Burial

'Please.'

He took a dining chair, the first person to sit in it since Sara, in just a T-shirt, reading the Guardian Review.

Hadley stayed by the window, hands clasped at the small of her back, watching the intermittent buses go past.

Nathan sat on the sofa and crossed his legs, offering Holloway a cigarette. Holloway said, 'Not since New Year's Eve, 1989,' and took a biro from his jacket. 'So, Mr Redmond.'

'Nathan.'

'So, Nathan. I expect you'll have gathered why we're here.'

'Pretty much. Mark's party.'

Holloway pointed the biro at him, as if to say Well done!, then said, 'What time did you arrive at the party?'

'I don't know. Nine, maybe. A bit later.'

'And what time did you leave?'

'That, I can't tell you.'

Holloway scrutinized him.

'Drinking,' said Nathan. 'Quite heavily. Quaffing.'

There was a patch of sweat between Nathan's shoulder blades.

Holloway said, 'And while you were there - quaffing - did you see, or speak to Elise Fox?'

'Not that I know of

'Not that you know of

'I mean - there were like a million people there. So all night you're hello this and excuse me that. So I suppose I might have, whatever.

Said hello or something.'

'There's no need to be so nervous. I'm not hungry.'

Nathan boggled at him.

Holloway said, 'I'm not going to eat you.'

'Oh. Ha ha. Yes.'

Holloway grinned, and from his pocket he took a packet of Chewits. He unwrapped four of them, placing the wrappers neatly back in his pocket. Then he popped the sweets into his mouth, four at once, and, chewing, said, 'Did you, to your knowledge - accepting the fact of your heavy drinking - did you see Elise Fox?'

'Not to my knowledge, no.'

'So, I understand you left the party - and then came back.'

'That's right.'

'You left at what time?'

'I'm not sure. Pretty late.'

'After midnight?'

'Before, I'd say. Just before. Quarter to? But I can't be sure. I was--'

'Drinking heavily, I know. So what happened?'

'How do you mean?'

'You left the party, why?'

'Oh. I had an argument.'

'With . . . ?'

'My girlfriend. You know how it is.'

Holloway's cool look implied that no, he didn't know how it was.

And Nathan began to wonder if his apparent ennui might not be some kind of affectation.

'You argued about what?'

'Well, it wasn't an argument. Not at first.'

'Then what was it?'

'I saw her. Dancing with Mark.'

'Mark Derbyshire?'

'The one and only. Yes.'

'And . . .'

'And I got pissed off

'Because she was dancing with him?'

'Because of the way she was dancing.'

'How was she dancing?'

'I don't know. He was, like - he was practically goosing her.'

'And you didn't like that.'

'No, I didn't like that.'

'And you - what, stormed out?'

'I did. I stormed out.'

'With what intention?'

'I don't know, really. I just sort of went for a walk.'

'A walk to where? There isn't really anywhere to go.'

'That's what she said.'

'Who?'

'Sara. My girlfriend.' He ground out the cigarette. 'Ex-girlfriend.'

'Right. That'll be Sara Reed, of this address.'

'That's right.'

'And where is Sara now?'

'She's staying at her friend's. Michelle's. I'd need to look up the address.'

'No need. And how did you get back to the party?'

'A bloke called Bob came driving past.'

'Driving past.'

'He'd left the party. He was on his way home. But he stopped to pick me up.'

'Right. I assume we're talking about Robert Morrow here?'

'Probably. I mean, yes. I didn't know his surname.'

'He picked you up and took you back to the party.'

'That's right, yes.'

'And how long have you known Mr Morrow?'

'I don't really know him. Not really. We met once, a few years back. I hadn't seen him since. Tell the truth, he's a bit odd. He's into ghosts and what have you. Spends his time in haunted houses.'

'I know.'

'Oh. Right. I see.'

'It takes all sorts.'

'Apparently.'

'So. You and Mr Morrow were gone for some time.'

'Probably.'

'What were you doing? Ghost-hunting?'

'Ha. No. I'd stormed off. I was pissed off. Drunk. I had this idea, that I'd walk into the nearest town, village, whatever. Call a minicab.'

'Minicabs are thin on the ground, in that neck of the woods.'

'Well I know that now. The minute I started to sober up, I felt pretty stupid. It was really cold.'

'So Robert Morrow drives past. . .'

'Yeah. He sees me--'

'Limping along, thinks you're a spook . . .'

'Ha, yes. He stops. I get in. We have a chat.'

'About?'

'Love. Life. I tell him about the thing with Sara, her dancing with Mark. Bob convinces me to go back to the party. Talk to her.'

Holloway stared at him, chewing the sweets.

He said, 'Look, Nathan. There's probably not a great deal for you to be worrying about here. All I'm trying to do is establish a timeline.

A big party like that, it's complicated. Life's not like Inspector Morse, right? People are drunk, people take drugs, people have sex with people they shouldn't be having sex with. People get confused about what happened when. People get embarrassed about the way they behaved, they don't want to talk. They lie, pretend to have blacked out. So accounts differ - what happened when, to who, at what time.

It's the nature of these things. I don't care what you were doing in that car with Robert Morrow. I don't care if you two were taking drugs, making love--'

'Drugs,' said Nathan, quickly. 'Cocaine. We had a few toots of cocaine.'

'Good for you. I just need to know exactly when you were doing it--'

'For the timeline.'

'Spot on. So, you and Bob are in the car. Chatting. Love and life.

You neck a bit of Bolivian.'

'Quite a lot, actually.'

'You neck quite a lot of Bolivian. Bob says, don't do this, don't walk out on the girl of your dreams. Or words to that effect, and--'

'And we go back to the party.'

'This is what time?'

'This is, I'm not sure. I was, y'know. My state of mind. But there were some people around when I tried to hit Mark, so--'

'Yes, there were.'

'Oh. Okay. So what time was it?'

'Shortly after 2 a.m.'

'Right. Ouch. A lot of people saw it, then.'

'Quite a few. Something like that - drunken bloke punches the host, misses, nearly falls into the swimming pool - it makes for a bit of a highlight. People remember it. So we use it, a kind of tent pole.

To help establish the timeline.'

'I see. It wasn't a very good punch.'

'From what I hear, it was all a bit Charlie Chaplin.'

'Ah.'

'So, that's it? You left, round midnight. Bob picks you up. You get yourselves a bit fired up. Have a deep and meaningful chat. You go back to the party. Try to land one on your boss--'

'I embarrass myself horribly. Bob drives me home. I wake up, and I want to die. Merry Christmas.'

Holloway sat there for a few long moments, scrutinizing Nathan with mint-blue eyes. Then he sighed, glancing over at Hadley. She was still looking out the window, as if waiting for another bus to pass.

Holloway said, 'We may be in touch.'

'Okay. Do you think she's all right? The girl.'

'I don't know. I hope so.'

'But you think she'll turn up?'

'They usually do.'

'Good,' said Nathan. 'Good. This is awful. This is awful for every one.

Holloway gave him a courteous nod. Hadley gave him a mute glance. And they were gone, Nathan closing the door on them.