گل‌های روی قبر

Chapter eight

Flowers on a grave

It took Simon a long time, but he found the newspaper story in the end. We met for lunch in the park in the middle of town, and he took it out of his pocket. He showed it to me and I read it carefully - a small yellow piece of paper, a newspaper story about a road accident eighteen years ago.

FATHER KILLED IN ROAD CRASH

Son saved by brave dad

A man was hit by a car and killed in an accident on the main road outside Lancaster yesterday.

Police said the man, twenty-five-year-old Mr David Holland, ran straight in front of the car. The car driver had no time to stop, and Mr Holland was killed immediately. A three-year-old boy, Mr Holland’s son Michael, was found by the side of the road, crying.

A woman, Mrs Helen Steadman, was walking with her dog by the side of the road. Mrs Steadman said that Mr Holland had been driving towards Lancaster with his son. Just before the accident he had stopped his car by the side of the road, and both of them had got out.

‘I think perhaps the little boy wanted to go to the toilet,’ Mrs Steadman said. ‘But before his father could stop him, he ran straight out across the road, in front of the traffic. Mr Holland ran after him, and managed to pick up the little boy and throw him to the side of the road. But then a car hit the father. It wasn’t the driver’s, fault - the little boy ran straight out into the road without looking, and his father ran out after him. Then I ran to catch the little boy before he could go back into the road again.’

The police said that Mr Holland was dead when they arrived. He will be buried in Lancaster cemetery on Tuesday. The little boy’s mother died a year ago, so he will live with his grandparents in Carnforth,

This is the first accident that anyone can remember on this part of the road. The road is very straight there and is usually very safe. The police do not think the car driver was driving fast.

I put down the old yellow piece of paper and thought for a minute. Eighteen years ago a man had run in front of a car and been killed, on the same part of the road. And yesterday, there had been another accident, and the driver of the first car - Mr Jackson - was quite sure that he had seen a man who had run out in front of him, and was also sure that he had hit him in exactly the same way.

‘It’s interesting, isn’t it,’ Simon said. ‘But it doesn’t help much, does it? Have you found your hitch-hiker yet?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ve checked all our police records, and we have no records of anyone who looks like him. And of course he didn’t tell me his name.’

‘I see,’ said Simon strangely. ‘There is one other interesting thing that I haven’t told you.’

‘Oh? What’s that?’

‘Well, every day I walk through the cemetery on my way to work. I know the place quite well - sometimes I sit and have my sandwiches there at lunchtime. And so I notice the other people who come there - the people who put flowers on the graves and eat their lunch there. Sometimes I even read the gravestones, you know. I often wonder about them. What were the people like? How long did they live? It’s very interesting.’

‘In your lunch hour? How strange,’ I said.

‘Do you think so? I like it. It’s quiet and peaceful there, so I can think and read. Anyway, there’s one grave there that always has flowers on it. A young man comes to put them there. He’s a student, I think. And when I read this newspaper story, I knew I’d seen the name Holland somewhere before. At first I couldn’t remember the place that I’d seen it. Then I remembered - it’s the name on this gravestone: David Holland! I checked this morning because I wanted to be certain. And the date on the stone was the same too, 1978. It’s the same man who was killed in the accident!’

‘So,’ I asked. ‘What’s surprising about that? It isn’t surprising that he was buried there. He came from Lancaster. And I suppose that the young man who brings the flowers is his son. That would be normal, wouldn’t it?’

‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But not every day, not after eighteen years. Anyway, the cemetery is just over there. Why don’t we go and have a look? We can go that way back to the car.’

‘OK, if you like. I didn’t know that you were so interested in gravestones, Simon.’

We got up and walked quietly through the park and into the cemetery. It was a nice, sunny summer afternoon. Neither of us wanted to hurry back to work.

‘There it is, look.’ Simon pointed, and I saw a grave just like all the others. There were a few red flowers on it.

We walked towards it, but then a young man came past us on the path. He knelt down beside the grave. He took the old flowers away, and put some fresh ones beside it.

We stopped a few metres away, and watched. The young man stayed very quietly beside the grave for several minutes. I could see his mouth moving. It seemed that he was talking to someone.

‘He’s praying, Simon,’ I said. ‘Come on, let’s go. We shouldn’t stand and watch him.’

‘OK,’ he said, and we moved slowly away. ‘But don’t you think it’s strange,’ he asked, while we were getting into the car. ‘I mean, his father has been dead for about twenty years, and this young man comes here nearly every day, with fresh flowers, and prays beside the grave.’

‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ I said. ‘But that’s his business, not ours. And it doesn’t help me with this accident. Come on, let’s go.’