After a while she saw that the blood on her hands had dried. She did her best to flake some of it off with her nails. She cleaned off the phone, too, on the sleeves of her cardigan and dialled Isabelle’s number. ‘It’s me.’
‘Hey.’ A pause. ‘Sally? You OK?’
‘Yes. I mean – I’m …’ She used her fingers to press her lips together for a moment. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You don’t sound it.’
‘I’m a bit … Issie, did you pick up Millie from school like you said?’
‘Yes – she’s fine.’
‘They haven’t gone out?’
‘No – they’re all watching TV. Why?’
‘Can she stay with you tonight?’
‘Of course. Sally? Is there anything I can do? You sound terrible.’
‘No. I’m fine. I’ll come and get her in the morning. And … Issie?’
‘Yes?’
‘Thank you, Issie. For everything you are. And everything you do.’
‘Sally? Are you sure everything’s all right?’
‘I’m fine. I promise. Absolutely fine.’
She hung up. Her hands were trembling so much she had to put the phone down on the car bonnet to jab the next number into it. Steve answered after three rings and she snatched it up.
‘It’s me.’
‘Yes. I know.’
‘Something’s happened. We need to speak. You need to come to me.’
‘OK …’ he said cautiously. ‘Where are you?’
‘No. I can’t – I mean, I suppose I shouldn’t say on the phone.’
There was a pause while Steve seemed to think about this. Then he said, ‘OK. Don’t. Think carefully about every word. Are you near your place?’
‘Further.’
‘Further south? Further north?’
‘North. But not far.’
‘Then you’re …’ He trailed off. ‘Oh,’ he said dully. ‘Do you mean you’re at the house of someone we’ve spoken about recently?’
‘Yes. There’s a car-parking place. Take a right fork as you come to the house. Don’t go past the front, there are cameras. Steve, can you – can you hurry?’
She hung up. A sound – very distant in the evening air – of a car revving on the road to the racecourse. Then headlights coming through the tree-line. She lowered her head, cowering, even though it would come nowhere near Lightpil. It changed gear and continued up the hill. But she pressed her forehead against the cold windscreen, trying to disappear, trying to bring something peaceful into her head. Millie’s face, maybe.
It wouldn’t come. All that came was a bright zigzagging light, like the after-image of a firework.
About ten minutes later another car on the main road indicated left and came off on the small turning. Slowly it climbed the road that snaked around the bottom of Hanging Hill. She saw the sweep of headlights and slithered off the bonnet, going to crouch behind the shrubbery at the edge of the parking area as the lights came nearer. The lights turned into the track, rattled over the cattle grid, then came to a halt. It was Steve.
He got out, and, silhouetted, tall against the darkening sky, pulled on a fleece, glancing around himself. She pushed herself out of the hedge and stood there, the cardigan wrapped tight around her to cover the blood on her clothes.
‘What?’ he whispered. ‘What’s happening?’
She didn’t answer. Head down, hands tucked into her armpits, she walked around her car and led the way into the parking area. He followed without a word, his feet crunching in the gravel. At the back of the Ford Sally stopped. Steve stood next to her and they were silent for a long time, looking at David Goldrab’s body. His running T-shirt was rucked up, showing his thick, tanned torso, his hair matted with blood. His face seemed calcified, his mouth widening around his gums. She realized she could still smell him. Just a little of his essence, streaking the grey air.
Steve crouched next to the body. Putting his bandaged hand tentatively in the gravel he leaned closer, peering at David’s face. Then he rocked back on his heels and wiped his hands. ‘Jesus. Jesus.’
‘There was an argument. He followed me out to the car and hit me on the back of the head. He was forcing me into the boot. Your nail gun was in there and I had to—’ She drew her hands down her face, felt the soreness where he’d pushed her into the boot lid. ‘My God, my God, Steve. It was over so quickly. It wasn’t what I meant to happen.’
Steve let all his breath out at once. He came and hugged her. She could feel his pulse jack-hammering against her own. The awful crackle of David’s dried blood on her clothing.
‘It just happened,’ she said. ‘Just like that.’
‘It’s OK.’
‘No one’s going to believe it was an accident.’
She cried then – long, drawn-out sobs. Steve said nothing, just kept his hands on her back, rubbing her soothingly. When at last she’d stopped, he let her go and walked back to the parking area’s entrance. He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking out at the landscape. She knew what he was seeing – the whole of the valley spread out. The beginnings of the city on the horizon. Her childhood land. The places she’d dreamed in, the places she’d cried and had hopes and fears in. All the valleys and the brooks and the glades – all the places she’d been and never spied this future crouching in wait for her behind the trees.
After a long time he turned round and came back down the slope. ‘What have you got in the car? Have you got your cleaning kit?’
‘Yes.’
‘Rubber gloves?’
‘Yes.’ She opened the boot, rummaged in her cleaning kit and held out a pair still in their pack. Steve took them. His face was white and controlled. He ripped the pack with his teeth and began pulling on the gloves.
‘Steve? What’re you doing?’
‘I’ve got a meeting at nine in the morning. That means we’ve got thirteen hours.’
Chapter 39
Steve’s plan, he said, was the best possible solution. But if they were going to do it, it would have to be done quickly, and to start with they needed to find some plastic. Sally knew David kept a lot of his equipment in the garage, but it was at the side of the house where the camera was, and she worried they’d be caught on video. She wanted to check on the monitor inside what could be seen so she and Steve went back up to the house. Even in the daytime David was in the habit of leaving lights and TVs on, and now that it was getting dark the place seemed to be lit up like a bonfire. The halogens in the glass atrium blazed, casting the shadows of huge potted plants out into the garden. The utility-room door stood open, the TV blasting out from inside.
Steve waited on the deck, keeping an eye on the road, while she crept in alone. It seemed so hot inside, stifling, as if the heating had been turned up high. The air was as still as the grave, and even in the familiar rooms and corridors, she found herself jumping at every shadow, as if David’s’s ghost was waiting to leap out at her. She wondered if it would be like this for ever, if she’d be driven mad by the guilt. You heard about that happening, people haunted all their lives by the spirit of the person who’d died.
When she checked the monitor in the office she saw that a huge part of the driveway wasn’t covered by the camera – plenty of room to get into the garage without being seen – so she collected a bunch of keys from the hooks in the kitchen where David kept them and went with Steve around the side of the house.
‘Holy shit,’ he muttered, when she pressed the fob and the door opened to reveal a huge, shiny car. ‘It’s only a Bentley.’
‘Is that good?’
He gave a small wry smile. ‘Come on.’
Behind a row of motor-oil cans they found a roll of plastic and some old ballast bags, some tape and a Stanley knife. They carried it all back to the parking area and unrolled the plastic on the ground next to the body.