The Unburied Past by Anthea Fraser Page A

there, happily living their own lives …’ Her voice trailed off and she reached for her glass.
    â€˜It’s – grotesque,’ Angie agreed. She paused. ‘And your brother’s coming over?’ Kirsty nodded.
    â€˜At least this might bring you closer.’
    â€˜It’ll have come as a shock to him, too,’ Kirsty conceded. ‘We’ve only been told now because while he’s here he wants to research the family – a kind of
Who Do You Think You Are?
project – and would have found out anyhow.’
    â€˜Do you think he’ll go ahead with it, in the circumstances?’
    â€˜I’m damn sure he will, if only because the family will oppose it.’
    Angie smiled wryly. ‘You’ve not much of an opinion of him, have you?’
    Kirsty toyed with her glass, her thoughts moving on. ‘There’s something else.’ She looked up, meeting her friend’s questioning glance. ‘Do you remember someone called Nick Shepherd at Lois and Johnnie’s wedding?’
    â€˜Can’t say I do. Why?’
    â€˜He phoned, just as I was about to drive home, to invite me to the theatre next week, and like a fool I agreed.’
    â€˜Like a fool?’
    â€˜Angie, I don’t know the man, and I’m not sure I want to. I certainly don’t want to get involved.’
    â€˜Hey, slow down! He’s not asked you to marry him, has he?’
    Kirsty smiled. ‘No, but – I don’t know, I feel a bit uneasy about him. For instance, how did he get my mobile number? I’m pretty sure I didn’t give it to him.’
    â€˜If he was interested, he could have asked around. Any of our friends could have supplied it.’
    â€˜Suppose it was he who sent that email?’
    â€˜Why would he do that, if he was intending to phone you?’
    She shrugged.
    Angie laid a hand on her arm. ‘Look, love, you’re overreacting – understandable, after the day you’ve had. But it’s no big deal, is it? Think of it as a night out which at least will take your mind off things, and if you don’t like him you need never see him again. OK?’
    â€˜OK,’ Kirsty agreed gratefully. ‘Thanks for putting it in perspective. I just wish we could do the same with the rest of it.’

SIX
    T he knowledge of how her parents met their deaths lodged like a heavy stone at the back of Kirsty’s mind, forcing itself to the front any time she wasn’t actively engaged.
    Janice phoned on the Tuesday, ostensibly to see how she was. ‘Come back for lunch on Sunday,’ she urged. ‘Last week was so difficult, and we missed out on our usual relaxed get-together. You’ve nothing special on, have you?’
    It was true that since her break-up with Lance weekends had been something of a lottery. Angie was invariably with her boyfriend, Simon, and she filled them by going to the tennis club, where she had a crowd of friends, or bringing her correspondence up to date, or, since they’d no garden to speak of, taking a book down to the park where, on summer Sundays, a brass band took up residence on the old bandstand.
    But she was not yet ready to face her adoptive parents, and when she woke in the night or in moments of leisure during the day, she pondered her slightly changed attitude towards them. Embarrassment? Resentment at their years of silence? Yet they couldn’t be held responsible for that; it had been decreed that she and Adam should be told together and that ancient decree had held good right into their twenties. It was more, she decided, that she knew at their next meeting she’d be under anxious scrutiny, and couldn’t face the prospect of a day of play-acting. Not yet.
    Adam’s pending arrival also featured largely in her thoughts. How would he contact them? Would he still have that arrogant, slightly aloof manner she remembered, or would he have matured differently? And how, exactly,