The Missing Man

as black as coal were suspended no more than a hundred feet above the unbridled sea, as if awaiting a final command to assault the harbour and villages beyond. It was going to be a bad one, that much was certain. He was thankful that phase two of his job had ended just days before the first vestiges of winter had skulked in. The cemetery had been cleared and was now in the capable hands of a local maintenance company. All headstones had been cleaned and recorded and a map had been drawn of the cemetery, with each grave meticulously plotted. His work was now to bring life to the bones beneath the stones. On the desk behind him was a stack of books from the local library and an assortment of jumbled paperwork pertaining to the Sturgis headstones on which he was currently working—another notable local family after whom was named the library in Barnstable where Jack did much of his research.

A gust of wind shook the pine tree in the neighbour’s garden, evicting an unhappy cardinal.

The storm was drawing closer.

From downstairs came a light banging sound. Jack raced to his bedroom door and down the stairs, meeting his mom at the bottom. They were both racing towards the wedge of mail protruding from the front door. Jack dived in front of her and snatched it from the mouth of the letterbox.

‘Whatever’s the matter with you?’ his mom snapped.

Jack ignored her and quickly flicked through the stack of letters. ‘I’ve just been waiting on some information for work,’ he answered, pulling out a thin white envelope addressed to him. ‘And here it is.’

She eyed him distrustfully but said nothing, reaching out and taking the rest of the mail.

Upstairs, Jack closed his bedroom door and sliced into the letter. It was post-marked California, the fourth letter from his paternal grandparents. His first letter to them, they had admitted in their initial response, had come as a complete surprise; they had claimed to know nothing at all of Jack and Alice. Even their whereabouts had come as a revelation. His reply had been lengthy. Set against a barrage of questions about them and their family in San Francisco, Jack had shared some information about Alice and him. Their response had come quickly, answering all of his questions in detail. Having bided his time, Jack then broached the thorny subject of his dad’s early life. The reply had been revelatory. It had spoken of his childhood friendship with the girl next door—Velda Henderson—that had turned more serious as they had grown up. They had been uncertain as to the reasons, but Joseph and Velda had then split up and Joseph had gone on to marry Audrey Fuller in 1949 before signing up for service in Korea. He had been injured in the war, returning home in 1950, before one day taking off with Velda and never returning.

Jack pulled the latest letter from the envelope and began to read.

Our dear Jack, It was a great pleasure to receive your last letter. We were delighted to hear all about your summer and how the job at the cemetery is progressing. It sounds stimulating and challenging for you. Thank you, also, for your update on Alice and the drawing—she truly is a magnificent artist with a promising career ahead of her. We have had the picture professionally framed and it now has pride of place on the grand piano. You both are doing so very good. Your grandfather and I are both keeping well. We go to fitness classes once a week and play tennis regularly—not to mention our busy social life! There seems a never-ending stream of friends pouring through the door. To answer your question, Jack, yes, I do understand your need to know the past. While it is our greatest wish not to muddy the waters in any way, we won’t lie to you. You ask about your father’s first wife and details of the divorce. Her name was Audrey Fuller and they married in March 1949, here in San Francisco. I’m afraid to tell you this—there was no divorce. For various reasons, many of which we can only surmise, Audrey would not grant it to your dad. Audrey died in 1954 and the threatened court action against your dad never happened, thankfully. We repeat our open invitation to you and your sister to visit us. We would so dearly like to meet you both. With kind affection, Lucy & George

Jack stared at the letter, his eyes being drawn back to her name. Audrey Fuller. His dad was a bigamist. Regardless of the fact that Audrey had died, it didn’t change the simple fact that his parents’ marriage was illegal. And his mom was irrefutably complicit. It suddenly explained a lot: the reason for the complete dislocation of the past; the refusal to discuss his dad’s family history; and the labyrinth of lies and deceptions that had evolved through the decades.

But what was he going to do with the information? He and Alice had discussed visiting their grandparents—possibly next spring break. But what to tell their parents? They were already sitting on their own set of lies and deceptions…

Jack read the letter once more, then hid it with the others at the back of his work folder and tried to refocus his mind on the task in hand: compiling a biography on the Sturgis family. He sat at his desk and gazed outside. The great slabs of black in the sky had inched to the shoreline. Shards of rain began to slice into the lawn. It was the kind of hard rain that came as a precursor to an absolute deluge. Just a handful of seconds passed before the clouds ruptured and the house sounded as though it was under a machine gun attack.

His gaze dropped from the watery grey diffusion of the window down to his notebook. He