cause you and the kids such pain.’
Henry Tanner was at his most reassuring. But Joyce was sure she saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
She didn’t pursue it though. Charlie’s death had to have been an accident. She reminded herself how absent-minded and accident prone he had become in the months leading up to his death. There had been a succession of incidents, some of which seemed to be at least partly his own fault, and some not. He had sprained his wrist aboard the
Molly May
when he slipped on spilt oil – and Charlie would normally keep the deck spotless. He’d narrowly avoided being hit by falling roof slates while walking past a Bristol building site. And then the brakes nearly failed on his car due to leaking fluid.
Joyce had to believe that Charlie’s death was down to carelessness or bad luck. The last thing she wanted was to further distress her children by suggesting he committed suicide. It had taken weeks before the younger two could bring themselves to accept that their father was dead. Fred and Molly had been oblivious to the stresses and strains that had dogged their parents’ marriage. Joyce suspected that Mark knew things were not as they should be, but he never mentioned it – which was typical of the men in her family.
Charlie kept the
Molly May
at Instow in North Devon. Forty-eight hours after he steered her from the Torridge Estuary out into the Atlantic she was spotted drifting offHartland Point, driven there by the prevailing southwesterly. Appledore lifeboat was called and a rescue helicopter from Chivenor. The
Molly May
’s tender was still attached by a line and the yacht’s inflatable life raft remained on board. There was no sign of Charlie. An intensive helicopter search resulted in the discovery of a life jacket, bright yellow in grey waters, which was identified by its markings as having belonged to Charlie and the
Molly May
.
A police investigation found no reason to suspect foul play. It was explained to Joyce by a helpful representative of the Maritime and Coastguard Agency that it was not uncommon for victims of accidents at sea to slip out of their life jackets when they hit water, particularly if they’d failed to fasten the strap which should be secured between their legs – a surprisingly frequent lapse in safety procedure. The absence of a body was not uncommon, she was told. The body of a drowned man would sink, rise after three to five days, sink again, then rise once more after eighteen to thirty days. If, however, the body was hit by a passing vessel or became entangled in an underwater obstruction, or if parts of it were eaten by sea creatures, the remains might never be recovered.
Joyce spared her children the gruesome details, but she felt she had to give them a diluted version of what had befallen their father.
Charlie was dead. How he had died would probably never be known. But there would be no miraculous rescue. And in the end even Molly and Fred came to acknowledge that.
There had been no funeral, because there was no body, but the family arranged a memorial service. They were still awaiting the inquest, which they were assured would declare him dead ‘in absentia’ and allow a death certificate to be issued. In the meantime Joyce had set about trying to rebuildtheir lives, taking things day by day. It struck her that, with or without Charlie, that was the way her life had always been, and it was how she expected it always to remain.
Until that letter from the dead had dropped through her letterbox.
The letter which would change everything.
Three
Joyce had no idea how long she had been sitting at the kitchen table staring unseeingly through the window at the far end of the room. Outside, it had finally stopped raining and the sun, peeping out from behind a large cloud, filled the kitchen with white light.
Her coffee had gone cold, like the previous cups. She poured it down the sink.
There were so many unanswered questions. Perhaps her earlier
Henry Tanner was at his most reassuring. But Joyce was sure she saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
She didn’t pursue it though. Charlie’s death had to have been an accident. She reminded herself how absent-minded and accident prone he had become in the months leading up to his death. There had been a succession of incidents, some of which seemed to be at least partly his own fault, and some not. He had sprained his wrist aboard the
Molly May
when he slipped on spilt oil – and Charlie would normally keep the deck spotless. He’d narrowly avoided being hit by falling roof slates while walking past a Bristol building site. And then the brakes nearly failed on his car due to leaking fluid.
Joyce had to believe that Charlie’s death was down to carelessness or bad luck. The last thing she wanted was to further distress her children by suggesting he committed suicide. It had taken weeks before the younger two could bring themselves to accept that their father was dead. Fred and Molly had been oblivious to the stresses and strains that had dogged their parents’ marriage. Joyce suspected that Mark knew things were not as they should be, but he never mentioned it – which was typical of the men in her family.
Charlie kept the
Molly May
at Instow in North Devon. Forty-eight hours after he steered her from the Torridge Estuary out into the Atlantic she was spotted drifting offHartland Point, driven there by the prevailing southwesterly. Appledore lifeboat was called and a rescue helicopter from Chivenor. The
Molly May
’s tender was still attached by a line and the yacht’s inflatable life raft remained on board. There was no sign of Charlie. An intensive helicopter search resulted in the discovery of a life jacket, bright yellow in grey waters, which was identified by its markings as having belonged to Charlie and the
Molly May
.
A police investigation found no reason to suspect foul play. It was explained to Joyce by a helpful representative of the Maritime and Coastguard Agency that it was not uncommon for victims of accidents at sea to slip out of their life jackets when they hit water, particularly if they’d failed to fasten the strap which should be secured between their legs – a surprisingly frequent lapse in safety procedure. The absence of a body was not uncommon, she was told. The body of a drowned man would sink, rise after three to five days, sink again, then rise once more after eighteen to thirty days. If, however, the body was hit by a passing vessel or became entangled in an underwater obstruction, or if parts of it were eaten by sea creatures, the remains might never be recovered.
Joyce spared her children the gruesome details, but she felt she had to give them a diluted version of what had befallen their father.
Charlie was dead. How he had died would probably never be known. But there would be no miraculous rescue. And in the end even Molly and Fred came to acknowledge that.
There had been no funeral, because there was no body, but the family arranged a memorial service. They were still awaiting the inquest, which they were assured would declare him dead ‘in absentia’ and allow a death certificate to be issued. In the meantime Joyce had set about trying to rebuildtheir lives, taking things day by day. It struck her that, with or without Charlie, that was the way her life had always been, and it was how she expected it always to remain.
Until that letter from the dead had dropped through her letterbox.
The letter which would change everything.
Three
Joyce had no idea how long she had been sitting at the kitchen table staring unseeingly through the window at the far end of the room. Outside, it had finally stopped raining and the sun, peeping out from behind a large cloud, filled the kitchen with white light.
Her coffee had gone cold, like the previous cups. She poured it down the sink.
There were so many unanswered questions. Perhaps her earlier
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