“But I thought this place was full, though?” For the first time, I notice there are still open spaces here and there, in contrast to the rest of the cemetery. “The sign said it was closed to new burials?”
“It is.” She indicates the next stone along. “Exceptin existing family plots.”
I look again at the cluster of headstones enclosed within the rusted iron fence. To the left and behind Elizabeth Makepeace’s final resting place are two others, much older, much more weather-beaten and pitted with age.
William John Makepeace
Died 11th June 1964
Besides this one is another, presumably his wife.
Gladys Violet Makepeace
Died 9th February 1980
“There are a couple of others behind them too,” Maxine says. “But the stones are so old you can’t read the names anymore. Reckon they must have bought up this whole family plot back in the dayand all those agreements were still honored by the council for decades. At least they were up until twenty-odd years ago anyway. Looks like no one’s been buried here in quite a while.”
I go to stand next to her. On the right-hand side of the family plot are another pair of headstones, these two in dark marble with gold lettering.
Linda Jane Flack (née Makepeace)
13 March 1950–2 June 1986
Besides her is Peter William Flack, whose inscription tells us he was a “Beloved son and grandson” who had died at the age of twenty-seven.It’s clearly one of the newer grave markers here, the clean angular marble a contrast to the time-worn gray stone all around.
Maxine takes a step back, crosses her arms. “What do you notice?”
“Well… like you say, it’s a family plot. I guess there was space reserved here for Elizabeth’s daughter, Linda, and… her grandson?”
“Look again.” She gestures at the headstones. “What do yousee?”
I study them all again, from left to right, reading each inscription slowly. Going down on my haunches to peer more closely at each one until I end up on the right-hand side again.
Peter William Flack
6 September 1974—27 December 2001
Aged 27 years
Beloved son and grandson
Presumably Peter was Linda’s son, which meant the boy had lost his mother at the tender age of eleven. There doesn’t seem to be any stone here for a father. Maybe the boy was raised by his grandma? I’m thinking aloud, but when I look back at Maxine, she’s still shaking her head as if I haven’t grasped the most interesting fact about this little collection of family graves.
“What?” I say. “I don’t see what you—”
And then, all of a sudden, I do.
27 December 2001.
Elizabeth Makepeace and her grandson Peter had died on the same day.
44
“So what does that mean?” I say. “That they both died on the same day? Some sort of accident, a car crash?”
“It’s possible, I suppose.”
Darker thoughts crowd my mind. “Or maybe they were victims of a crime? An attack, a double murder?”
