The Considine Curse Read online

  For my seven cousins –

  Debbie, Richard, Emma, Mark

  Kate, Catrin and Marc

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Also by Gareth P. Jones

  Chapter 1

  The Arrival

  The snow seemed so clean and white from the aeroplane window but underfoot it is grey and slushy. It soaks through the thin material of my trainers and seeps into my socks. When I grumble about my feet, Mum claims she told me to wear sensible shoes but I only remember her saying to wrap up warmly.

  I spot the church steeple above a row of houses and step into an icy puddle. I feel miserable. My nose and hands are cold but my body is hot under my heavy winter coat. We turn a corner and see the church. There are cars outside.

  ‘I told you we could have parked nearer,’ I say.

  ‘I needed a walk to clear my head before we arrived,’ Mum replies.

  ‘Yeah, and I really needed to wash my feet,’ I mutter.

  Mum looks at my soaked shoes. ‘I’m sorry, love. It’s just that I’ve been so nervous about seeing them again after all this time.’

  ‘At least you’ve met them before. I’ve got to meet a whole bunch of people I’m supposed to be related to that I never even knew existed until last week.’

  Five days ago, I came in from school to find Mum sitting by the phone in tears. When I put my arm round her and asked her what was wrong, I was expecting her to tell me that she had split up with her latest boyfriend, which is what it normally is.

  Instead she replied, ‘That was my little brother, Will. My mother died yesterday.’

  ‘You’ve got a brother?’ was the only thing I could think of to say.

  ‘I’ve got five brothers,’ she admitted, avoiding my gaze.

  ‘I’ve got five uncles?’ I squawked.

  ‘I don’t think you heard me, Mariel. My mother has died.’

  ‘I did hear you. My grandmother is dead and somehow her death has magically produced five uncles.’

  ‘This is not a good time for your flippancy, Mariel. I told Will we’d fly over for the funeral. I’ll look into flights and call your school tomorrow.’

  ‘So all my life you’ve lied to me,’ I said, unwilling to let this one go.

  ‘I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you the whole truth,’ she said, which in itself was a lie because she told me she was an only child.

  ‘Five uncles,’ I repeated, still taking it in. ‘And how many other relatives have you kept hidden from me?’

  ‘No more. That’s it,’ she said. ‘Well, they all have wives and children,’ she added.

  ‘I’ve got cousins?’ I said.

  ‘Seven, I think. Harkett’s got two boys, Sewell has two girls, Kitson’s got Amelia, Robson’s got Freddie, and Will and Chrissie have just had a baby called Madeleine.’

  I couldn’t believe how casually she said it like it wasn’t a massive deal. I still can’t believe it.

  ‘How could you keep all this secret from me?’ I demanded.

  She looked at me the way she does when she thinks I am going on and said, ‘Can we talk about this later, Mariel? I need to not cry for a bit.’

  That was five days ago. She has cried every day since then and I am no closer to understanding why she kept my family secret from me all this time.

  She pushes open the wooden gate and we enter the churchyard where I find another reason to be annoyed with her.

  ‘I said everyone would be wearing black,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t be so conventional,’ she replies.

  It’s easy for her to say that. While she is wearing a black pullover and skirt, she told me that my navy blue dress would be fine. Now, as I approach the relatives I have never met, who are all dressed in black, I feel even more out of place than before. Mum points out my uncles and aunts standing by the church door but I have noticed what must be my cousins in a corner of the churchyard. There are six of them: three boys and three girls of varying age and size. One of my uncles spots us and comes over.

  ‘Will,’ says Mum, hugging him.

  ‘I’m glad you came. It’s been too long,’ he says. He turns to me. ‘And this must be Mariel. Hi, I’m your Uncle Will.’ He offers me his hand.

  I say hello. He seems nice. He is younger than Mum and has dimples that show when he smiles.

  ‘Where’s Chrissie? I’m dying to meet her,’ says Mum.

  ‘She’s taken Madeleine straight to Mum’s place,’ he replies. ‘They’ll be at the wake but we were worried Madeleine would cry during the service. She’s normally good as gold but you know what babies are like as soon as you need them to be quiet.’

  ‘Mariel bawled her eyes out all through Dad’s funeral.’

  ‘I remember,’ says Will. He turns to me. ‘That’s the last time I saw you. You’ve grown a bit since then,’ he says, and he winks at me in a friendly way. ‘How long are you here for?’

  ‘Ten days,’ Mum replies. ‘We’ve booked a room in a hotel in Chilton.’

  ‘I told you on the phone we’d all be happy to put you up,’ says Will.

  Mum reacts to this with a loud sob that draws the attention of my other uncles and aunts, although my cousins remain deep in conversation, undisturbed by the noise.

  ‘Sorry, Will,’ says Mum. ‘It’s just been so long . . .’

  I feel embarassed by Mum’s outburst. Will puts his arm around Mum’s shoulder to comfort her. ‘Mariel, why don’t you go and say hello to your cousins?’ he says.

  I look over at them.

  ‘They’re not as intimidating as they look,’ he adds. ‘Amelia and Freddie are your age and Oberon’s only a year older.’

  Although I’m not exactly wild about the idea of introducing myself to a bunch of complete strangers, I am more than happy to let someone else deal with Mum for a change, so I approach my cousins cautiously. They are huddled together and talking so quietly that, even as I near, I can’t catch a word they are saying. They are so engrossed in their conversation they fail to notice me until I am standing right behind them.

  The oldest and tallest boy sees me and coughs to alert the others to my presence. He is awkward-looking, with glasses and a long face. The others stop talking and all turn to look at me. As their six faces stare silently at me I see that they all have the same intense dark brown, almost black, eyes. Mine are blue like Mum’s.

  ‘This is a family funeral,’ says a fat boy with reddish brown hair.

  ‘For our grandmother,’ adds an extremely pretty girl who is about my age but wearing more make-up than I’m allowed to wear.

  ‘I’m your cousin, Mariel,’ I say.

  ‘You’re not a Considine,’ says the fat boy incredulously.

  ‘She’s Aunt Lynda’s daughter,’ says a girl, younger than me, with thick black hair that falls like a curtain across half of her face.

  ‘Ah, the long lost cousin from Austray-lia,’ says one of the boys, in what I guess is supposed to be an Australian accent. He is good-looking, with an athletic build and a head of messy hair.

  ‘So she’s one of us?’ says the pretty girl.

  ‘She’s no Considine,’ repeats the fat one.

  ‘Hello? I am
here you know,’ I say angrily.

  ‘She talks funny. She’s only a half-cousin,’ says the youngest of them, a girl with pigtails who looks around eight or nine but whose eyes seem much older.

  ‘Are all English people this rude or is it just my blood relatives?’ I ask. ‘And there’s no such thing as a half-cousin. Flora was my grandma too.’

  ‘The Considine blood runs through our veins, but everybody’s blood is not the same,’ the young girl hisses. ‘The children of the sons, we are the ones. Not the child of the daughter, with blood like water.’

  I have no idea what to say to this and am glad when the good-looking boy laughs and offers his hand. ‘Sorry about her. Elspeth loves her poetry. I’m Freddie,’ he says brightly. ‘Please forgive us. We’re all so upset about Grandma’s death we forgot our manners.’

  He doesn’t sound upset to me. I smile. ‘I’m Mariel,’ I say, even though I have already introduced myself.

  ‘This is Gerald and Oberon.’ Freddie points at the tall, awkward-looking boy and the fat one.

  ‘Hello,’ says Gerald. It’s the first thing he has said.

  Oberon leans forward and his nose twitches as though he is sniffing me.

  ‘And this is Lily,’ continues Freddie, gesturing towards the shy-looking girl with the curtain of black hair standing next to the youngest girl, who I can see now is her sister.

  Lily smiles from behind her hair.

  Elspeth says, ‘Her eyes are blue and dead like a fish.’

  ‘Pay no attention to her,’ says the pretty girl. ‘I’m Amelia. I’m very pleased to meet you again.’ She leans in to air-kiss me on both cheeks and I am almost knocked backwards by the smell of her perfume.

  ‘What do you mean “again”?’ I ask.

  ‘We met when we were little. My mum told me. We’re the same age.’

  ‘Grandma didn’t want you here and neither do we,’ says Elspeth, who I am beginning to suspect doesn’t like me.

  ‘Of course we do,’ says Freddie.

  ‘What was she like?’ I ask, ignoring what Elspeth said.

  My cousins exchange glances and, for a moment, I feel like they have some secret way of communicating without speaking.

  ‘She was strong,’ says Elspeth at last.

  ‘Strong?’ I say, thinking this an odd answer.

  ‘She was sixty-nine,’ adds her older sister, Lily. ‘But she was still running up and down the stairs in her house every single day.’

  ‘She shouldn’t have been,’ states Gerald. ‘That’s how she died. She fell.’

  ‘Her neck was broken,’ says Elspeth.

  ‘It’s how she would have wanted to go,’ says Oberon.

  ‘You think she wanted to fall down the stairs and break her neck?’ I say, beginning to understand why Mum wanted to escape from her family. This lot are seriously odd.

  ‘What he means is that she died suddenly and without suffering,’ says Amelia. ‘She never wanted to suffer.’

  The church bells chime and I look over my shoulder to see that Mum is gesturing that it is time to go in.

  Chapter 2

  The Funeral

  ‘Devoted wife, attentive mother, doting grandmother and good friend. These are some of the ways in which Flora Considine will be remembered . . .’

  The vicar stands in the pulpit, leaning over the lectern. Father Gowlett is quite old with messy white hair and long sideburns that stick out like whiskers. He wears a pair of reading glasses and he keeps adjusting his dog collar as if it is too tight.

  ‘Flora was a rare and valued member of the community and, speaking as one who was privileged to count her as a personal friend, I can say it came as a deep shock to all of us when she was so very suddenly taken from us . . .’

  There is no one in the church except my family, the vicar and an old lady sat at an organ. If Grandma was such a valued member of the community, I wonder, how come there are no other friends? Across the aisle I can see Amelia with her mum and dad. Her mother is elegantly dressed and very beautiful. Amelia’s face is wet with tears. I think I can still smell her perfume all the way across the church. In front of her are Freddie and his dad.

  ‘Her beloved husband, Frank, passed away over a decade ago but thankfully Flora was not left alone in the world. All who knew her understood the great consolation she took from her family. Her boys, Harkett, Kitson, Sewell, Robson and William are a constant reminder of her achievements as a mother.’

  I glance up at Mum because he has forgotten her. She is wearing the same expression I last saw when we bumped into an old boyfriend of hers with his new wife. She is pretending not to care.

  Father Gowlett catches her eye and smiles kindly. ‘And although she and her daughter didn’t always see eye to eye, I know that Lynda was always on her mind, particularly towards the end of her life.’

  I feel something hit the back of my neck. I look behind me. Oberon is tearing off corners of his bible’s pages with his teeth and spitting them out. The rest of his family either haven’t noticed or are ignoring him.

  ‘But it was when she spoke of her grandchildren that she would truly come alive,’ continues Father Gowlett. ‘The bond between grandmother and grandchild is often a strong one, and nowhere was this more true than in the Considine family. I hope it will comfort you children, who loved your grandmother so dearly, to remember that her spirit lives on in your hearts and in your prayers.’

  I notice he doesn’t mention heaven.

  ‘I’d now like to invite Elspeth Considine to give us her tribute to her grandmother.’ He smiles and removes his glasses. ‘Elspeth is going to read a short poem of her own composition.’

  Elspeth walks up to the front and unfurls a piece of paper. She doesn’t look the slightest bit nervous or self-conscious.

  ‘Grandma,’ she reads. ‘Grandma led us with her every step. She breathed life into us with every breath. I wish she were still here to show us the way. She taught us much more than I can say.’

  Across the aisle from me, Amelia lets out a sob and her mother puts an arm around her.

  ‘Thank you, Elspeth. That was beautiful,’ says Father Gowlett.

  Elspeth refolds the poem and returns to her seat.

  ‘Elspeth’s lovely verse reminds us that Flora was much more than a grandmother to her grandchildren. She considered herself their spiritual guide. Now that she has passed away, I humbly offer my own services to you children in that capacity. Just as our Lord Jesus Christ is a shepherd to lost sheep, let me be your shepherd. Choosing the right path is difficult when you are young, but if you wish I am always available to help steer you the right way.’

  I notice Freddie turn around and look at Amelia, but I can’t read his expression from where I am sitting. Mum looks at me and raises an eyebrow. I feel strangely detached from the whole thing.

  We sing a couple of hymns, accompanied by the old lady at the organ, who has a small yappy dog that sits in her handbag beside her and barks along with the music. I don’t know any of the tunes so I mouth the words from the hymn sheet.

  When the sermon is over, we all trudge out through the graveyard and watch as the coffin is lowered into the ground. It is the first coffin I have seen close up and it is smaller than I expected. Father Gowlett says another prayer, then everyone files past the grave to throw handfuls of soil over the top of the coffin. As the ground is frozen, the old lady with the dog holds out a plastic pot filled with earth for us to help ourselves. I grab a handful and throw it on to the coffin lid.

  We walk away and Father Gowlett shakes everyone’s hands. I watch as he mutters something to each of my cousins. I wonder what he is saying. When it comes to me and Mum, he says, ‘Welcome back, Lynda. I’m sorry that we’re not meeting under better circumstances.’

  Mum is too upset to reply and just nods, but I thank him and we go into the car park.

  ‘So, Lynda, we’re having the wake at Louvre House,’ says one of my uncles. ‘Can you remember the way?’

  ‘I th
ink so. It’s been a while though,’ replies Mum.

  ‘Perhaps you could give me a lift and I’ll direct you,’ says Will.

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ says Mum, ‘that’d be great.’

  ‘Drive carefully,’ says Freddie’s dad. ‘Some of the roads are still pretty icy.’

  ‘Where are you parked?’ asks Uncle Will.

  ‘Just a short wade away,’ I reply.

  ‘It’s not far away,’ Mum says.

  I lead the way, walking along a bank of snow, trying to avoid the slushy puddles that line the street.

  Uncle Will smiles. ‘I bet you don’t have this kind of problem back home.’

  ‘The snow’s new, but Mum’s parking is no different,’ I reply.

  ‘Watch it, cheeky,’ says Mum.

  Uncle Will laughs. ‘This whole thing must be pretty weird for you, Mariel.’

  ‘Weird’s a good word for it,’ I reply.

  ‘How were your cousins?’ he asks.

  ‘It wasn’t the warmest welcome I’ve ever had,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t worry. They can be a bit like that with new people. They’re very close.’

  ‘I can’t wait to meet Madeleine,’ says Mum. ‘You have to enjoy every moment, while they can’t answer you back.’

  ‘I can sit around in diapers and say goo goo gah if you want,’ I say.

  ‘That wouldn’t be quite the same,’ replies Mum.

  ‘I don’t know, it sounds a lot like Madeleine,’ quips Uncle Will.

  By the time we get to the turning for Grandma’s house, we are laughing. We turn off the main road and drive through an archway towards a large old red-brick building, faded and weathered over the years, but still grand and impressive. It’s not the kind of place I imagined Mum growing up in but then I never pictured her with five brothers. We all fall silent as Mum drives slowly up the bumpy driveway, past the leafless trees towards the old house.

  ‘What did you say it was called?’ I ask.

  ‘Louvre House. It’s been in the family for years,’ Uncle Will replies.

  The other cars are already parked outside and there are lights on inside the house. Chunky flakes of snow are falling as we step out of the car. The front door to the house is up a couple of stone steps. It has been left open.