No Longer Safe (13 page)

‘What’s that on his wrist?’ I asked. A line of black ran
around the spot where his hand joined his arm.

‘It’s just an elastic band, I think,’ she said. ‘People use
them to help give up bad habits.’

I’d heard of the idea. You ping the elastic when you’re
tempted to eat chocolate or have a cigarette. Charlie wouldn’t need to worry
about that anymore.

Karen wiped her nose with her glove. ‘Perhaps he was trying
to give up breaking and entering.’

I hoped she didn’t expect me to laugh.

The snow meant we made slow progress back to the byre. His
weight was slumped to the left and his feet bobbed up and down over the edge,
as we went. Once we reached the track, I kept looking up thinking I heard the
sound of a car engine – Stuart in his Land Rover or Jodie and Mark coming back
in a taxi.

Karen sent me to get his rucksack, which we’d left leaning
against the wall next to the sloping grit bin, under the kitchen window. It was
now transformed into a snowman.

Karen had manoeuvred the wheelbarrow under the hole in the
roof when I reached her. A white cascade had tumbled through the broken tiles,
spilling out over the surrounding concrete.

‘We’ll leave him here – just until we work out what to do
with him.’ she said. ‘We can bury him under all this snow.’

I sniffed and picked up a shovel.

‘Wait – we’ll need thicker sheets to cover him properly
first,’ she added.

I found a green pond liner and laid it over the tarpaulin so
nothing – his clothes, his skin – was visible. I used a spade while Karen tipped
the snow over him. In the end, he looked like a heap of bricks or compost
covered in snow that had come in through the hole in the roof.

We returned the wheelbarrow to the corner, hung up the tools
and turned to go. Had I not been so petrified by the whole process, I would
have been impressed. We made a good team.

‘Can we lock it?’ I asked.

‘Yes – there’s a padlock for the main and side doors. The
keys are on my key ring for the cottage.’

As soon as we got back to the cottage the backlash of
emotional upset and exhaustion took its toll. I sat holding my head in my hands
at the kitchen table, feeling as if every ounce of energy had been sucked out
of me. All I could say was we were extremely lucky no one saw us.

Mel was wanting attention by now, so Karen went to her.
Moments later, a waft of lemon air-freshener pervaded the whole house. Karen
really had thought of everything.

I set the fire going for something to do and waited for
Karen to come down with the baby.

‘She’s fed and changed.’ Karen put her down on the mat in
front of the fireguard and tipped a few toys out for her to play with.

‘You know it’s too late to report it now, don’t you?’ she
said seriously. ‘There’s going to be DNA from both of us all over everything.’

I nodded.

‘We’re in this together – you and me,’ she said
conspiratorially. ‘We’ve got to look out for each other and make sure our
stories match up.’ She ran through what we needed to be clear on:
no, we hadn’t seen anyone hanging around; yes, we
were out this morning enjoying the snow and we’d been using the air-freshener
because Mel had been sick.

‘Got it?’

It was just as well she knew I was good at following
instructions. ‘Yes. Fine,’ I said, gnawing at my broken nails. The reality of
what we’d done was beginning to sink in. We’d interfered with a crime scene
right at the start. In fact, we’d gone past the point of no return some time
ago, but moving him –
hiding
him – truly
sealed our position. We’d committed a crime.

But that wasn’t the worst of it for me. I had to live with
the knowledge that it could have been me who’d killed him.

I needed to get out of the cottage after what had
happened. I needed to walk away – even though I knew I would have to come back
to it again.

First, however, I had to make sure my room looked normal. I
pulled on rubber gloves, dropped the rag rug Charlie had been lying on into the
bath and ran cold water over it. The stain dissolved into red-brown liquid and
I frantically helped it on its way towards the plughole, swooshing the water
with my hands, squeezing dollops of disinfectant onto the flow. I scrubbed the
rug like my life depended on it, rinsed and scrubbed again. I squeezed out as
much water as I could and hung the rug in the lean-to, because I couldn’t bear
to have it near me.

We agreed to tell the others that I’d spilt coffee on it.

I set out after that, desperate to get away from our crime
and all signs of it. Nothing Karen could say now could pacify me; I had to
wrestle with my own conscience on this one. I knew what we were doing was
terribly wrong, but I couldn’t see any other way.

I’d taken a well-worn leaflet that had a map of a short
circular walk from the pile on the dresser. It was the only one I could find
that was less than three miles and included the words ‘well sign-posted’ in the
description. Otherwise, I risked getting lost again.

I made sure I had my phone, as well as the camera, and
stomped my way through the snow, following the route which led to a farm, on to
a small tarn, then off across open fields. Towards the end, just when the
landscape was starting to get familiar, I turned a corner and there was the
loch.

I had to shake my head at the wonder of it. So still and
expansive. It was how I wanted my internal world to be, but that was way out of
my reach for the time being.

From the moment I set out, I’d been running a never-ending
series of mind-videos through my head about what might have happened to
Charlie. How had he died? Had I really hit him with something? Would we ever
know?

Then my questions turned to darker fears: Would Karen and I
get away with it? Would one of us slip up and give ourselves away? What was the
next step in our plan? We couldn’t leave Charlie in the byre.

And Karen? She’d stepped in demonstrating an allegiance
towards me that went far beyond friendship. She was risking serious trouble to
protect me. I didn’t know how I could possibly repay her.

‘You look cold,’ came a voice to my right. I jumped and the woman
put her hand on my arm and apologised. ‘I thought you’d seen me,’ she said.

‘Sorry – I was miles away.’

‘Well – that’s a good thing, eh?’ She turned to share my
view. ‘Gorgeous, isn’t it?’

I smiled at her misunderstanding.

‘You live around here?’ she asked. Her chin was buried
inside a thick scarf that wrapped around her neck several times. She had kind
eyes; the sort that seemed to listen to you, as well as look.

‘No – I’m in one of the holiday cottages, just over there,’
I pointed to a bank of trees to the east.

‘Ah – we’re on holiday too, my husband and I – over the
other side of the loch.’

We found ourselves walking down towards the water’s edge
together. ‘It’s like another world here,’ she said. ‘I live in the centre of
Dunfermline – and I’d forgotten what it’s like to slow down.’

She brushed a tuft of snow away from my shoulder that had
fallen from a branch above. It was the sort of thing Karen would have done.

‘Fancy a walk around to the other side?’ she said. ‘It’s a
fair distance, but I can make you a hot chocolate and there’s lemon meringue
pie, too.’

The chance for a bracing walk without getting lost ticked
all the right boxes. ‘Sounds good,’ I said, my forced tone sounding rather
flat.

She must have picked up that I wasn’t in the best of spirits.
‘Malcolm can take you back later, if you like – he’s out painting just now.’

‘Isn’t it too cold to stand still?’

She chuckled. ‘He’s a hardy soul. He takes a flask of coffee
with him and every half an hour or so he retreats to the car and listens to the
radio.’

I laughed. ‘Nice.’

‘Come on,’ she said, pointing towards a stile at the corner
of the field. ‘I’m Nina.’ I gave her my name and gloved hand in return.

I couldn’t believe I was acting as if the horrors of that
morning had never taken place. It was as if I’d shifted into autopilot, being
polite and interested, when the grave sin I’d just committed should have
brought me to my knees.

My energy was flagging by the time we arrived at Nina’s
cottage. It was grander than ours. The walls and fences were intact; the garden
tended to. This was what our cottage might have looked like, if it had been
higher up the list of Mrs Ellington’s renovations.

Once indoors, I could sense the radiating warmth of that
blissful combination of central heating and double-glazing. I removed my boots
and she showed me through to a conservatory in the sun at the back, overlooking
a long sloping lawn.

‘Ours belongs to Mrs Ellington,’ I said.

The conservatory was bigger than our sitting room and
decorated in dusky blue with Wedgwood dishes on the walls, a cross-stitched
sampler beside a chunky Welsh dresser.

‘Yes, she owns this one too. She runs about six of them, I
think.’ Now that she’d peeled off her outdoor clothes I could see Nina was in
her forties, with grey roots already creeping though her dark brown hair. She
looked slim and fit, with the poise and apparent unflappability I always
associated with someone who practised yoga on a regular basis.

‘Ours is a lot more basic,’ I said. ‘We don’t even have a
landline.’

‘Oh – they all have telephones – I’m sure of it. There’s
free wifi here, too. Not that we’re using it much. Malcolm insisted on bringing
the laptop, but I keep telling him off every time he opens it. I’ll get the
drinks.’

She padded off in her sheepskin slippers as I stood in the
bay of the window looking out towards the horizon. A movement caught my eye and
a tall stag came into my line of sight in the distance. It stopped and stood
alert and elegant, as if it was staring straight at me. We were locked in a moment
together, neither moving a muscle.

It both unnerved and thrilled me. The deer stood there, like
it was accusing me, like it knew what I’d done. I shuddered and turned to grab
my camera, but by the time I’d pulled it from the case, the deer had gone.

Nina came back with the hot chocolate and pie she’d
promised. I was surprised to find myself hungry. Perhaps it was because I’d
been swept up into this serene world, a million miles from the one I’d walked
away from.

The chocolate had a thick froth on the top. It was creamy –
warming and calming me as it went down. I really needed this. It was such a
relief to be with someone who didn’t know about what had happened. Someone
welcoming and open, who made me feel at home.

Then I thought about Stuart. I really liked him. I wanted
nothing more than the chance to take things further with him.

I’d only eaten one mouthful of lemon meringue pie when Nina
noticed my camera on the stool.

‘That looks a good one,’ she said.

‘It’s my hobby,’ I said, picking it up and showing it to
her. ‘I do landscapes mostly.’

‘Fancy that? I’ve just started a beginners’ evening class in
photography.’

‘My uncle was a keen photographer – just amateur.’ She was
wide-eyed so I carried on. ‘He was highly commended in the
Wildlife Photographer of the Year
competition
a couple of years ago.’

‘I went down to London to see that, last year – at the
Natural History Museum. It was amazing. Your uncle must have been extremely
good. Which category?’

‘Botanical – like me, he loved trees with unusual
backlighting – and close-ups of insects, too.’ I grimaced, ‘I’m not much into
those, personally.’

I asked about the type of camera she used and she went to
fetch it – a Nikon P600, probably worth about four hundred pounds. ‘Malcolm
says I should wait and see if I’ve got any talent before we splash out on a
better one.’

I held mine out for her. It cost about twice as much, before
you started adding on the extras, like lenses and tripods. The same uncle had
left me money in his will, unexpectedly – it was my only indulgence. Even my
parents approved. ‘Do you want to have a go?’

We spent the next twenty minutes sizing up potential shots
from the conservatory and then went outside. We tried to fix my camera to her
tripod, but my Fujifilm was too big, so we continued with handheld frames.

‘Now, wait,’ I told her, ‘until that cloud starts to shift
so the sun doesn’t flood the whole scene. I’ll tell you when.’ She curled her
tongue as she concentrated. ‘Now…’ She pressed the shutter release and there
was a satisfying click.

‘Wow,’ she said, it’s so slick to use.

‘With any camera, it’s the quality of light that makes all
the difference,’ I explained. ‘It’s best to shoot early in the morning or late
afternoon when the sun is lower, with less contrast. You’ll get more subtle
moody shades.’

I explained a few other basic ideas she hadn’t yet covered
on her course.

‘Thanks for the tips,’ she said.

It was satisfying to feel I could make a difference. I
thought again about the idea of teaching and it felt a good fit.

We scuttled back inside to get warm and sat by the fire in
the sitting room to finish our pies.

‘Fancy a tipple?’ she said, leaning over and whispering as
if we weren’t alone. ‘I know it’s early, but Malcolm found this amazing single
malt over at the Lors Valley.’ She nudged my arm. ‘Go on!’

‘I’d love one,’ I said, not being a whisky person at all,
but thinking it might do me good.

As she poured, I pictured the decanter Dad kept in a small
cabinet in our dining room at home. It was the only alcohol he allowed himself
and one bottle lasted him the whole year. I remembered trying it once when I
was about fifteen. It burned my throat and made me cough and mum came rushing
in, catching me red-handed. She slapped me hard and made me save my meagre
pocket money for months to buy Dad a new bottle, even though I’d only taken a
spoonful. I’d never touched whisky since.

As Nina handed over the glass, the fumes reached me and I
wished I’d asked for coffee instead.

She asked what I did for a living and whether I had
children. I told her about my decision to try teaching and, like Stuart, she
sounded sincerely interested. ‘You should speak to my sister; she’s just
started teaching five-year-olds at a school in Peckham. She’s in Malta, just
now, on a dig for amateur archaeologists.’

‘I’d love to do something like that,’ I said, tipping the
drink to my mouth, but keeping my lips nipped shut. ‘Take time out to discover
relics and bones from the past.’ I dry swallowed, suddenly remembering the
little tomb Karen and I had made only that morning. An intense wave of
giddiness passed through my head.

‘What about you?’ I asked, trying to blink the spinning
sensation away.

‘I teach at Edinburgh University. English Department.’

‘Oh – do you know Stuart Wishart? I’ve just met him. He’s in
one of the other cottages. He lectures in Classics and Archaeology.’

Uncertainty hovered in her eyebrows as she ran the name
through her internal directory. ‘It doesn’t ring a bell, but the University is
a big place.’

‘Yes, of course.’

She looked engrossed in the changing shapes in the fire as
the flames sizzled, then she inhaled sharply. ‘Did you hear about the little
boy who was abducted on Monday afternoon? It wasn’t far from us at all.
Look...’ She got up and led me through to the kitchen. The sunlight caught the
backs of copper pans and pots, lined up in rows of ascending size as we walked
past, making me think of a Gamelan orchestra.

She pointed out of the back window towards a group of buildings
in the distance to the right.

‘Cleve Cottage,’ she said. ‘The Minters are sheep farmers,
apparently. Brody Holland was whisked away while Mrs Minter’s back was turned
for half a minute. He lives in the next cottage along – you can’t see it from here.’

‘The police came to question us,’ I said.

‘It’s dreadful, isn’t it? We come away to a remote, tranquil
part of the world to escape from city life and something like this happens on
our doorstep.’ She blew her nose on a handkerchief. ‘That’s crime for you –
wherever there are people, it’s just around the corner.’

We wandered back to the fire. ‘I’ve been tuning in to the
local news, but I haven’t heard anything.’

She wrung her hands together. ‘No – they haven’t found him.
Not yet. We joined the search on Tuesday and again yesterday – but the snow is
so thick.’

Why hadn’t I thought of that? I should have been out there,
like any other decent human being, helping the police find him. Then I
remembered why. We’d been preoccupied with the dead body that had appeared
overnight at the end of my bed.

The daylight was fading fast when Malcolm returned. After
brief introductions, I said I needed to head back. Malcolm offered to take me
over to the cottage and I accepted gladly.

‘Nice to meet you,’ said Nina, squeezing my hand. ‘Give me a
call if you’re at a loose end.’ She handed me a slip of paper with her mobile
and cottage phone numbers.

I thanked her and followed Malcolm round to his jeep. He was
probably about the same age as Stuart, but by no means as attractive. He had a
block-like head that melted into his shoulders without the apparent need for a
neck. His thinning mousy-to-grey hair had already given way to a glistening
bald spot on his crown. But, he was cheerful and kind to me, which was what
mattered.

It wasn’t far and Malcolm chatted all the way. On the main
road we passed a police car. My heart-rate doubled. Had they been back to the
cottage? They’d already checked over the byre searching for the missing boy –
they wouldn’t want to check again, would they?