But he hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? Why should he feel guilty when he had no control over what had happened?
Still, he felt like he had betrayed Anya, even though all he had done was lick sickly-sweet squirty cream from the stripper’s bellybutton. But that was enough for him. He was wracked with anxiety and the hot panic-fever of guilt. He was jittery.
He huffed air out of his mouth and frowned.
There was nobody out here. The fields opened out before him. Low hedgerows and oak trees. A family of deer were grazing in a field. The chirp and twitter of songbirds. A crow flashed overhead, squawking like it was mocking him.
Joel glanced back at the house. He halted and looked down the footpath, the way he had been heading.
“Oh well,” he muttered. “Here goes…”
He had his mobile in his hand. It shook a little. Too much adrenaline flooding his veins. Fast heart rate. His guts squirmed. He wanted to take a dump. He dialled Anya’s number. Part of him hoped she would answer; another part of him prayed she wouldn’t so he could put this off a bit longer.
She answered almost immediately.
“Hello, love,” he said. “How’re you?”
Anya coughed, cleared her throat. “Hi, Joel. How is my future husband this morning? Still drunk?” He loved her accent. Fucking loved it. Her English was excellent. Ever since he’d been a young lad he’d been captivated by women with Eastern European accents. Russian, Slovakian, Polish, it didn’t matter.
“No, just a bit hung-over,” he replied.
“This is a surprise. I thought you still be in bed. You have good night?”
“I have to admit something.”
A pause on the other end of the line. He pictured her looking worried, waiting for him to say he had cheated on her.
“Admit?”
“There was a stripper last night.”
A pause. He heard her breathing. He waited. Closed his eyes.
“I know,” she said.
He opened his eyes one at a time. “What? You know?”
“I know what happened.”
“I’m sorry. Please forgive me. The others were jeering me, goading me. I thought that if I wimped out of it I’d look like a fool. I didn’t do anything with the stripper, I promise. She was old and skanky.”
“Skanky, Joel?”
“Yes. It means dirty, unclean.”
“Oh.”
He listened to her tone of voice. His heart pounded against his ribcage. He felt woozy and panicky.
“Are you still there, Anya?”
“It is okay, Joel. You did nothing wrong.”
“Really?”
She was giggling. “I knew you would have stripper. Ralph and Magnus told me before you left. They asked for my…uh, permission.”
“So you really don’t mind?”
“Joel, what you think me and my friends did on my hen party?”
“You had a stripper?”
“Yes. I had to lick cream from his abs. Was fun. I was drunk.”
A stab of jealousy in his chest. “I did that as well.”
“Lick cream from man’s abs?”
“No,” he said. “I had to lick squirty cream from her bellybutton.”
She laughed. He laughed along with her, relieved. The anxiety faded.
“You realise how much I love you?” Joel asked her.
“Tell me.”
“I’ll show you when I get home tomorrow.”
“I look forward to that.”
“I’ll bring the squirty cream.”
She laughed again. Always easy to make her laugh, even with his bad jokes. He adored her for it. Other women had been mere infatuations that ended badly, as most did. It didn’t matter. He only wanted her.
“I love you too, Joel. My husband.”
“Not yet.”
“Soon.”
“I’ve got to go now,” he said. “I think it’s going to rain.”
They said their goodbyes. Joel returned the mobile to his pocket.
He saw three dots in the sky, approaching from the east.
He heard the muffled stutter of helicopter rotors slicing the air.
Joel whistled.
The Chinook helicopters headed towards him. Tandem rotors. Grey-green fuselage. The distinctive RAF low-visibility roundeclass="underline" two concentric circles; a red circle inside a larger blue circle. Moving fast and flying low. Their roar was deafening. He covered his ears, opened his mouth.
They passed directly over him. He ducked instinctively and watched them until they faded away into the distance, heading west.
He headed back to the house.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Monday morning. Dark clouds filled the sky. The previous evening had been spent slumped in the living room watching old Hammer films eating various unhealthy snacks.
The Corsa was idling on the driveway, Frank waiting behind the wheel while Magnus and Ralph got in the back of the car. Joel had triple-checked that the cottage’s lights and electrical switches were turned off and the back door had been locked. Now he was re-checking the front door, testing the doorknob to see if it would turn and the door would open.
“It’s locked,” Ralph called through the open window. “You just locked it, you OCD freak.”
Joel glanced back, glared, and then tried the door again. He put the keys in his jacket pocket and got into the car.
“Don’t think I’ll be drinking again for a while,” said Magnus.
“Nor me,” Joel said, slumped in his seat.
“Wimps,” Ralph said.
Frank put the car in gear, started down the track. He guided the car around the same potholes that had annoyed him on the way to the cottage.
Frank glanced towards the western horizon. A plume of smoke was climbing the sky. Maybe a house on fire. The direction they would be heading.
Magnus had noticed it too. “It looks pretty.”
Frank slowed the Corsa to a crawl. The four men stared ahead.
A red Toyota Yaris was on the grass verge, its back end sticking out onto the road. The driver’s door was open. The engine was still running. The exhaust coughed petrol fumes.
Frank edged the car forward until it was parallel to the Toyota. Joel wound down the window and peered out. The open-door alarm was beeping. The headlights were on.
No driver and no passengers.
“Maybe they’ve gone for a piss in the bushes,” said Ralph.
Joel glanced up and down the road. “Maybe it’s an ambush.”
“What do you mean?” asked Frank.
“Maybe they’re waiting for us to get out of the car and rob us.”
Ralph chuckled. “You think Dick Turpin’s gonna steal our wallets?”
“Shut up,” said Joel.
“Should we wait in case the driver returns?” asked Magnus. “Feels weird leaving the car parked there with its door wide open.”
“It hasn’t been parked,” said Frank. “It’s been abandoned.”
Joel’s voice was low. “Why?”
“Let’s find out.” Frank parked the Corsa by the side of the road. He got out. Ralph and Magnus followed him to the Toyota.
Joel hesitated behind them. “Are you sure this is the right thing to do?”
Frank went to the driver’s side. The car was gleaming, seemingly fresh from the dealer’s showroom. A long scratch ran along the side of the car, etched into the chassis. Something glistened within the scratch-mark. Some kind of fluid.
Frank looked inside. A strawberry-scented air-freshener hung from the rear-view mirror. Static hissed from the radio. The faint garble of distant voices. Frank turned off the lights and the engine.
“What if the driver comes back?” said Joel.
“What if he doesn’t? Check the boot.”
“Why?” asked Ralph.
“For a body.”
Ralph looked at Frank.
“I’m not joking.”