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Authors: Hilary Bonner
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misgivings had been correct. Was the letter, which still lay on the table, some kind of bizarre suicide note? Or did it indicate that Charlie believed he might be in danger from others? Had the police investigation missed something? Was it possible that a third party had been involved, that Charlie had been murdered?
Joyce gave herself a mental shaking. She couldn’t allow herself to be stampeded into some desperate course of action by a letter which might turn out to be the product of paranoia brought on by the cocktail of prescription meds Charlie had been taking.
Even if the danger to her children turned out to be genuine, there was no way she could do as Charlie had instructed. If would have been hard enough if they were babies, but itwas inconceivable that she could persuade fifteen-year-old Molly and eleven-year-old Fred to leave behind their friends, their schools, their treasured possessions and run away with their mother – without a word to anyone. Just as it was inconceivable that she could ever abandon her first-born, no matter that he was now a young man of twenty-two.
Perhaps if she understood the nature of whatever threat was facing them she would feel differently, but the letter conveyed nothing beyond Charlie’s anxiety and mistrust of her father. Too bad he hadn’t seen fit to confide in her before he went and fell off his bloody boat. If there was a threat of such enormity that his family had no option but to take flight because of it, surely even a man as secretive and moody as Charlie would have thought to broach the subject with his wife?
His letter had done nothing but raise questions for which she had no answers.
He won’t be interested in Molly
– what did that mean, for God’s sake? Was he implying that Henry was some sort of paedophile?
An outsider who knew nothing of Henry Tanner might leap to that conclusion, but while Joyce was the first to admit that he was manipulative and devious, she had never known her father to behave in any way that was remotely inappropriate. Certainly she had never experienced anything untoward during her own childhood. But then again, Charlie had said that Molly was safe, so the inference was that Henry was only interested in boys, that he was in some way grooming Fred and already had Mark under his control.
The thought sent a cold clammy shiver down Joyce’s spine. But she forced herself to consider the possibility. She had grown up with a brother two years older than her. Was it possible that Henry had been abusing William without herknowledge? Had there been anything, anything whatsoever, in her father’s relationship with her brother that might, if only with hindsight, have been disturbing?
Joyce could think of nothing. William had been a happy, confident child. Henry frequently took him on golfing trips and other ‘boys’ adventures’ as he called them, but far from being fearful at the prospect of spending time alone with his father, William had always been excited and enthusiastic, and on their return would talk endlessly about whatever they’d got up to.
Henry was a big man, and physically expansive. He was forever hugging his family, male and female. In her mind’s eye, Joyce could see him standing by the fireplace with his arm around William’s shoulders. The two had been very close, there was no doubt about that, but the idea of Henry having a sexual relationship with his son was preposterous. In fact the idea of Henry having a physical relationship with anyone of his own gender was inconceivable. He might proclaim himself liberal and non-judgemental when it came to homosexuality, but on the rare occasions she’d seen him in the company of gay men there had been an awkwardness and sometimes a distinct coolness in his manner. Try as she might to entertain the possibility that her father was a closet gay, Joyce could see no evidence of it.
And yet Charlie’s letter had made it clear that Henry was the source of the danger. And that his
Joyce gave herself a mental shaking. She couldn’t allow herself to be stampeded into some desperate course of action by a letter which might turn out to be the product of paranoia brought on by the cocktail of prescription meds Charlie had been taking.
Even if the danger to her children turned out to be genuine, there was no way she could do as Charlie had instructed. If would have been hard enough if they were babies, but itwas inconceivable that she could persuade fifteen-year-old Molly and eleven-year-old Fred to leave behind their friends, their schools, their treasured possessions and run away with their mother – without a word to anyone. Just as it was inconceivable that she could ever abandon her first-born, no matter that he was now a young man of twenty-two.
Perhaps if she understood the nature of whatever threat was facing them she would feel differently, but the letter conveyed nothing beyond Charlie’s anxiety and mistrust of her father. Too bad he hadn’t seen fit to confide in her before he went and fell off his bloody boat. If there was a threat of such enormity that his family had no option but to take flight because of it, surely even a man as secretive and moody as Charlie would have thought to broach the subject with his wife?
His letter had done nothing but raise questions for which she had no answers.
He won’t be interested in Molly
– what did that mean, for God’s sake? Was he implying that Henry was some sort of paedophile?
An outsider who knew nothing of Henry Tanner might leap to that conclusion, but while Joyce was the first to admit that he was manipulative and devious, she had never known her father to behave in any way that was remotely inappropriate. Certainly she had never experienced anything untoward during her own childhood. But then again, Charlie had said that Molly was safe, so the inference was that Henry was only interested in boys, that he was in some way grooming Fred and already had Mark under his control.
The thought sent a cold clammy shiver down Joyce’s spine. But she forced herself to consider the possibility. She had grown up with a brother two years older than her. Was it possible that Henry had been abusing William without herknowledge? Had there been anything, anything whatsoever, in her father’s relationship with her brother that might, if only with hindsight, have been disturbing?
Joyce could think of nothing. William had been a happy, confident child. Henry frequently took him on golfing trips and other ‘boys’ adventures’ as he called them, but far from being fearful at the prospect of spending time alone with his father, William had always been excited and enthusiastic, and on their return would talk endlessly about whatever they’d got up to.
Henry was a big man, and physically expansive. He was forever hugging his family, male and female. In her mind’s eye, Joyce could see him standing by the fireplace with his arm around William’s shoulders. The two had been very close, there was no doubt about that, but the idea of Henry having a sexual relationship with his son was preposterous. In fact the idea of Henry having a physical relationship with anyone of his own gender was inconceivable. He might proclaim himself liberal and non-judgemental when it came to homosexuality, but on the rare occasions she’d seen him in the company of gay men there had been an awkwardness and sometimes a distinct coolness in his manner. Try as she might to entertain the possibility that her father was a closet gay, Joyce could see no evidence of it.
And yet Charlie’s letter had made it clear that Henry was the source of the danger. And that his
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