The Key to Anchor Lake ✓

44 : The Anchor Lakey

1st August 2018

THE ANCHOR LAKEY: Episode 82

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There is no intro. After several seconds of dead air, the episode launches straight into Sukie's voice.

SUKIE:

Does grief have rules?

[Long pause]

I feel like there are these unspoken rules to grief. How long you're allowed to be sad before people expect you to move on; who you're allowed to be sad about; how you're supposed to express that grief.

Today's the twenty-fourth anniversary of my brother's death.

Twenty-four years ago today, his mutilated body was found in the boot of a car belonging to Robert Ludlow, the man responsible for nineteen deaths in the summer of 1994. My brother was his last victim, the one who ensured that Ludlow would be sentenced and would never see the light of day again.

Kieran was four years old. I never met him. He had been dead for as long as he'd lived by the time I was born, and yet I grieve for him. He was my brother and he should still be here; he should be turning twenty-eight soon, taking the world by storm. He could have been anyone and done anything, and he never got the chance.

I've seen photos of him, every single one that I can find. We look so alike, more like our mum than our dad; I thought the photos were of me the first time I found them. Thank fuck I already knew about Kieran, else that would have been a horrible surprise.

[Sukie pauses, breathing deeply]

When I was younger, I knew the basic details. My parents had a son in 1990; he went missing in 1994, and his body was found the next day. It was so horrific, so unthinkable, that I didn't ask questions. Not even as a curious kid. I knew it upset my parents too much.

But then I came across The Key to Anchor Lake, and I saw his name. I learnt that the day he had gone missing was at the end of a two-week crime spree that had terrorised the town, so I did more research and I found out that he disappeared while out shopping with my dad. There used to be a supermarket in town, a small Co-op with front and back doors and a lot of aisles. Kieran wandered off while my father's back was turned, and that was all the time it took for him to vanish.

There was no CCTV. The staff hadn't seen a thing. There was nobody on the till at the back, nobody stacking shelves to see Robert Ludlow take my brother's hand and lead him to his death.

[Long pause. Sukie sniffs]

He tortured him. That man tortured Kieran, for the fun of it, to play God, and when his little body couldn't take any more, when his heart failed him and he died, Ludlow walked to a farm down the road and asked to borrow an axe. He claimed to be chopping firewood, in August.

He wasn't. He was stopped by police later that day, purely by chance – they happened to be driving behind him, and they noticed that his number plate was too dirty to read. They might never have opened the boot if he hadn't acted shifty, but they did, and they found Kieran.

My parents had to identify his remains, broken almost beyond recognition within twenty-four hours of disappearing.

I don't have to have known my brother to grieve him.

But I feel like I don't have the right. How can I be sad over someone I didn't know, never met, never had the chance to love? When my mum gets sad, when she talks about him and she starts to cry, mourning the boy who never got to grow up, I feel guilty for my sorrow. Like it's not mine to have. Like I'm just piggybacking off her own emotions.

Is there a guide? I wish there was. I wish there were rules I could follow. I wish someone would tell me whether I'm allowed access to my inherited grief.

So. Today. Well, earlier today. I'm in bed now. Today was rough. It always is. Mum and I go to the cemetery and she stands in front of Kieran's grave, her head bowed, and she prays for him. We're not particularly religious, but Mum is spiritual. She prays that he's safe, that wherever he is now, he's happy. She believes in the afterlife, that there is more for us after death than mud and silence and nothingness.

I don't know what I believe. I don't know what's worse. The thought of there being nothing, or the thought of life continuing on after it's supposed to have ended.

[Long pause. There is the sound of Sukie shuffling in her bed]

On days like this, I feel bad for this podcast. It doesn't feel right. My own mother is grieving for her child, the boy she lost in a senseless attack, and here I am, sensationalising that devastation. Turning it into a cog in the machine that is the mystery of this town and its past.

I can't always see it because I didn't live through it, but for those who were here at the time, the 1994 attack is still so fresh, even more than two decades later. I worry sometimes that this podcast is tacky and offensive. I did talk it through with Mum before I ever started recording with Oli, and she said it was fine. She encouraged me – she knows how much I love to dig and research. But I still feel bad.

Am I exploiting sadness? Feeding off other people's losses? Sometimes it feels that way.

[There is the sound of a creaking door]

SARA:

Sukie, honey. What're you still doing up?

SUKIE:

I'm recording. I think I should stop the podcast.

SARA:

Why?

[Sukie sniffs]

SUKIE:

It's disrespectful, isn't it? To everyone who's died, everyone who's left. I'm here trying to find some bigger meaning, some deeper connection, but maybe there isn't one, and I'm just digging into people's lives when it's too late for them to have a say. I should stop. Oh, god, I'm a terrible person.

SARA:

Oh, baby. Oh, Sukie. You're not a terrible person, not one bit. I'm in awe of you. I made you, and I still can't believe it.

[Sara laughs quietly]

You know that if I thought you should stop, I would tell you. I would never keep that from you. I'm so proud of you and your podcast, how dedicated you are. You astound me, my little Sukie-chan. You could put your mind to anything.

[Sukie sniffles]

SUKIE:

No, I really couldn't.

[There's a pause. Sara sighs]

SARA:

I think you're doing a wonderful job, baby. You're doing a good thing. You're keeping all of these people alive in the town's collective memory – you're bringing these stories to light, even more than Mary did. I'm proud of you, and I know Kieran would be too. He'd be so proud of his little sister.

[Sukie cries. Her mother comforts her]

SUKIE:

I wish I got to know him.

SARA:

Me too, Sukie. Me too.

Every single day, I wish he was here. Every. Single. Day. He's always here, in my heart. And my memories. He was like you. So bright, so determined, so curious.

Oh, gosh, are you still recording?

SUKIE:

Mmhmm.

SARA:

Sorry, hun. I've ruined your episode. I'll head o—

SUKIE:

No, Mum. Stay. You haven't ruined it. You made it better.

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