That Summer He Died Read Online Free
Author: Emlyn Rees
could call me once you’ve had time to digest the contents of my first letter. I have something to tell you which will be to your advantage. Oh, and if my letter has failed to reach you, then please telephone me on. . .’
James finished jotting down the number and stared at the name it lay next to on the pad. Adam McCullock. James had never heard of him. And he didn’t know James either, by the sound of it. Mr James Sawday. No one called him that except for his bank manager when he called up to inform James he’d broken his overdraft limit again. And, though James referred to his bank manager by a variety of colourful names, McCullock wasn’t one of them.
James ripped through the mail: bills and junk, until he finally got to two letters in expensive-looking, crisp white envelopes. The first he opened was from Adam McCullock, referring to the previous letter James had failed to respond to.
He opened that letter now and read what McCullock had written:
Dear Mr Sawday,
Re: Estate of Alan L’Anson deceased
Under the terms of a will made by the above individual, we were appointed executors to the Estate. We have completed an oath for executors and have obtained a Grant of Probate and are therefore entitled to administer the Estate of the deceased. Under the terms of the will, you are the sole beneficiary. In accordance with our obligations as executors, we were required to advertise for information of your whereabouts in a newspaper circulating in the area where you were last heard of. Following a response to our advert in both the print and digital versions of
The Times
, a print copy of which I enclose for your ease of reference, we were informed that you are currently residing at the above address.
The administration expenses and debts have now been settled, an account of which is available for inspection at our offices. We are now in a position to make distributions to you as sole beneficiary in respect of your entitlement under the will.
Your entitlement consists of the residue of the Estate, including title to the property of Alan l’Anson. In order for you to obtain title to all real and personal property, it will be necessary for you to attend these offices to complete the necessary paperwork and other formalities.
In this regard, I should be grateful if you would contact me on the above telephone number to arrange an appointment.
Yours sincerely,
Adam McCullock
Partner
James heard nothing but the rush of his own breathing as he read the letter again. Then he turned from the table and walked through to his bedroom where he crawled on to the bed, the letter still clasped in his hand.
There were no tears, but now he remembered it all. How he had felt when he was eighteen. And how it had started. With darkness. How darkness had been there to greet him, as the train finally pulled into Grancombe station and his summer there had begun.
CHAPTER TWO
grancombe
It was already dark when the train slowed. James looked up from the patch of worn carpet between his feet, pushed his fringe away from his eyes and watched as the other passengers in the carriage shuffled along the aisle towards the exit.
The concertina of bodies squashed to a halt by the doorway – a flesh-and-blood motorway pile-up – as a fat man at the front simultaneously attempted to keep his three hyperactive children under control and wrestle a bag down from the luggage rack.
James pulled his sleeve over his palm and mimicked a windscreen wiper, rubbing a clear arc across the grime of the window. Out on the dimly lit platform other passengers were already busily commandeering trolleys and studying the maps on the backs of their holiday brochures.
James remained in his seat. Keep it slow. Float downstream. Enjoy the scene.
No point in rushing. Even excluding the congestion in the aisle, the train wasn’t going anywhere. The tracks stopped here. Beyond them lay Grancombe. And beyond Grancombe, nothing but the sea.
James checked his watch:
James finished jotting down the number and stared at the name it lay next to on the pad. Adam McCullock. James had never heard of him. And he didn’t know James either, by the sound of it. Mr James Sawday. No one called him that except for his bank manager when he called up to inform James he’d broken his overdraft limit again. And, though James referred to his bank manager by a variety of colourful names, McCullock wasn’t one of them.
James ripped through the mail: bills and junk, until he finally got to two letters in expensive-looking, crisp white envelopes. The first he opened was from Adam McCullock, referring to the previous letter James had failed to respond to.
He opened that letter now and read what McCullock had written:
Dear Mr Sawday,
Re: Estate of Alan L’Anson deceased
Under the terms of a will made by the above individual, we were appointed executors to the Estate. We have completed an oath for executors and have obtained a Grant of Probate and are therefore entitled to administer the Estate of the deceased. Under the terms of the will, you are the sole beneficiary. In accordance with our obligations as executors, we were required to advertise for information of your whereabouts in a newspaper circulating in the area where you were last heard of. Following a response to our advert in both the print and digital versions of
The Times
, a print copy of which I enclose for your ease of reference, we were informed that you are currently residing at the above address.
The administration expenses and debts have now been settled, an account of which is available for inspection at our offices. We are now in a position to make distributions to you as sole beneficiary in respect of your entitlement under the will.
Your entitlement consists of the residue of the Estate, including title to the property of Alan l’Anson. In order for you to obtain title to all real and personal property, it will be necessary for you to attend these offices to complete the necessary paperwork and other formalities.
In this regard, I should be grateful if you would contact me on the above telephone number to arrange an appointment.
Yours sincerely,
Adam McCullock
Partner
James heard nothing but the rush of his own breathing as he read the letter again. Then he turned from the table and walked through to his bedroom where he crawled on to the bed, the letter still clasped in his hand.
There were no tears, but now he remembered it all. How he had felt when he was eighteen. And how it had started. With darkness. How darkness had been there to greet him, as the train finally pulled into Grancombe station and his summer there had begun.
CHAPTER TWO
grancombe
It was already dark when the train slowed. James looked up from the patch of worn carpet between his feet, pushed his fringe away from his eyes and watched as the other passengers in the carriage shuffled along the aisle towards the exit.
The concertina of bodies squashed to a halt by the doorway – a flesh-and-blood motorway pile-up – as a fat man at the front simultaneously attempted to keep his three hyperactive children under control and wrestle a bag down from the luggage rack.
James pulled his sleeve over his palm and mimicked a windscreen wiper, rubbing a clear arc across the grime of the window. Out on the dimly lit platform other passengers were already busily commandeering trolleys and studying the maps on the backs of their holiday brochures.
James remained in his seat. Keep it slow. Float downstream. Enjoy the scene.
No point in rushing. Even excluding the congestion in the aisle, the train wasn’t going anywhere. The tracks stopped here. Beyond them lay Grancombe. And beyond Grancombe, nothing but the sea.
James checked his watch:
Readers choose
Linda McDonald
Anne George
P J Brooke
Dean Edwards
Richard Estep
Cathryn Williams
James Twining
K. T. Hanna
Red Garnier
Doreen Owens Malek