Swan Song Read online

  Swan Song

  Tom Butler

  Austin Macauley Publishers

  Swan Song

  About the Author

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Copyright Information

  Synopsis

  Original Idea

  Prologue – Summer 2014

  Characters

  Part One: Seven Years Earlier

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five: Autumn 2006

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Part Two

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  About the Author

  Tom began writing as a hobby early in life and has attended three creative writing courses, concentrating on fictional novels with crime thrillers of particular interest. He has had a career in banking and for the past twenty years has run his own small transport business. His first novel, Caught, was published in 2014 and was his homage to horse-racing legend and author Dick Francis. He lives in the West Midlands and has two sons, two stepsons and three grandchildren.

  About the Book

  James and Mary Swan picked bluebells for their mother on their way home from school. They were expecting freshly baked cakes, but there was to be no teatime treat on that fateful day. What they found instead would change their lives forever.

  Seven years on, together with their older brother, Noah; and the support of foster parents, they summon up the courage to attend their father’s funeral. But will that give them closure?

  A fragile bond exists between the two brothers, who share their late father’s passion for music. Will a dispute over the ownership of a song written earlier in life lead them into the eye of a storm? Could sibling rivalry destroy their dreams and ambitions?

  Dedication

  Dedicated to Wendy, all my love, always.

  Copyright Information

  Copyright © Tom Butler (2019)

  The right of Tom Butler to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781788783972 (Paperback)

  ISBN 9781788783989 (Hardback)

  ISBN 9781528955515 (ePub e-book)

  www.austinmacauley.com

  First Published (2019)

  Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

  25 Canada Square

  Canary Wharf

  London

  E14 5LQ

  Synopsis

  Jealousy can turn the mildest mannered of men. When Michael Swan finds out his wife Angelica has been unfaithful, he takes the ultimate reprisal and ends her life. That callous act also ends their idyllic family life together and makes three children virtual orphans. Noah is eleven, James eight and Mary six. Taken into care, they eventually find a loving foster home, but will the scars ever heal and the nightmares cease?

  In prison, Michael, once a keen musician, is diagnosed with a brain tumour that will end his life too. His death is some kind of release for his sons and daughter, but will sibling rivalry between Noah and James and the dispute over ownership of a successful song cause too much disharmony and manifest into hatred? Their inherited love of music should bind them together and not tear them apart. Will Mary, who is now thirteen, and foster parents, Sylvia and Phillip, succeed in making the two teenage brothers see eye to eye again amid the distrust and bitterness? And can anyone stop a feud from becoming a never-ending war?

  ******

  Original Idea

  Newspapers are full of distressing stories about family tragedies and domestic disharmony. Some tragedies are caused by accident or unforeseen circumstances. Some are destined by fate. Behind a façade, the structure of a family can be breaking apart. People change. Love can soon turn to hate. The aftermath can be devastating, and I wanted to exploit this by showing how a turn of events can destroy a marriage and make children the innocent victims of a wanton act of revenge. The ultimate retribution. A failed marriage or relationship is not a tragedy. And children do not necessarily have to suffer if their interests are prioritised.

  Despite an age gap, Michael and Angelica Swan were happily married, and they worshipped their three children. They did not have financial worries; they were both in good health. No hang ups, no bad habits, no matrimonial issues. Life for the Swans was good, not far short of perfect.

  But life’s path throws us obstacles, and Angelica was flattered by the attentions of a man who was younger than Michael, and for reasons never to be known, she succumbed, regretting her one moment of weakness immediately, hating herself for it, hoping and praying that she wouldn’t ever be found out.

  Infidelity is like a dagger through the heart for those who believe it could never happen. Their reactions are immeasurable. The pain for Michael Swan was unbearable. Though he loved his children he couldn’t forgive or forget nor could he carry on like it had never happened. He heard voices in his head. They guided him and told him what to do. He was a man possessed.

  Prologue – Summer 2014

  James Swan lifted his star struck eyes in adulation, dreaming that one day it would be him up there on stage in the spotlight alongside the brother he hadn’t seen or spoken to for over a year. Not since the day Noah had left his adopted home with a guitar case in hand, a rucksack full of creased up clothes and a burning ambition.

  A quick learner, James had mastered the basics of the guitar in little less than a few months, easily becoming his mentor, Wes Crowley’s, most accomplished pupil.

  One day, he thought to himself. One day, that will be me.

  The band he had travelled over a hundred miles by train to see were well into the second song of their repertoire. They were thrilling an exuberant, sell-out crowd, having created a unique and magical atmosphere in spite of the relative smallness of the Bristol’s Century Hall. James, too, had given into the urge to shout out and wave frantically in the hope Noah might catch sight of him. But amid such collective euphoria, it had been wasted energy, though he knew he had to try.

  James knew every song and every lyric and was beginning to recognise each change of chord, so it was frustrating when his mobile phone vibrated to herald an incoming text message. He dared himself to ignore it but couldn’t. So, with difficulty, he extracted the handset from his jean’s pocket and read the contents. It was what he had been dreading.

  But at the same time, news of a death in the family felt like the beginning of freedom. As though he had been granted instant release. And this was not the time or place for tears. Those had been mostly shed some years earlier when something almost too painful to remember had devastated his and the lives of others. Memories that had spawned terrible nightmares for those closely affected and been solely responsible for shaping the rest of their lives.

  ******


  Characters

  Michael Swan Father

  Angelica Swan Mother

  Noah Swan Son

  James Swan Son

  Mary Swan Daughter

  Sylvia Proudlock Foster mother

  Phillip Proudlock Foster father

  Luke Proudlock Son

  Clare Proudlock Daughter

  Megan Swan Grandmother

  Jaclyn Angelica’s sister

  Hal Husband

  Wes Crowley Guitar Tutor

  Liz Crowley Wife

  Ashley Noah’s best friend

  Melissa Murray Singer

  Jed Murray Father

  Daniel Sutton Artist

  Natasha Gibson Daniel’s Girlfriend

  Hannah Girl at concert

  Harold Briers Auctioneer/estate agent

  Solomon Randall Partner

  Joe Slater Band member

  Darren Bird (Budgie) Friend (supposedly)

  Cal & J.C. Budgie’s gang

  Part One: Seven Years Earlier

  Chapter One

  In 2007, on a warm May afternoon, James came home from Broom Infants and Junior School, hand in hand with his younger sister Mary. He was not, by any means, permitted to leave her side, and he was to escort her safely home.

  The last of the bluebells had greeted them on their familiar journey across the edge of Pickering Wood, and they kept a promise they had made to their mother to pick some en route. She would enjoy looking at them and give them pride of place on the kitchen windowsill. But the temptation for Mary to pick every single flower had caused James to lose his temper.

  ‘We should leave some for others,’ James had told her, his impatience showing. ‘Come along now, or we will be late.’

  ‘Mummy won’t mind,’ Mary snubbed him, carrying on with the delicate harvesting of her pretty crop. She picked with her right hand and held on to her crop tightly with her left, humming a tune that had stayed in her head most of the school day.

  ‘You have enough. You have plenty.’

  ‘A few more. Nobody will mind.’

  James was carrying the special bright red case containing the recorder his father had taught him to play. He had been asked by his teacher to play a tune for his class at school that day. Both teacher and fellow pupils had applauded him loudly at the end and he had felt quite proud of himself. Momentarily, he put the case down to help Mary.

  He was nowhere near so gentle with the flowers, but in the time she had picked a few more, he had amassed three times as many.

  ‘That’s it. Here, take these and let’s go.’

  ‘Yours are too short; they look silly. Mummy won’t want them.’

  She took them from him all the same.

  James looked exasperated. ‘Of course she will. They’re the same as yours.’

  Mary got upset. ‘No, they’re not. Mine are beautiful.’

  ‘They’re just bluebells. Come on, she will be worried.’

  He picked up his recorder and started to walk.

  But Mary carried on. ‘Not yet, a few more. Please.’

  ‘I’ll go without you,’

  ‘No, you won’t.’

  ‘I’m going now, goodbye.’

  And with that, James quickened his pace knowing only too well she would follow on. When she did, she tried not to show him that she had been crying and concentrated on her cache of bluebells, even those with the shorter stalks that he had gathered.

  They stuck to the approved route that they and others regularly used to get them to the road that led them to a small, modern housing development in the Leicestershire village of Thurston. A mother and her toddler son walked ahead of them, the boy meandering and falling behind and Mary waving to him.

  ‘That’s Chester. He’s very naughty sometimes. Miss is always telling him off.’

  James shrugged back and walked a little quicker, stepping off the narrow footpath into the road and urging his sister to speed up as they skipped past the boy and his mother.

  The wave became a smile, and the mother smiled back. Chester went all shy and lagged behind her again, despite her encouraging him to keep up. At the sound of a car revving to climb the hill they were descending, James held Mary’s hand tighter until the vehicle had gone. It was nearing half past three, and Angelica Swan would be baking cakes, like she always did on a Wednesday afternoon. Very soon, they would be able to smell the scones or the sponge or whatever it was she had decided upon. The smell of coming home on a Wednesday was fast becoming their favourite time of the week. It ran going to the park or going swimming at the weekend very closely.

  But there were no cakes on that particular Wednesday. No hugs, no kisses either.

  Stanford Close was a modern cul-de-sac with its eight houses reached by a narrow, curved entrance drive off the main road of a village which had been sympathetically expanded in recent years. Theirs was one of several similar cul-de-sacs that had been added to bring in newcomers. The Swan’s had moved there from Hinckley last year, and all three children had settled in quickly to the village life.

  Older brother Noah had rebelled, at first, as he had been made to give up friends, but his opposition had waned when he had palled up with a boy named Ashley who, likewise, had been moved against his wishes.

  Wednesday was the day Noah came home late due to Gym Club at the Broom school where he was nearing his final term before starting at Loughborough High in September. He and Ashley were already there in their heads. And they both wanted to be the fittest first formers in their new school which had a reputation for sporting excellence.

  On other days of the week, Noah would walk home with his younger siblings, but not so on Wednesdays, though he still expected to have his fair share of the cakes, and his mother, without fail, had never so far forgotten to put some aside for him. James liked Wednesdays because with no older brother around, he could enjoy any of the accumulated computer games in relative peace, that is, until Noah came crashing through the door to take over.

  Arguments would reign between the two boys but nothing too serious, calmed very quickly by a piece of jam sponge or a mega-sized rock cake. In general, they played together well, and James was even quite popular in Ashley’s eyes whenever he was invited around because he had always wanted a little brother and claimed his two younger sisters to be ‘too much like babies to be much fun’.

  Perhaps, it was the thought of the cakes and the computer games that were distracting him now as he and Mary got to the turning circle. The house faced the street which sloped ever so slightly upwards, and from the lounge window, they were usually spotted by mother, and she would be at the front door and stepping out on to the block paved drive to meet them. But not today.

  She must be having trouble with the cakes, he thought, suddenly fretting that he had lost the latchkey she had trusted him with and warned him to look after. He patted both side pockets of his trousers. Nothing. Went to a back pocket and sighed. How it had got there he couldn’t remember. It was attached to a Leicestershire County Cricket Club key ring his dad had given him. He had had no need to use it before, and he felt quite grown up reaching upwards to engage the key and turn it. Still no sign of mother. Strange that she hadn’t heard him rattle the key in the lock. Even stranger that the house was full of silence. No radio, hi-fi or daytime television. No noises from the kitchen either.

  Once inside, Mary bellowed, ‘Mummy we’re home, and I have something for you, come and see.’

  Silence echoed back. The house is empty, James thought. Mother had changed her routine, gone shopping and got caught in traffic. But that was silly. They had passed her navy blue Fiesta on the drive parked as usual a few feet from the garage. A neighbour came to mind. Belinda. She would have asked mother around for a coffee and a natter like mothers do. They would have lost track of time. Any second now, she’ll be rushing in looking ever so guilty that she hadn’t been there to greet them.

  But why no baking? Wednesday was baking day. James specifically remembered her say
ing to somebody on the phone she was going to attempt a carrot cake. He screwed his face up at the thought, Didn’t she know he hated carrots? What a strange thing to put in a cake. Quite ridiculous.

  ‘Mummy, Mummy,’ Mary called at the top of her voice.

  James hushed her. ‘She’s not here, but she won’t be long I’m sure. Stop making a noise.’

  Mary looked quite sad and put out. She just stood in the oblong shaped hallway and stared at the bluebells clenched in her left hand as if not knowing quite what to do next. A reflection in the half-length hall mirror showed just the very top part of her head and little of the long dark hair her mother had so neatly tied up for her in a bunched ponytail. She stood on tip toes to pull a face which included sticking out her tongue which made her giggle to herself and start to waggle her tongue which was only inches from the mirror’s glass. Having left her, James walked straight through the lounge to the kitchen, and for sure, there had been no baking done here today. Everything looked spotless and in its place except for one thing. The knife drawer that held all the cutting utensils had been left open. How very unusual. He closed it. For whatever reason, mother must have forgot. She hated to be untidy, constantly reminding the children to close cupboards and put things back where they belonged. He scraped a kitchen chair across the floor to stand on and called out to his distracted sister.

  ‘I’m going to have a kit-kat, would you like one too?’

  The offer of chocolate made her decide straight away to put the bluebells down on the small hall table and join him. He already had a finger of his after school snack in his mouth, pretending to smoke it like the cigar. He had once caught his dad smoking in the garden following a summer barbeque.

  ‘No cakes, but this will do, here. And don’t you go making a mess.’

  She took hers and didn’t much care whether she got messy or not. Chocolate treats were there to be enjoyed. And chocolate stains washed out. They always did.