boys in the same situation; that it wouldn’t be for long and they would all have to make the best of it; that it would be worse for her parents, left behind without her – but she didn’t believe a word of it, and Maggie doubted that their daughter would ever trust them again. She didn’t blame her. It was all so sudden, and what was she supposed to think of these faceless, nameless people they were sending her to? Strangers were far more sinister to a five-year-old than bits of metal falling from the sky, and there was nothing they could say to reassure her. Even now, they couldn’t tell her where she was going or whose roof she’d be living under or how kind they’d be. And why – those were the hardest questions of all. Why do I have to go? Why don’t you want me any more? Why don’t you love me?

The clock struck the half-hour, dragging Maggie from her thoughts, and she knew she couldn’t put it off any longer: there were sandwiches for the journey to make, and then it would be time to leave. The bread was nice and fresh, and she sliced more cheese than she would normally have used, then gathered together some biscuits and an apple, hoping that Angela would be tempted by those, at least. They had said no liquids, so she added a stick or two of barley sugar instead, just in case Angie was thirsty or felt sick on the train. When she had finished, there was still no sign of her daughter, so Maggie packed the food into the haversack and called up the stairs. ‘Come on, sweetheart. We mustn’t be late.’

She gave her two more minutes, then went to fetch her. Angela was sitting on her bed, surrounded by all the favourite toys that she had gathered together to take, and Maggie’s heart broke for the hundredth time that morning. ‘Sweetie, they can’t all go. We talked about that. Just choose one.’ Angie gave her a look which suggested that this latest betrayal was the worst of all, then got up and walked past her, still empty-handed. Obviously it was all or nothing, so Maggie grabbed Polly, a cloth doll with bright blue eyes that had been a constant companion since Angie’s third birthday. She could send some others on, perhaps, once she knew where her daughter was staying, and there would be toys there already, no doubt – that’s what she would do to welcome an evacuee, if the boot were on the other foot. Somehow, the thought became a magnet for her deepest fears, bringing to the surface all the worries that she dare not share, not even with Bob, in case it made her seem selfish. She prayed that the family would be kind, of course she did, but most of all she prayed that Angela would miss her and long to come home. As she lay awake at night, the sadness of being parted from her child was blurred by something more complicated; by the idea that a surrogate mum and dad would be able to give Angie things that were beyond the scope of her real parents. In her mind’s eye, she could still see the joy on the little girl’s face when they took her to Victoria Park for her last birthday; she had loved the flowers and the birdsong, and she would love the countryside, too. They hadn’t taken her out enough, she thought bitterly, and now someone else would be doing it, someone who could teach Angie far more about nature than they ever could. Why hadn’t they found more time? In hindsight, it seemed such a simple thing.

Downstairs, she helped Angie tie her shoelaces and fasten her coat. Each small detail that had been a source of pride a couple of days ago now seemed shabby and second-rate: the mackintosh was too big for her, the carefully polished shoes would soon be too small, and she wished again that they could have afforded a better bag, or even a small suitcase. Still, she was clean and tidy, and her thick blonde hair smelt freshly of soap; at least they would know she was loved. Before her daughter could resist, Maggie drew Angie to her and held her tight little body close, breathing in the scent of her, memorising the touch of her skin and the rhythm of her breathing so that she would have something to see her through the weeks and months apart. She felt her relax, a child’s anger suddenly no match for her mother’s love, but there was no comfort in that; somehow, her daughter’s vulnerability – hope, perhaps, for a last-minute reprieve – was worse than her defiance, and it was all Maggie could do not to pull away in shame. Forcing a smile, she slung the cardboard box over Angie’s shoulder. There was no argument – gas masks were still a novelty for kids – but the smell of rubber and disinfectant made it easier to imagine the dangers ahead, and Maggie was glad it was safely stowed away.

She opened the front door, trying to pretend that this was just like any other school day, but she had barely stepped out onto the pavement before that illusion was shattered. Obviously she wasn’t the only mother to have left the inevitable until the...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 17.5.2022
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror ► Krimi / Thriller
• Schlagworte: Agatha Christie • Agatha Christie, cosy crime, agatha raisin, andrew wilson, laura wilson, best historical crime • And Then There Were None • female sleuth • green for danger, jumping jenny, murder in the basement, murder at the college • Hitchcock • Josephine Tey • josephine tey mysteries, josephine tey series, dalgliesh, cosy crime series, historical crime series, next new crime series, PD james • Lucy Foley • margery allingham, ngio marsh, dorothy l sayers, golen age crime, golden age mysteries, 1930s mystery, murder mystery, classic murder mystery • The Hunting Party
• ISBN-10: 0-571-35330-4 / 0571353304
• ISBN-13: 978-0-571-35330-9 / 9780571353309