The Marshalls
by Kit
Chapter 10
John was surprised when his brother arrived at the foster home soon after they'd finished their evening meal. Having decided that it would be better to convey the information in person, Will had thought it better not to announce his visit in advance in case John became concerned about the reason for it. Of course, the foster carers knew, but they'd agreed not to mention it to John until after Will had spoken with him.
"So, what's up?" John asked worriedly as soon as he and his brother were in the privacy of his room.
Will had thought long and hard about how to break the news, but he hadn't been able to find a way of leading into it gently. Also, he wasn't sure how his brother would react to the information, so he decided to get straight to the point.
"Dad's dead," he said, then went on to summarise the details that the police had given him.
Initially, John looked puzzled, as if his brother had spoken in a language that he didn't understand. Gradually, as Will went through the circumstances of their father's death, the teen's expression became blank. After Will finished speaking, John remained silent for a long time, then he went to sit on his bed.
"I know it's a bit of a shock," Will said as he went to sit next to his brother. "Are you okay?"
"I don't know how to feel," John said, almost as if he were confessing a guilty secret.
"That's how I was at first. It takes some time to sink in."
"But how do you feel now?"
"Sad, obviously, but with the amount he's been drinking for years, something was bound to happen to him eventually. And he's been very unhappy for a long time, so at least he's not suffering anymore."
There was another long silence, during which Will put his arm over John's shoulders. He was content to wait for his little brother to process the information and deal with his emerging emotions. Eventually, John spoke.
"Why're you sad? He was usually nasty and never nice, not even to you."
"I remember that when I was a kid, he was almost always nice and kind. He'd take me and Mum on trips, and he'd tell me lots of stuff about the places we went to. And when Mum was on night shifts, he'd watch TV with me before tucking me in bed."
"I didn't know he had a car or that he could even drive," John commented, as if that had been the most important conclusion to be drawn from what his brother had said.
"He said we couldn't afford it anymore, and he sold it."
"What about the house? Now that he's not there, maybe we could live there together."
"It's just rented, and with Dad gone, the lease ends," Will replied gently. "Even if we had a house, social services would think you'd be better off here. And if I lived there, it would take at least half an hour longer for me to get to work. More in rush hour. Anyway, I thought you'd got to like living here."
"It's okay," John admitted reluctantly, "but I'd rather be with you."
"I can stay with you until bedtime tonight, and of course you can call me anytime. It's only a couple of days until I pick you up for the weekend, and David and Sarah are always there if you need to talk with them."
"I hope you're not too sad," John said after a long silence.
"It's only just sinking in, and I'll probably be too busy to think about it over the next few days. There's a lot to do and to organise. There's the utilities and the letting agent to contact, and lots of other stuff like that. Also, we need to see if there's anything you want from the house, and then we can arrange to sell what we don't want to keep."
"I've already got everything I want."
"You mean everything that was yours," Will said. "But what about stuff that belonged to Dad?"
"You can give it away for all I care."
"I'm not going to give anything away if it can be sold. We'll need to cover expenses, and my finances are already pretty tight. I don't know how much Dad had in his bank account, and I don't think he had life insurance."
"You sound like an accountant," John said with a wry smile. "Anyway, if you mean expenses like a funeral, then it's a waste of money, and in any case, I won't go."
Will frowned but decided that it wasn't the right time to pursue that topic. Perhaps there would never be a right time.
"I don't know anyone from his work or pub who might want to attend," he said, thinking aloud. "I have to try and find the cheapest possible options."
The two brothers sat in silence for a few minutes, with Will's arm still draped over John's shoulders, each lost in his own thoughts.
"What about Mum's funeral?" John asked. "You've never told me about it. Did you go?"
"Yes, I was there, but it isn't something that I thought you'd want me to talk about."
"Was I there?"
"No, you were just a little, tiny baby, and you cried a lot of the time. You stayed home with a babysitter that Gran found. It was a long time ago, but I think most of the people there were her friends from the hospital."
"Didn't you cry?"
"Yes," Will said with a little smile as he turned to look directly into his brother's eyes, "but I didn't cry anywhere near as loudly as you would've."
The following evening, Mike went to see John in his room.
"Are you glad he's dead?" he asked, obviously referring to John's father.
John was a little surprised by the bluntness of the question. Although such directness of tone was often part of their truth game, there had been no preamble to suggest that this was the start of such a session. However, by that time, John had become accustomed to being honest with the redhead, and he answered truthfully.
"No. Why do you ask that?"
"I'd be glad he's dead if he'd beaten me up like that. So, are you sad?"
Up until then, John had been carefully avoiding thinking about his father's death. He certainly hadn't wanted to analyse his own feelings about it. However, he was now being prodded into considering the matter, and he thought about it for several seconds before he replied.
"I don't really feel much at all. I mean, I was relieved when I didn't have to live with him anymore, but since then, I just tried to forget about him. Maybe I'll start to feel something when it all sinks in."
"Yeah. I suppose it may be different if it's your own dad that does it," Mike said, nodding thoughtfully. "Anyway, I bet the counsellor will want you to talk about it."
Over the next few days, Will searched through the house, but he didn't find any sign of a will or of a life insurance policy. However, he did find some other documents in a shoebox on a shelf in his father's wardrobe. Among the papers were his parents' marriage certificate, his brother's birth certificate, and his mother's death certificate. He learned that his mother's family name had been Flores.
He had to force himself to go through the tedious process of making a list of the details of the people and organisations that needed to be contacted. Some, such as those for the bank and utilities, were relatively easy to find, but others, such as the details of the letting agent, were more difficult. At the same time, he made another list of anything that he or his brother might want to keep or that they might be able to sell.
After a little research and some more thought, he decided to opt for a basic cremation with no ceremony, though even that would cost almost a thousand pounds. That decision wasn't because he was callous and didn't care about his father but because he didn't know if anyone would attend. The idea of there being only one, or maybe two if John changed his mind, at a funeral service made him very uncomfortable.
Eventually, Will got access to his father's bank account and sold off anything of any value, such as the TV and microwave oven. He and his brother took some small items, and the rest he sold as a job lot to a house clearance business. After covering expenses, the greatest of which was the cremation cost, the total left was less than two thousand pounds. Will transferred half of it into a bank account that he'd asked the foster carers to open for John.
When John was spending the next weekend at his brother's flat, Will told him about his decision not to have a funeral ceremony. John was very relieved, and after pausing in thought for a few seconds, he asked if their mother had been cremated.
"I don't remember. Dad and Gran never mentioned it, and I never thought to ask," Will replied. After a brief pause, he added, "But I did find out that M um's surname was Flores."
"Does that mean we can look up her family in the Philippines?" John asked with a hopeful expression. "It would be great if we could meet our relatives there."
"I looked it up, and it's a pretty common name, so I don't think it would be particularly useful in finding her family. And even if we could contact them, it would be very hard to meet them. It's a long way to go, and airfares would be expensive."
"Maybe sometime," the disappointed boy said.
"Maybe sometime," Will echoed.
Although the brothers didn't discuss the matter of their mother's possible burial any further on that weekend, the question had been planted in Will's mind, and he couldn't stop thinking about it. He decided that if there was a possibility that she'd been buried, he should try to find the grave. Knowing the dates of her death and funeral, and presuming any burial would have been in a local cemetery, he began searching the relevant records.
Eventually, he found her name associated with a plot of land in a nearby cemetery, and with some trepidation, he went to look for the burial site. Will hadn't told his brother about either his search or his discovery because he presumed that the grave would be neglected, and he wanted to make sure that it was tidied up before John might want to see it.
As it turned out, that presumption was incorrect, and it appeared that someone had been taking care of the grave until relatively recently. There were only a few small weeds, and the shiny black headstone with its silver lettering was in good condition. Many nearby graves had indeed been neglected, so Will thought that it was unlikely that volunteers were taking care of all graves.
Will also considered that it was even more unlikely that his father had paid anyone to tend the grave for fifteen years. He concluded that the least improbable explanation was that his father had been taking care of it himself. In any case, he decided that he could now mention his discovery to his brother and ask John if he wanted to visit it.
The next time that the two brothers spoke on the phone, Will mentioned that he'd found the grave. He was mildly surprised when John appeared to be not only willing but also even a little eager to visit it together. The following weekend, when Will was taking his brother back to the foster home for Sunday lunch, they made a detour to the cemetery.
After Will laid a wreath on the grave, John stood for a long time, silently looking at the headstone. During that time, Will carefully studied his brother, wondering what he might be feeling. After all, John had never known their mother, and the only things he knew about her were what his brother had told him.
"I'm glad I came," the teenager said eventually, "but it feels weird seeing the date."
Will knew his brother well enough to understand what he meant. John was uncomfortable seeing that the date of her death carved on the headstone was the day he was born.
The following Friday evening, when John arrived for his weekend stay at his brother's flat, he noticed a rectangular, black, polished wood box on the bookcase in the living room.
"What's that?" he asked.
"Dad's ashes."
"Really? That's creepy!" John said, mildly alarmed. "Anyway, I thought they'd be in a vase or something."
"I think you mean an urn, but they'll put them in anything you ask for. In any case, it's only temporary, until we decide what to do with them," Will reassured him.
"What do you mean, decide what to do?" the boy asked, frowning.
"Well, obviously, I don't want to keep them forever, but we need to decide what's, erm, appropriate."
"I don't care. Do what you want."
"I thought we could spread them on Mum's grave. After all, I'm pretty sure that he loved her, and that's why he became such a crazy drunk," Will said, quickly adding, "Of course, that's no excuse for how he behaved."
"Like I said, I don't care. Do what you want, but I don't want to be there when you do it. In any case," John said, pointing at the box, "there's no way I'm sleeping in a room with that thing."
"Okay, I'll keep it in my room until I take it to the cemetery."
John stood, frowning in thought as he watched his brother pick up the box, then he spoke again.
"Do you think he deserves it? I mean, being with Mum."
"I understand how you feel," Will replied sympathetically. "You only have bad memories of him, but I remember lots of happy times with him before Mum died. Anyway, whatever he deserves, it makes me feel better to think of them together again."
After Will had pointed out to his brother that finding and meeting their relatives in the Philippines would be very difficult and maybe impossible, John began to think more and more about his heritage. He explored it on the internet and occasionally discussed it with Will, who was also interested, but it wasn't as important to him as it had become for John.
"You said Mum was a good cook," the boy said to his brother on one Friday night in Will's flat.
"Yes, she was."
"Did she make Filipino food?"
"I'm pretty sure she did," Will replied. "But that was more than fifteen years ago, and I wasn't even eight years old. I remember enjoying what she cooked, but I can't remember exact details."
"Maybe if we look up some recipes, we can try making some together."
"You know that I'm not a good cook, and I don't have much time to learn. And you've never tried anything more adventurous than beans on toast," Will said doubtfully. "It would be a shame if we produced something horrible."
Seeing John's obvious disappointment, Will felt guilty, but he knew that what he said had been true. However, it was something that lurked at the back of his mind for a couple of days until he had the idea of trying to find a Filipino restaurant nearby. Unfortunately, the closest was about an hour's drive from Will's flat and even farther from John's foster home. The next time that John visited, Will showed him the restaurant's website.
"These look really good," John said, referring to the photos and descriptions of the various dishes.
"It's a long way to go, and it's a bit expensive, but we could go there sometime and try it. If you like it, maybe it could become a treat on special occasions."
"I'll like it!" the boy said with absolute certainty.
In the months following John's move to live with Sarah and David, Will had met Paul and Stephane several times. Their paths crossed occasionally at the foster home, but the Marshall brothers had also attended birthday parties and occasional Sunday lunches at Paul's house. When the foster carers had been away on their summer vacation, Will had seen Paul every weekday when he dropped off and collected his brother.
John had become friends with the younger Cooper brothers, especially Liam. Also, Will and Paul had developed a loose friendship. Thus, Paul knew about the death of Will's father and his search for his mother's grave. That triggered Paul to make the effort to look for Simon's grave, and using tips obtained from Will, he began the search.
The dates of Simon's death and the inquest provided a reasonably narrow time window, and it was most likely that any burial would have taken place in a local cemetery. However, Paul couldn't find any reference to Simon's grave, so he presumed that there must have been a cremation. He couldn't find a publicly available listing of local cremations, but he discovered a list of those whose ashes had been scattered at the local 'garden of remembrance'.
Simon's name wasn't on that list, but before giving up completely, he decided to phone his godfather. After listening to Paul describe his efforts so far, Geoffrey offered to use his contacts to find out if the coroner's office had some records that might be useful. A couple of days later, he called his godson.
"The sad news is that no one claimed Simon's body. His parents left town soon after the coroner's verdict."
"So they just abandoned him?" Paul asked, shocked and horrified at the thought.
"Remember, they believed in an Old Testament vengeful god. In their minds, he was a sinner who committed the ultimate sin and brought shame on their family. They must have wanted to put it all behind them; in effect, they ran away."
"Still, he was their son and their only child."
"Yes, I know that's hard for us to believe, but there are some people whose religion is more important even than their own children."
"What happened to Simon?" Paul asked once the information had sunk in and some of the shock had worn off.
"Well, the provisions of the Public Health Act make the local government responsible for disposal of bodies that no one else will take responsibility for."
"But he was only a kid, so couldn't they make his parents at least pay for it?" Paul said, feeling a little vindictive.
"Technically, yes, but they don't chase up such a debt from bereaved parents, especially not when suicide is involved," Geoffrey replied calmly, though he shared Paul's anger. "Anyway, the local authority would have chosen cremation as the cheaper option, and here they use only one crematorium and scatter the ashes in that garden of remembrance."
"But we can't be sure, can we?"
"You could try contacting the authorities, but my understanding is that they won't give out information unless there is evidence that you're a relative."
Despite the discouraging words of his godfather, Paul tried to find someone at the local government offices who might have access to the relevant records. However, as Geoffrey had said, they wouldn't give out details unless he was a relative. When Paul explained his situation to the woman, she was very sympathetic.
"I still can't give you details of names or dates of birth," she said, "but I can say that in the time period you specify, there was only one teenage male whose cremation was carried out under the Public Health Act."
Although he couldn't be certain on an intellectual level that the teenager she mentioned was Simon, in his heart, he believed that it was. Maybe he believed it because he wanted to believe it. There was also no proof that Simon was his father, but regardless of any blood relationship, he felt desperately sorry for the boy. He decided that he should visit the garden of remembrance.
When he announced his decision to the others in his household, Stephane said he thought the idea was depressing, and Connor didn't seem very interested. However, Liam was enthusiastic and insisted on accompanying Paul. When they got there, they were both a little disappointed because it was more austere than the garden where their mother's ashes had been scattered. Perhaps the cloudy sky and chilly breeze contributed to their generally negative feelings.
For several minutes, the two of them sat together on one of the benches, huddled together for warmth. Liam found a way to hug his big brother's arm while still holding on to his hand. As they walked back to the car, the little boy said that they should come back in spring, when it was warmer and there would be more flowers.
The next time that John and Mike played the truth game, they were in John's room, with the older boy sitting on his bed and the redhead lounging on a beanbag chair. They'd originally planned to go for a run, but rain had prevented that. The game started off tamely, and on the third round of questions, John thought that he was on relatively safe ground with his next question.
"Why're you in a foster home so far from Wolverhampton?"
"Pass," Mike replied, trying unsuccessfully to suppress his annoyance.
John was taken aback by the tone of the response and wasn't sure why the question should have had such an effect. However, he realised that the topic should be avoided in the future. While he was still pondering on that, Mike stood up and looked out of the window.
"It looks like the rain's stopped," he observed matter-of-factly.
Without another word, he left the room.
After the way that Mike had ended that session of the game, John had decided not to suggest another and to wait until the redhead brought up the subject. Thus, it was a few days before they played the game again. As usual, both boys began with questions they believed would not be contentious. It was John who made the move onto riskier ground.
"Do you have a crush on anyone?" he asked.
"Not anymore," Mike replied, apparently unperturbed. "Do you?"
"Yes."
By this time both boys had become reasonably adept at reading the body language and facial expressions of the other and could guess what the reaction might be to obvious follow-up questions. Whether deliberately or subconsciously, Mike was often quite clear in his non-verbal signalling. Thus, John could usually tell if a follow-up question would be welcomed, or merely tolerated, or rejected. In this case, the older boy knew immediately that asking who was the object of the crush would elicit a pass, so he moved to a different topic.
"Have you had sex?"
"Yes, but don't waste your time asking for details because I won't tell you," the redhead said. "What about you?"
"No. Never. So don't waste your time asking for details because there aren't any," John replied, attempting to inject a little humour into the game. "When was your first kiss? I mean, a real kiss, not just friendly or with a relative."
"Never," Mike said. "What about you?
The answer surprised John, who wondered how and why the redhead would have had sex and not even kissed.
"I've never had a proper kiss, either."
There was a long pause before he took his turn with the next question, which he'd wanted to ask for a long time.
"What does someone have to do to become your friend?"
Mike was taken aback by the question, and the delay in his response wasn't due to reluctance but to the fact that he had to think about the answer.
"They have to prove they're trustworthy and reliable. I have to be sure that they won't betray me."
"I guess it's probably hard to find people like that," John commented, beginning to understand why the redhead had so few friends.
"Yeah," Mike said sadly. "Anyway, how does somebody become your friend?"
"Well, that's easy. The first thing they have to do is not push me away."
While John was still thinking about his next question, Mike stood up abruptly and announced that he was going to see if Katie was available for a phone chat. Bearing in mind that the redhead had originally suggested the game and that he was the one who usually instigated the sessions, it seemed odd to John that he was also the one who usually ended them.
"Okay," John said as Mike was leaving the room, "but remember it's my turn to have the first question next time."
To John, it felt as if Mike was like a puzzle that he couldn't solve. For some time after the redhead had gone, John sat in his room trying to understand Mike's often erratic and sometimes inconsistent behaviour. Briefly, he even wondered if trying to become friends was worth the effort. However, as they now lived in the same house, it would be difficult to merely admire the redhead from afar as he'd been doing for the past couple of years.
When John had first noticed Mike at their school, he'd immediately felt a physical attraction to the redhead. The subsequent discovery of Mike's extremely unsociable nature added to the younger boy's air of mystery, and in John's view, that made him even more interesting. On discovering that they'd be living together as foster brothers, John had hoped that they'd become friends. However, that hadn't happened, at least not yet.
It was only after they'd played the truth game a few times that John realised there was more than just physical attraction. Their interactions became more friendly, or at least it could be said that Mike became less unfriendly. As they spent time together playing the game, John found that he was beginning to like the redhead more and more. Although Mike's personality was quirky and spiky, John wasn't deterred.
As Halloween approached, John realised that he was falling in love with Mike. Of course, he wasn't totally naive, and he'd seen enough romantic storylines on TV and in movies to realise how painful and difficult life could be if love wasn't reciprocated. He knew that being rejected would be even more uncomfortable because they were forced to live together. Therefore, he decided to hide his feelings.
One evening, while Connor and Oliver were busy doing homework in the parlour, Liam came into the room. Connor looked up and smiled a greeting, and just as he was about to return to what he'd been doing, he became aware of his little brother's expression and body language. It was clear that the little boy was sad and maybe a little upset. However, before he could react, Liam had disappeared.
"I'll be back in a minute," Connor said to his friend, who looked up briefly, nodded, and returned to his work.
Connor found Liam standing in the conservatory, staring at his favourite plant, the 'baby orange tree'. The little boy didn't appear to notice that he was no longer alone.
"What's the matter, Liam?"
"Nothing," the little boy replied, without turning round to look at his brother.
Knowing Liam so well and hearing the sadness in his voice, Connor realised that his little brother wasn't being entirely truthful.
"Rule Two," he said gently. "We don't lie to family."
Liam turned around, tears brimming in his eyes.
"You spend so much time with Oliver, and you're always on the phone with Mike. We never even talk much anymore," the little boy complained in an accusatory tone. "We've not had a cuddle for ages, and I hardly ever see you."
"I'm sorry," Connor said, realising that although exaggerated, there was some truth in what Liam had said. A little lamely, he continued, "I've been busy with school and stuff."
"Don't you like me anymore?"
The question shocked Connor so much that it took him a while to respond.
"Of course I like you. I like you more than anyone else in the whole world," he said eventually. When Liam looked at him doubtfully, he added, "Even more than I like Paul."
He reached out and hugged his little brother, and when they eventually separated, Liam grabbed his hand as if still needing some reassurance. At that point, Oliver came into the conservatory.
"There you are," he said when he saw the two brothers.
Then he fell silent as he saw them holding hands. Connor was embarrassed but realised that his brother might feel rejected if he suddenly dropped his hand. Liam retained his grip, almost as an act of defiance or challenge. Oliver was the first to speak.
"I wish I had a little brother like Liam," he said and smiled gently.
"Yeah, he's the best," Connor replied proudly, letting go of Liam's hand and placing his arm over his little brother's shoulders.
"Anyway, I finished the bit I was doing, so we can do the rest when you're ready," Oliver said. "There's no hurry."
With that, he smiled and left. Connor felt guilty, especially as he now remembered what Paul had said to him after Mike's birthday camping trip. He pulled his brother closer and spoke very gently.
"I'm really, really sorry, Liam. I've been busy with school stuff, and I thought you'd be busy, too. Tonight, if you want, we can have an extra-long cuddle at bedtime. And you have to make me a promise."
"What?" the little boy asked, looking up at his brother with a hint of suspicion.
"You have to promise that you'll tell me whenever you feel I'm not spending enough time with you. And if you ever want a hug, just say so."
"What if Oliver or Mike are with you?"
"No matter who I'm with, brother hugs are more important."
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