Burial

'Are you seeing anyone?'

'What, like a counsellor?'

'Yeah.'

She laughed and slapped his wrist.

'What, do you think I'm mad?'

'Not a psychiatrist. Counsellors, they -- I don't know. They help you explore your emotions, or whatever.'

'I'm joking. Of course I saw a counsellor. But it wasn't for me.'

He topped up their glasses.

'And what about Ian?'

Ian was Holly's ex-boyfriend.

'What about him?'

'Do you ever see him?'

'Would it matter?'

'Of course not. I just--'

'No,' she said. 'I don't see him.'

The candle guttered in its bottle and she went on: 'I don't know. In some ways, I think breaking up with Ian was probably a lucky escape.'

'What was he like?'

'Well, nothing like you.'

'I'm not sure how to take that.'

'As a compliment, probably.'

He took a sip of wine.

She said, 'Look, he was supposed to love me enough to spend the rest of his life with me, sickness and health and all that blah. But when it came down to it, he didn't even bother to be my friend -- do you know what I mean? It was too much work, just to be my friend.

As soon as something bad happened, he couldn't handle it. It was too difficult for him. Poor puppy.'

Nathan lit a cigarette.

'You,' said Holly. 'You don't even know me. But you've been a better friend to me than Ian ever was. Than anybody was, actually.'

She drained her glass and they sat there, with one empty bottle and two empty glasses between them.

She said, 'I don't even know what you get out of this.'

'Out of this what?'

'You know what I mean. Spending time with me.'

'That's what I get.'

She put her head to one side.

'Why are you doing this?'

He wished there was wine in his glass. He cupped its fragile stem in his fist.

'I want to make things better.'

'And do you think you can do that?'

'I can try.'

She touched the back of his hand.

He said, 'The thing I'd like to do - more than anything in the world, the thing I'd like to do is make things better.'

He couldn't look at her. For a while, he thought she hadn't reacted.

A hot, shameful blush rose from his sternum.

Then Holly touched his cheek. He took her hand in his. Kissed her sharp little knuckles.

She said, 'I don't believe this is happening.'

Nathan said, 'Neither do I.'

At the end of April, Holly arranged to be absent when he arrived at Sutton Down. It was Saturday morning. In the boot of the car he had flowers and champagne.

He rang the doorbell. Graham answered. Now it was spring, he wore his pastel shirts short-sleeved.

Graham expressed pleasure to see him; he shook Nathan's hand and ushered him inside.

The front of the house was gloomy and cool. It was the kitchen and conservatory that caught the morning sun. Nathan walked towards the light, with Graham at his heel.

Outside, the orchard was in bloom. The kitchen windows were open to let in the crisp green air.

'Tea?' said Graham.

It had become the order of things that Graham would offer tea, which Nathan would then offer to make. But today that didn't seem right, so Nathan cleared his throat and said, 'Tea would be lovely.'

'Righto,' said Graham, and made for the kettle. He opened the window another notch and called out to June that Nathan was here.

Nathan heard the tone but not the content of her reply.

She came in, dressed in jumbo cords, muddy at the knees, and an anorak whose cut and colour dated it to the 1970s. People like June never threw anything away. Nathan admired that. The secateurs were in her hand, ugly and surgical.

He kissed her cheek. 'What are you up to?'

'Breeding lilacs from the dead ground.'

She saw his face and said, 'Never mind,' then hung the anorak over the back of a chair. Then she removed her gardening gloves and laid them next to the sink, saying, 'Holly's in town, at the shops. She shouldn't be long. She's taking a skirt back or something.'

Nathan coughed and said, 'I know.'

Then, before he had time to think about it, he said, 'Actually, I'd quite like a word.'

Graham and June stood next to each other. Hesitantly, June reached out and took Graham's hand.

Nathan said, 'I know that we - Holly and I ... I know that we haven't known each other very long. But the fact is, the fact is, this has been the happiest time of my life. I don't want you to think we're rushing into anything. And I don't want you to imagine I do this kind of thing often. Because I really don't. Not ever.'

'What are you trying to say?'

'That we'd like to -- with your permission. We'd like to get married.

If that's all right.'

Now it was said, he felt worn out and awkward.

He looked past them, at the blossoming orchard at the foot of the garden. It was so quiet in the kitchen. Just the ticking of the clock, the croaking of the birds outside.

Graham and June had not so much as exchanged a glance. But June was squeezing Graham's hand in hers.

Graham said, 'We would consider it an honour.'

Nathan shook the proffered hand with measured formality.

Holly arrived home an hour later. She opened the door on the latch and called out a speculative 'Hello?'

The champagne was already half drunk and June's flowers were in the vase.

Holly stepped into the kitchen. 'I see he's told you, then?'

June and Holly held each other's hands and sobbed, happy-sad.

Graham stepped back, casting his eyes upon his shoes. When June had disengaged, he hugged his daughter. He kissed her cheek and whispered something. It made her squeeze his hand and screw up her eyes and nod.

Nathan stood in the corner of the conservatory, watching them, the sunlight streaming in behind him, casting a faint amber lozenge on the floor.

21

A week before Holly's thirtieth birthday, she organized a table at a Greek restaurant, so Nathan could meet her friends. He was late; he hurried upstairs, clutching the flowers he'd bought as a gift for Holly's best woman.

Five women and a man were seated round a long table. Holly was in the centre, with Nathan's seat empty beside her.

Breathless, Nathan presented the flowers in a general, speculative way to the people seated round the table, saying: 'These are for Jacki.'

By the way all the faces turned to face one person, he guessed that Jacki was the woman sitting opposite Holly. She turned to him and stood, smiling.

He recognized her at once as the police officer who'd come to his flat with Detective William Holloway. He remembered how she had stood silently, watching the passing buses.

She said, 'Nathan?'

He nodded.

'Come here and give me a hug.'

He and Jacki hugged. The table clapped and whooped and whistled.

He handed her the bouquet, then crab-stepped round the table, saying hello to everyone. He sat next to Holly. She squeezed his knee.

'You okay?'

'Fine, fine.'

'You look pale.'

'Mad rush. Bad day at work. The traffic's insane. The taxi was late.'

'Anyway,' said Jacki. 'Aren't you going to introduce us?'

Holly pressed Nathan's hand flat to the table. 'This, everybody, is Nathan.'

He gave a fey half-wave like an ailing monarch. There was more hand clapping, more whooping.

Only Jacki was in focus. She was pretty short - shorter than he'd imagined police officers were allowed to be. Practical haircut: sleek and dark, tucked behind her ears.

She said, 'We've heard a lot about you.'

'Not all bad, I hope.'

'Not all of it,' said the man, Martin.

(Everyone laughed, as if he'd voiced a broad innuendo.) Holly squeezed Nathan's hand. It was a question. He squeezed back a reply: Really, I'm fine.