He dislodged a fist-sized rock and tossed it away. A family of worms writhed around in the gap left by it. ‘I don’t think I ever grew up,’ he said.
‘I don’t think I did either,’ she said. ‘Not until the war.’
‘Yes. Imminent death and destruction has a way of ageing one.’
She was quiet for a while. And then she said, in a tear-scratched voice, ‘I wonder what – I wonder what murder will make of me.’ She rested her elbow on the spade handle, dropped her face into the crook of her arm and cried.
He watched her, wincing painfully. Were they allowed to show kindness to each other now? Had the old contract been torn up? ‘There, there,’ he said, reaching across and patting her shoulder. ‘I wouldn’t call it murder. You only meant to restrain him.’
‘Then what was I doing, running to fetch a gun?’ She sniffed and abruptly pulled the spade out of the earth.
‘Here’s one consoling thought,’ he said. ‘You’re in good company.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, look at this war. Men killing each other left, right and centre. Thousands of them. You might think that because it’s a war, it’s different, that the deaths don’t count. But they do. I’ve spoken to countless soldiers about this, and believe me, none of them are untainted by the killing. That’s why so many of them hit the bottle when they come home. They’ve killed human men. It takes its toll on the soul, you see. Remember what Jonathan was like? That wasn’t just nerves! He’d had to kill people, he’d had to stab them in the guts with a bayonet and watch the life leak out of them.’
Bettina was resting her arm on the shovel, listening to him.
‘What I’m saying is – rather clumsily I’m sure – is that what you’re feeling right now is shared by thousands of men in the free world. Only you didn’t kill a brainwashed man who was only following orders. You killed a rat, a big fat juicy rat, come to nibble on your crops – that’s what you’re good at, that’s what you do! And frankly, darling, I would’ve done the same. You asked me earlier what I would’ve done? Well, there’s your answer.’
‘Really?’ Both hopeful and cynical.
‘Really.’ There was a rustling in the undergrowth to their left and they stopped, gasping. A bird flew out, and then another. They were finches, mud-brown and darting. Not quite doves, but better than nothing.
They wrapped the body with sackcloth and tied it with rope at ten-inch intervals, like string around a joint of ham. They rolled it into the trench and then rested a while, smoking. Bettina wanted to say a prayer. Bart started to respond to this and she held up a hand, silencing him. ‘Just let me be a hypocrite for once, will you?’
She recited the Lord’s Prayer, faltering over some lines. ‘Do you want to add anything?’ she said.
‘Um, I suppose,’ he said, sitting straighter, ‘that Henry was a loyal servant and a diligent worker…? May he rest in peace? I hope he doesn’t go to hell, but if he does, we shall probably meet him there ourselves.’
‘Bartholomew!’
‘I don’t know what else to say!’
‘Well, perhaps we ought to leave it at that.’ She nodded – one firm and final nod. ‘Amen.’
‘Amen,’ he said.
She sat down next to him and they smoked in silence, their hips touching, just.
Epilogue
January 1990, Brighton
‘Mind your coat, Mum.’
Bettina pulled the hem of her fur coat inside the car and Tabby closed the door, coming around to the driver’s side.
‘It’s cold,’ said Bettina.
‘I’ll put the heating on. Seatbelt, Mum.’
Bettina pulled the belt around her bulging stomach and tried to clip it in place. Tabby leaned over to help and Bettina batted her away. ‘I can do it.’ She tried again. And again. The fourth time it clipped in. ‘There.’ Tabby started the engine and the radio came on automatically, playing a godawful repetitive rock song full of grinding guitars and a man who sounded like he was singing through a mouthful of granola. ‘Dear God,’ said Bettina. ‘What in the name of – turn it off. Turn it off.’
‘Sorry. The grandchildren always make me put it on this station.’
Bettina opened her mouth – closed it again. She wasn’t going to be such a predictable old bore. ‘Did you phone ahead?’ she said instead.
Tabby nodded, her eyes zipping back and forth between mirrors as she drove out. ‘He apparently refused a bath this morning but they managed to get him in clean clothes.’
‘Any reporters outside?’
‘No. His mental faculties, or lack thereof, are widely known.’
‘See, that’s what I should do. Say I’ve got no marbles left. Then they’d leave me alone.’
The creatures from the BBC were currently in the Silverbeach ‘sun lounge’ – Freddy had lured them in with a promise of an interview. It was the only way they could leave the building unmolested, and actually, it had all felt quite daring and fun – the rush down the stairs (she could still do stairs) and the nervy dash to the car, gripping onto her daughter’s arm and concentrating fiercely on the placement of her feet in the snow.
‘All the same,’ said Tabby, ‘I’m surprised they’re not buzzing around trying to pap him.’
‘Speak clearer, darling. And louder.’
‘I said – oh, it doesn’t matter. I wonder if the police will try to speak to him. He does have his good days, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes, now and again. What’s the law regarding the ethics of interrogating someone who isn’t compos mentis?’
‘I’m not entirely sure.’
‘Darling, you’re a lawyer.’
‘Yes, specialising in will and probate, not criminal law. I imagine it depends on various factors, such as the nature of the dementia and its severity.’ Tabby smiled. ‘Why? Are you worried he’s going to talk?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Am I allowed to smoke in here?’
‘No,’ said Tabby, turning out onto the carriageway. ‘What did the police say to you this morning?’
‘Say? They didn’t say anything. They fired questions.’
‘Did they at least say why they’re tying you to a gun and a dead butler?’
‘Something about a serial number and that farm I worked on during the war. A bloody cattle gun, darling. For shooting cows in the head. And of course they found it all on land your father used to own – remember those woods backing on to Davenport? They’re trying to put a Tesco there! A Tesco! I can think of nothing worse.’
‘I spoke to Ivy earlier, on the phone,’ said Tabby. ‘She says the police have been trying to get in contact with her too.’
‘Well, they would. She was at Longworth with me at the time of Henry’s disappearance. And of course she worked on the same farm. Anyway, I’ve already spoken to her. She’s as confused about this whole business as I am.’
‘Any idea who might’ve wanted to kill him?’
‘I haven’t the foggiest. He was a highly competent butler, or so we thought. I mean, everyone knows I wasn’t fond of him, darling – I never tried to hide it. But personal dislike very seldom turns into an urge to terminate another’s existence. How far-fetched!’
‘And is it definitely the gun that was used to kill him? Did they say?’
‘No, they didn’t say. They’ve only just identified the body so I imagine it’s too early in the game. For all we know, he mightn’t have been killed with a gun. It could be unrelated. Did you think of that? Eyes on the road, darling.’
‘But if the man was wrapped up and buried then surely it makes sense that the gun is related? It all whiffs of foul play.’