Burial

He wanted to look at her.

She did not want to look at him. She turned her head away.

He withdrew, standing.

He said, 'Will you call June and Graham?'

'In the morning. Let them sleep. Just one more night.'

He followed her to the kitchen.

There was too much to explain.

He said, 'We don't know it's her. Not yet.'

It's her. You know it's her.'

She frowned, knuckling a knot between her eyes. She said, 'You know.'

'If you hadn't. If you hadn't lied, we might have been spared . . .'

All this.

Holly said, 'Every word. Every word you ever spoke. All of it.

Based on a lie.'

She lit one of his cigarettes. Her first for years.

'How could I tell you?'

'How could you not?'

'Because I didn't want this to happen.'

'Well, it's happening.'

'I know. I'm sorry.'

He searched for better words. But they'd passed into a territory where words had no function. So he just said, 'I'm sorry.'

They sat at the table and talked in slow circles until morning.

There was a dawn chorus. Sunrise through the condensation cast pearly drops on their skin.

In the wan light, she went to stare at the photos ofElise. Then she came back into the kitchen to light another of his cigarettes. She ran her hands through her hair. It was frizzy and dry: it needed washing.

Her lips were cracked.

She said, 'I can't have you around me.'

'Okay.'

'You should never have lied. You should just never have lied.'

'I know.'

She grabbed his face. Her nails dug into his flesh. Her eyes fluoresced with hatred. And then her eyes welled with tears and she let him go.

At 6.30, she rang her parents. There were long silences at either end of the line. There were no tears. It was like the mumbled declaration of illness. Finding Elise was almost a disappointment. Having her back would change their lives again. Already she was coming between them, breaking up the close unit they had formed.

Holly was sad when she put down the phone. Something was found, something was lost.

He could see into her. She was wondering if it was worth it, and hating herself for thinking that.

Nathan had a headache. All that coffee and all those cigarettes.

And no sleep. He was weary beyond measure.

Holly poured herself a glass of water from the tap. She drank it.

She looked at him, the empty glass in her hand. Her eyes were puffy and sore. She looked exhausted and old.

She said, 'When I get home, you need to be gone.'

He drew a long breath. He was so tired. He was almost glad.

'Whatever you think is best.'

She went upstairs and packed her bags. She wasn't very methodical about it. Later, he found the drawers still open: clothes ripped from them apparently at random. She left behind her favourite toiletries, her toothbrush, the book she was reading. She came downstairs lugging a big suitcase in two hands. It was the suitcase she'd taken on honeymoon.

He stood in the hallway, leaning against the stairwell. He rubbed at his bristling jaw.

He said it again: 'I'm sorry.'

She couldn't answer. She looked at him, then hoisted the suitcase and headed for the door, leaning away from the weight of it. She stuffed the suitcase into the boot of her car. She sat at the wheel. She stayed there for a while, looking at her lap. He watched her from the window Then she started the engine and drove away.

He thought of her, speeding past the empty grave, the trees that would soon be uprooted.

Then he went inside their home. He went upstairs, to bed, and curled in a circle and slept. The bedclothes smelled of her.

39

It was the doorbell that woke him. Without it, he might have slept all knight.

It was Jacki. He let her in. He was wearing the same clothes as the night before. He hadn't washed or shaved. He was in his socks.

He said, 'Coffee?'

She thanked him and followed him down the hallway and into the kitchen. He put the kettle on to boil. The water began to hiss.

'I wanted to see how you were.'

He shrugged and thought, How do I look? "Have you seen her?'

'This afternoon,' said Jacki. 'She'll be all right. It's been a shock.

just give her time.'

She can have anything she wants.'

Jacki crossed her arms and nodded, looking at the floor.

He said, 'I should've listened to you. All those years ago.'

What's done is done.'

he took her coffee and blew across it, saying: 'My colleagues will need to ask more questions - as soon as you feel up to it.'

He erupted into goose flesh. He hoped she didn't see. 'What kind of questions? Am I in trouble?'

'Not at all. They'll just want the full picture. There's a bit of bruising around Mr Morrow's throat, for instance. They might want to ask about that.'

'I had to drag him off the sofa. He was so heavy. I hooked my elbow round his neck - like this - and kind of dragged him off 'You see. I knew it would be something like that. It's what I told them.'

'You already talked about it? Now you're making me nervous.'

'There's nothing to be nervous about. You just have to think very carefully about what happened last night.'

'Jesus, Jacki. You're freaking me out here.'

'I don't mean to. It's just that, people get a shock, they get confused.'

'I'm

thinking pretty clearly.'

'Are you thinking clearly about the second glass of whisky?'

There was a moment. He blinked it away.

'What?'

'There were two glasses of whisky. The one Morrow was drinking from. And a second glass. Almost untouched. Very dilute. Lots of water in it. Lots and lots of water.'

He had spat in it.

Jacki was still waiting.

'I poured myself a glass. After the paramedics arrived. To calm my nerves. Then I thought better of it.'

Jacki nodded. She was not smiling.

'There you are. You see? There's always an explanation. If you're given enough time to think. How are you sleeping?'

'Fine. As well as can be expected. I mean, not so bad. Why do you ask?'

'Holly tells me you haven't been sleeping well.'

'Christ, Jacki. I've been stressed.'

'Did you see a doctor about it?'

'I did, as it happens.'

'Good. And did he give you something to help?'

'He did, yes.'

'It wasn't temazepam, was it?'

'It was, yes.' He waited. Counted three breaths. 'Why?'

'Temazepam is what Bob Morrow used. A massive dose. The whisky amplified its effects.'

'Ah,' said Nathan, scratching now at his inner wrist.

'When did you see your doctor?'

'I don't know. A few days ago.'

'So you've still got the pills?'

He tapped ash into the sink.

'Actually, no I haven't. I never liked taking pills. I flushed them away, the minute I got home.'

'I'd do the same. Horrible things.'

'You can't sleep, it's better to just get through it.'

'Totally. The thing is, you might want to have some temazepam around. You know. For form's sake. Just in case someone mentions it.'

'Will they?'

'Probably not.'

He said, 'I'm not sure I'd know where to get some more, without ; going back to my doctor.'

'I'm sure you'll find a way. You're not stupid.'

Nathan tugged at an earlobe. 'I don't know what to say.'

'As it happens, Morrow's got a history of drug abuse - and one or two suicide attempts, back when he was younger. He went a bit funny. When his mum died.'

'I didn't know that.'

'I don't suppose he liked to talk about it. He was seventeen.

Difficult age to lose your mum.'

Nathan nodded.