The Resurrection of Edward Todd

The Resurrection of Edward Todd (by David Inglis)

Chapter 1

Edward (Ted) Todd, being late, was driving at close to ninety miles an hour down the main arterial route into Kent. As he drew closer to his destination, the reason for his journey, with all its anxieties, asserted itself once more in his mind. He recalled how he’d first met his old friend Martin Lowther; their various escapades and misadventures. How they’d eventually become business buddies. Profiting from the ‘New Labour’ credit boom, they’d sold ‘peace of mind’ insurances to the newly wedded, mortgaged, and bereaved. It was during this time they had agreed to become executors of each other’s ‘Last Will and Testaments’. Part of their retro English sense of honour. A handshake matters more than a signature, though,

“Not anymore.” observed Ted.
All that remained now were signatures, following the discovery of Martin’s dead body on a beach, not three months previously. The coroner had recorded a verdict of ‘accidental death’. Ted had concluded that, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, it had been, legally, an accident.

He turned off the motorway and followed the sign to Rydmoore Bay; arrived finally, reluctantly, and paid the parking fee in the Municipal Shopping and Tourist Car Park. He took his brown leather briefcase and suit jacket from the back seat of the car, adjusted his trousers, which were a little snug around the waist. Then he followed the directions along the high street past several faux Edwardian gift shops offering farm-direct jams, hand embossed greetings cards, hibiscus bath soaps, etc. Ted proceeded up Church Street, wondering if it was to Martin’s church that it led. For Martin had practiced as an Anglican Vicar here, these last several years. It remained unfathomable to Ted that the rather extravagant bon vivant he’d once known had become a man of the cloth.

The town had been built into the sea cliffs and the street progressed in a series of switchbacks. The screeching of sea gulls echoed around the bay. At last, he reached the offices of ‘Redman and Grimmly’.

The building consisted of a series of planning concessions to the pub next door. Ted noticed a woman waiting outside this pub. Auburn haired, her body was strong and voluptuous beneath a beige coat. She had a mobile phone pressed to her ear. She glanced at Ted momentarily, then turned away as you turn away from a bus you don’t want to catch.

Ted pushed open the bleached oak entrance door and strode up to a bleached oak reception desk.

“Good-morning, sir. Can I help you?” asked a bright, self-confident receptionist.

“Uh, yes.” Ted began, “I’m here for the reading of Martin Lowther’s will.”

Chapter 2

The receptionist escorted Ted through a frosted glass door to where Alice Lowther, the late Reverend's sister, was already reclining on a designer sofa.

“Hello Ted,” she said, smiling weakly. She stood and hugged him. He felt her body, tremulous and cold, for a moment next to his.

“You look well,” she observed, taking a step back to regard him. It was true. A life devoid of consequence had left him remarkably intact.

“You look better, I think.” he said to the ashen faced and exhausted Alice. She brushed his words away with a wave of her hand.

“How long as it been, Ted?” she asked.
“More years than I care to remember. I only wish…” Ted began, trying desperately not to say something trite, “the circumstances could have been different.”

Alice looked at him mistrustfully. She became tearful, recalling happier times. Ted helped her to the hard and alienating piece of furniture that passed for a sofa. He placed a hand on her shoulder, which she found mildly confusing.

“I know you and Martin had your differences. But you could have stayed in touch,” she suggested.

“I know, I’m sorry. I never intended it to go that way. It just went that way,” replied Ted.

Alice took a handkerchief from her handbag, as Imogen Grimmly, Solicitor, swung the frosted glass door open and introduced herself. She was attractive, well dressed, a few weeks from her forty-second birthday, and faintly tanned from a recent holiday in the Cinque Terre. She specialized in divorce, death and other family matters. Alice collected herself, and Ms Grimmly took them up to a conference room on the top floor. Ted felt unutterably sombre. Imogen Grimmly noticed he was quite handsome, if a little chubby.

There was an expansive view of the sea through a pair of French doors. The headland with the harbour on one side and a large outcrop of rock on the other.

“It’s quite a view, isn’t it?” said Imogen, following Ted’s gaze. “That rock is called The Longstone. They say if you can’t see it at first light, then it’s going to rain. Something to do with sea breezes. Anyway, I have it on good authority there will be rain later.”

Ted focused on this Longstone, wondering if Martin had drowned out there. How comforting this view was despite that. Ted wondered if Martin had killed himself. The sullen Alice regarded the same view with insufferable resentment.

“Forgive me,” said Imogen, “You probably want to get this over and done with as quickly as possible.” She motioned for them to take seats around a heavy oak table.

Imogen began, “Obviously, the last thing you want right now is to be sorting out paperwork.”

“Thank you.” Alice replied. The solicitor’s analysis of the situation was correct. Alice was not here for sympathy. The sooner this was all dealt with, the better.

“Mr Todd, I understand that, as executor, you consented to the family’s request for a solicitor to be involved. If it’s alright with you, you can still deal with some of the administrative tasks. This will help keep my costs down.” suggested Imogen.

“Yes. Yes. Alright.” he replied tentatively.

Imogen handed him a pile of papers and a Filofax. “There are things like utility accounts to close. Ted, if you could write to them and finalize the outstanding amounts.”

“Of course.” replied Ted, putting the documents and the Filofax into his briefcase.

And so, the meeting drifted to its conclusion. Alice wanted to consult Imogen about some other (confidential) matters. Ted made his farewells, along with tentative arrangements to stay in touch. Then left, breezing past the receptionist, and out through the bleached oak entrance doors.

Ted was glad to be in the street and free of a situation he had been dreading for weeks. He exhaled gratefully and walked across the road. He leaned against the parapet wall that overlooked the town and the sea beyond, ran his fingers through his hair and wished he still smoked.

Chapter 3

Ted heard a woman’s voice calling, “Excuse me! Excuse me! Can I talk to you for a moment?”

He turned, perplexed. The woman in the beige coat who’d been lingering outside previously scampered up to him.

“Sorry, I’m Ella Heartington.” She offered him a hand to shake. “I’m a friend of Martin’s, or was, poor choice of words! Have you got five minutes?” she inquired.

“What, now?” he replied.

“It’s just to talk, honestly, no strings.” She showed him the palms of her hands.

“I see,” he replied

“It’s about Martin.” she confided, “You are the executor, right?”

Ted looked taken aback.

“Yes, but…” he spluttered

“Well then,” she said, “Are you heading back into town? I can walk with you if you like.”

“But what’s all this about?” demanded Ted.

“You’ll see.” she replied. “Shall we?” she motioned for them to walk together.

“Do I have any choice?” asked Ted.

She grinned wolfishly at him.

They began walking.

“Oh, by the way,” said Ella, “This is me.” She handed him her personal card: name, number, embossed flower. He took the card, pocketed it, caught a faint whiff of her perfume. It was musky, decadent, exotic, like jasmine and coffee. Ted noticed a number of seagulls circulating over-head.

“You have to watch out for them,” said Ella, following his gaze. “The birds round here are evolving back into dinosaurs.”

Ted smiled a little.

“So, you knew Martin.” he suggested.

“Yes, I did.” she replied, suddenly sombre.

“And what was it you wanted to discuss?” asked Ted.

“The circumstances of his death,” she replied.

Ted glanced at her uneasily.

“Those of us who knew him,” she continued, “Who were close to him, we didn’t believe the results of the inquest.”

“Because?” he prompted.

“They didn’t go into things. It was all just superficial. There was stuff going on in his life.” Ella explained.

“Stuff?” asked Ted. “What stuff?”

“Suspicious stuff.” said Ella.

“But isn’t that something you should be talking to the police about?” suggested Ted.

“I did.” said Ella. “They were just really patronizing. They said they were handling the investigation, and they had no reason to suspect foul play.”

“Right.” said Ted.

“Do you mind?” she asked, lighting a cigarette.

“No, no.” said Ted, gesturing to the cosmos to indicate that they were outside, and she was therefore at liberty.

“So, what exactly do you mean, suspicious?” asked Ted.

“He was being watched,” she replied.

Ted looked at her blankly.

“It was something he told me right before he died.” Ella confided.

“Did he, indeed?” said Ted.

They walked on thoughtfully for a moment. The breeze was freshening. Ted pulled the collar up on his jacket.

“Look,” he began, “I’m sure if the police had any concerns about this, they would’ve looked into it.”

“But the fact they didn’t makes it even more suspicious, don’t you see?” Ella implored.

“I’m not entirely sure that I do.” replied Ted. “In any case, I don’t see how I can help you with this.”

“But you’re the executor,” she protested.

“Yes, but that’s not part of my remit, is it?” Ted pointed out.

“Your remit?” repeated Ella.

“I’m here to pay a few bills, tie up a few loose ends.” Ted informed her.

“And his untimely death is not a loose end?” asked Ella.

Ted’s jaw clenched, slightly.

“It was accidental death, allegedly at least. The coroner’s report was clear.” he replied.

“Allegedly.” repeated Ella, “You said ‘allegedly’.”

“And what if I did?” demanded Ted. “I don’t know what this is all about! I don’t even know who you are!”

“I introduced myself!” Ella protested.

“Oh right, yes, of course, excuse me!” said Ted.

“Why are you being so prickly?” demanded Ella.

“I beg your pardon?” said Ted, sounding like a 1950s schoolmaster.

“Yeah, you’re like, ‘eeeuw! Don’t come near me!’” observed Ella.

“But, but!” Ted stuttered.

“Can’t someone come up and talk to you? Do I need special permission or something?” she demanded.

“Special permission?” repeated Ted.

“You don’t believe all this baloney about ‘accidental death’ any more than I do.” Ella proclaimed.

Ted was unable to fabricate an answer.

“You see!” said Ella.

Ted regarded Ella Heartington. The hurt expression on her face, which, together with her apparent (though illusory) fearlessness, made her rather beguiling. There seemed to be a great deal going on under the surface.

“Alright. Alright. Tell me then. How do you think he died?” demanded Ted.

Ella looked at him resentfully.

“Come on,” said Ted, “You’ve got my attention.”

“He was murdered.” said Ella, flatly.

“Murdered!” exclaimed Ted. “Martin, Murdered! Are you insane?”

“Well, how do you think he died?” asked Ella.

“Well, I don’t think he was murdered!” replied Ted.

“But you don’t think it was an accident, either.” Ella pointed out.

“I have an opinion. But it’s just that.” he muttered.

“So, it wouldn’t hurt to share it then, would it?” she urged.

“Ah, well. That’s the difference between me and you, isn’t it? I have my thoughts about the matter. But that’s all they are: thoughts. So, I’ll be minding my own business, thank you very much,” he said finally.

“But it’s not just your business, is it? Other people are involved. I’m involved. And you’re the executor. You have a responsibility!” she said.

Ted exhaled, laboriously.

“Come on,” Ella continued, “Tell me what you think. There’s just you and me here. What have you got to lose?”

Ted sighed, “Alright, alright, if it’ll give you some peace. Then maybe I can get on with my life. I think, perhaps, he committed suicide.”

“Suicide!” exclaimed Ella, “Suicide!”

“For God’s sake, keep your voice down!” he urged.

“No, I will not! Suicide! Are you completely sick? How could you say such a thing? I thought you were his friend!” exclaimed Ella.

“I’m not his friend! Not anymore!” explained Ted. “I hadn’t seen him in twelve years!”

“But you’re the executor!” protested Ella

“Oh, would you please stop saying that! You don’t even know what it means!” Ted protested.

They were at an impasse and remained silent for a moment. She had a toke on her cigarette.

“Well, I am his friend!” Ella declared, “And I can’t believe what I’ve just heard!”

“Well, you asked for it!” exclaimed Ted.

“You don’t think it matters. You don’t understand what’s going on here. I don’t think you even care!” Ella exclaimed.

“Now hold on a minute. I was minding my own business. I’d had a really difficult morning and then you… you come up to me,” Ted began.

“And then you say it was suicide! What kind of man are you?” Ella continued, “You should be ashamed of yourself! I don’t know why I’m wasting my time with you. Why don’t you just get lost! Go away! Get out of my sight!” said Ella and drew away from Ted.

“Now hold on a minute! Just wait a minute!” demanded Ted.

He was about to grab her by the arm, but thought better of it

“Don’t!” yelled Ella and strode off to the interminable squawking of gulls.

Chapter 4

Ted watched her go in astonishment. He could scarcely breath. After a moment, he turned on his heel and set off in the opposite direction. He took a diversion down a steep cobbled lane that led towards the harbour. Agitated, thoughts racing, muttering to himself, he kept walking until he hit the promenade. Then descended a series of concrete steps onto the beach. Sand whipped at his ankles, entered his ill-appointed shoes. Ted strode across the sand, briefcase rocking absurdly, his free hand clenched in his trouser pocket. He was quite alone, walking on until the physical barrier of the sea prevented him from going further. Turning left, he continued his pacing along the shore until he reached one of a number of wooden barricades that punctuated the length of the beach. He noticed a bottle askance in the wet sand. Transfixed by it for a moment, he picked it up, scrutinising it closely. Then he smashed it against the massive wooden pilings. Shards of blue glass scattered about him. He held onto the wooden horizontals of the barricade, as if to hold on to himself.

“How dare she talk to me like that! Who does she think she is?” he repeated. He hauled himself over the dark wood of the barricade and carried on walking.

Finally, he headed back to the seawall, ascending the steps up to the promenade. He sat himself on a bench where he resolved to remain until calm. The promenade was deserted but for a few elderly, well-heeled dog walkers. Ted was confused, all at sea. Who was this Ella Heartington? And why the hell was he, Ted Todd, so angry? Banks of white cloud obscured the sky. The sea was grey and strewn with white waves. He fell into a semi-vegetative state. After a while, he muttered,

“The briefcase. Where’s the bloody briefcase?”

He was up, re-tracing his steps, back down to the water’s edge, his hands clenched, this time with anxiety. Not half an hour ago, he had taken possession of those documents and promised to put them in order. And now he had lost them!

“Idiot! How could you be so stupid?” he asked, as if of someone else.

He found the briefcase sitting upright in the sand, shards of blue glass scattered about it. He breathed deeply and looked out to sea. A watery sun was descending and bands of rain were heading in from beyond the bay. He observed The Longstone once more, which gradually became shrouded in rain.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the bay, in a modern apartment she’d reluctantly accepted on a temporary basis, Ella Heartington looked out of her bedroom window. Tears had formed in her eyes. Eyes that were brown and flecked with green, just like the sea above which banks of dark cloud were now forming and releasing heavy drops of rain. The rain completely obscured The Longstone within a few minutes.

She fiddled around with some flower boxes on the windowsill; found a sprig of lavender, which she placed into the thin aperture of a small, blue, glass vase. She then took a bud (partially opened) of clematis; brushed some dust from its petals and placed it slowly in the neck of the vase. Someone had told her to keep a few plants about the house; that if she could look after them, then she could look after herself. She sang quietly, “When peace like a river attendeth my way, and sorrows like sea billows roll…” trying to keep at bay the feeling that she too was drowning.