Burial (24 page)

The strength drained from Nathan's legs.

Bob was saying: 'For years, I thought I'd cocked it up. I used to scan the papers, to see if something had been reported by the road Way. Phantom hitch-hiker. Anything like that. I used to drive down the lane - twice a week, in the early days. But there was nothing.'

I don't think I understand what you're saying.'

"I thought she'd haunt the woods.'

'Who?'

'But it was us. She stayed with us.'

'Bob, what did you do ?'

They stayed like that for a while. Until Bob said: 'I was trying to make a ghost.'

Nathan dropped his glass.

It rolled on the carpet. Its base described an arc. Nathan and Bob fixed their eyes on it and watched until it had stopped.

34

Nathan wanted to laugh.

Then he wanted to cry.

He ran his hands through his hair. His hair stuck up.

He said: 'You know you're mad. You do know that? There's something wrong with you. In here . . .' He tapped his head. 'You're all wrong. Jesus. You're fucked in the head.'

For a passing moment, Nathan felt eight years old and helpless. He said: 'What have you done to me?'

He went to the kitchenette and slid open the cutlery drawer. He itemized the contents: forks, spoons. Knives.

Bob turned slow eyes upon him.

Nathan closed the cutlery drawer and poured off a dirty glass of clean water. While draining it, he turned briefly to follow Bob's eye line. In the far corner, near the rotting velveteen drapes, stood a heavy-duty combination safe. It was green, and flecked with dull metallic chips.

Nathan tugged at his lower lip and muttered, 'Sweet Jesus Christ.'

and he stood there, blinking rapidly. He did not want to cry.

He looked up at the ceiling. He could hear furtive movement up there: scratching. The neighbours, perhaps, or rats.

'You said she had a fit.'

Bob shrugged, red-eyed.

'Sorry.'

'How did you . . .?'

Bob held up his hands. Flexed them.

Nathan was still looking at the ceiling. The machinery in his head was running out of control.

The weak overhead bulb flickered three times. The darkness stuttered around them.

Nathan said: 'I didn't know.'

He wasn't talking to Bob; but Bob was watching.

Bob said, 'She's haunting us.'

'No she's not.'

'She should be at the roadside, close to where she's buried. That's what road ghosts do. But I woke up, and there she was. In my room.

Next to my bed. Just standing there and hating me. She's here now.

Can you feel her?'

'No.'

'Liar.'

'You're delusional. It's not real.'

'You've seen her.'

'No.'

'Yes.'

'No. It's not real.'

Bob said, 'Second drawer down. Near the bottom.'

Nathan took a moment to work out what Bob was saying. Then he opened the middle kitchen drawer and rooted around. Beneath carrier bags, broken corkscrews, dead biros and stray 9-volt batteries, he found a note that had been printed and laminated on A4 paper: These are the remains ofElise Fox, who died an unnatural death. We commend her into your care and wish her peace.

Bob let him scan it two or three times, then said, 'I did it in an Internet cafe. You might want to think about washing your fingerprints off it, though. Use Fairy Liquid and a sponge.'

'And what do you want to do with it?'

'We drive her to a church.'

'We can't just dump her.'

'That's my point. We're not. A church is hallowed ground. If we're careful, nobody ever knows. Not Holly. Not anybody. And soon after that, it's done and dusted. Elise is gone. Out of your life.

Me, too.'

It's not real, Bob. It's not real.'

Tonight.'

Not tonight.'

Yes tonight. I'm ready.'

We've been drinking.'

Exactly.'

So let's not do something careless.'

I have to make her leave. I have to do that.'

It's not real.'

She's here.'

Nothing's here. She's dead.'

Both of us did this. Both of us put it right. That's the way it works. Both of us put it right -- or it just goes on and on.'

Ś He scrubbed at his face with dry hands.

Then he said: 'Having her with you. Every minute of every day.

It's horrible.'

Nathan began to shiver. He wasn't cold.

He said, 'Tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow.'

Nathan walked to the door. He could feel the foul bedsit behind him; its filth and its corruption. He opened the door and hesitated there -- looking up at the long, dark stairwell.

Then he reached out and hit the timer switch and raced the light all the way upstairs and out, into the cold unsoiled night.

35

Nathan was on his knees before the lavatory, shaking like a sick dog.

Holly walked in. She was topless in silky pyjama trousers. On them was a design: swallows and brambles and delicate spring flowers.

Her hair was a mess. It was 6 a.m.

She sat on the edge of the bath, gripping the sides. Waiting for Nathan to pull the flush, then turn and sit on the tiled floor, his back to the cold porcelain lavatory.

He said,'Did I wake you?'

'Is it the drinking?'

, 'No.'

'Are you ill ?'

'No.'

She softened. 'Then what is it?'

'I don't know. Stress.'

She reached out a bare foot and gave him a friendly nudge. He took the foot in his hand. He would have kissed its soft and tender Pole, had his mouth not been so rancid.

She said, 'Don't, my nails need doing.'

'Your nails are fine.'

She crossed her legs, still sitting on the edge of the bath, and lifted one foot so it was inches from her face. Quickly and efficiently, she inspected her nail varnish, toe by toe, then let go of her foot.

She said, 'You're a mess, aren't you? And nobody knows. Nobody knows what kind of mess you are, not even me.'

'That's not true.'

'Look at you.'

'I'm fine.'

'Right.'

'Really.'

'Are you going to tell me?'

'Tell you what?'

'What it is.'

'Yes.'

'Today? Now?'

I can't.

'I'm your wife.'

'I know.'

'I'm your friend.'

'I know.'

'You don't think you sleep. But you do. You make noises.'

'I'm sorry. I don't mean to.'

'Don't be sorry. What is it? What are you dreaming about?'

'I'll tell you.'

'When?'

'When I've sorted it.'

'When will that be?'

'Soon. Today.'

She considered it. 'Or we could take a day off,' she said. 'Catch a film. Go to London. Go to the zoo, maybe. Take a day trip. Go to the beach.'

He began to cry, because she was scared.

He sobbed into his knees. He said, 'I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry.'

She climbed down from the edge of the bath and hugged him. Her breasts squashed against him. Her sleep-breath was sweet to him, the musk of her that was like no one else. His tears made wet the soft skin of her shoulder, the fine strong clavicle.

She rocked him, saying, 'Don't be sorry. Don't be sorry. Don't be sorry.'

Nathan took the morning off. He and Bob met in the village of Woolhope Ashbury. They walked through the little high street. The people around them were elderly, slow, retired.

At the edge of the village stood a Norman church: grey stone, simple geometries. Nathan and Bob wandered the graveyard. The stones leaned at crazy angles, green with lichen and rubbed smooth.

' All the names had gone from them. They wandered around like amateur local historians.

"' Nathan muttered, 'Do we even know she was Christian?' 'Doesn't matter.'

'It seems to matter to you.'

'Not at all. Look at that.' He was pointing to a yew tree that stood in one corner of the churchyard. It was an old and hideous thing. Four people, linking arms could not have encompassed its girth.

That tree's a thousand years old. And there would've been another tree, a thousand years old, on the same ground, before it. This church was built on ground sacred to the Druids. It's not the church which is sacred. It's the earth itself. You can feel it. It's like electricity.'

Nathan didn't feel anything, except thirsty.

Bob said, 'It's the ground that sanctifies the building. Not the other way round.'

'Fine. So we come here. In your car, not mine.'

'Why mine?'

'Company car. I can't get rid of it.'

'Fair enough. We'll bring mine.'

'So we leave Elise. Leave the note--'

Bob pointed to the nailed and banded double doors, restored in the nineteenth century and now polished with time.

'Right there.'

'And then it's done?'

'I hope so.'

On the way to work, Nathan called Jacki Hadley.

'Nathan? What is it? Is it Holly?'

'No. No, it's not Holly.'

'Is she okay?'

'She's fine. She doesn't even know I'm calling.'

'Okay.'

'Can we talk?'

He met her in a coppers' pub not far from the station. A few thickset men sat at the bar. A fruit machine flashed in the far corner. Nathan got the drinks - two Cokes with ice and a limp slice of lemon.

'So,' Jacki said. 'What's going on?'

'What's going on. I told you a l
ie.
'

'What sort of lie?'

'When you questioned me.'

'About what?'

'Elise.'

Before his eyes, she became a police officer.

She waited.

Eventually, Nathan said, 'Bob Morrow and I - Bob Morrow's the man I was with--'

'That night. I remember.'

'Well. The statement I made. It wasn't completely true.'

'In what way?'

'Well. . .'

'Go on. It's all right.'

'Well, I said I'd stormed out of the party--'

'Because you'd seen your girlfriend dirty dancing with Mark Derbyshire and got jealous. Your girlfriend being Sarah Reed.'

'Sara. You remember this stuff?'

'I remember this stuff.'

'Anyway. So that's true enough: I saw Sara flirting with Mark, and I stormed off. I mean, I hated the bloke. Really hated him.'

'And...?'

- 'I told the police that Bob was driving home when he saw me by the side of the road. I was trying to walk into Sutton Down to find a taxicab.'

He made a scoffing noise at that, because in truth Sutton Down was the last place in the world to find such a thing.

Jacki said, 'So Bob pulls over, picks you up. You have a chat, love and life. He drives you back to the party. You have an argument with Sara--'

'Sara.'

'You try to hit Mark Derbyshire. You fall on your arse. Bob picks you up and drives you all the way home. So that's not true?'

'Well, it's kind of true.'

'How true?'

'It's essentially true. Bob did see me by the side of the road. He did pull over. We did a few lines, had a chat.'

'Love and life.'

'Love and life.'

'But...?'

'But when he saw me, he wasn't headed away from the party. He was heading back towards it.'

She took this in.

'Where did he say he'd been?'

'Into town. To score.'

'To buy drugs?'

'Cocaine.'

'And had he?'

'He had loads of it. Five, six grammes. The most coke I'd ever seen. And now he was headed back to the party. He was pretty wired.

Like, gibbering. Off his trolley.'

'And why didn't you mention this before?'

'He asked me not to. Kind of begged me.'

At the far end of the bar, the group of coppers suddenly laughed at something. Jacki glanced their way -- as if she'd heard what they were saying and didn't like it. Then she turned back to face Nathan.

'And from the infinite kindness of your heart, you said okay.'

'Look, when Elise - when this thing happened, Bob called me.'

'When is this?'

'On the Sunday, the Monday maybe.'

'Go on.'

'We talked about being interviewed - we thought everyone at the party would be. So we knew the drug thing would maybe come out.

But Bob's got a conviction, apparently. Intent to supply. Selling a bit of weed when he was a kid, funding his degree.'

'So you agreed to say the cocaine was yours.'

'I didn't want to see the poor bastard go down. And - well, Mark Derbyshire was all over the newspapers. I thought you had your man.

We all thought you had your man. It didn't occur to me. Not in a million years.'

'And why are you telling me this now?'

'It's probably nothing.'

'If you thought that, you wouldn't be here.'

'Okay.'

He tried not to blurt it out - he wanted Jacki to think him reluctant.

He said, 'After that night, I didn't really see Bob Morrow again.

I didn't want to, to be honest. He kind of gave me the creeps.'

'In what way?'

'I don't know. I couldn't put my finger on it. He was just -- not right, y'know. Just not right. And anyway, after the party - after Elise and the rest of it - I lost my job.'

'Because of the Mark Derbyshire thing.'

'Yeah. Plus, Sara and I split up. I had nowhere to live. I just [Wanted to forget about the whole thing. The entire night was a disaster.

You know what I'm saying?'

She said she knew.

So then, a few weeks back, Bob Morrow turns up at my door. I don't even know how he got my address.'

'What did he want?'

'Well, this is it. He said he didn't want anything. He said it would be nice to catch up, go for a drink.'

'And you hardly know him?'

'I don't know him at all. We were just at this party together. But now he says he's split up with some girlfriend, he's a free man. You know how it is. So I'm thinking, fuck, what do I do? I want rid of him. If anything, he's worse now than he was then. He smells a bit.

I'm not sure if he's working. He says he's a research assistant at the university, but he never seems to be there.'

'So?'

'So, anyway. We go for a drink. And after a couple of pints -- where have we been, what've we been doing -- he starts to ask about the worst thing I'd ever done.'