But first thing was first. We had to clear up my room.
It was already after three.
Richard decided that we would need to get Ivan onto a sheet, avoiding any more blood spilling. Then we would move him to the side of the room and clean any stains before disposing of his body. Then we would have to do the most dangerous part and actually carry the body out. Lastly, we would have to clean everything again and dispose carefully of his wallet, and all of the sheets and cleaning products. It felt dreadful to have it all laid out like that, but at least it was in some kind of structure. It was weird hearing Richard go through it all, but I guess it was what we had to do.
“We best get started”, he said.
He handed me a pair of disposable rubber gloves and I began to put them on, pulling the latex tightly over my fingers. As the clammy, rubbery material gripped my skin, I felt overwhelming panic once more.
Fuck.
“What are we actually doing Richard?”
“We’re doing what we have to do.”
I gulped back the tears and cajoled, encouraged and then forced myself back into control.
C’mon Vicky. Just do this – you have to do this. Another hour and it’ll all be over.
“Vicky, are you okay?” He stared at me, full of worry.
“But he was your husband.”
“Don’t you think I fucking know that?” he snapped.
That woke me from my trance.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment.
I shook my head and raised a hand, “Don’t worry, you’re entitled to act anyway you like.”
“The thing is – nothing’s going to bring him back.”
He stroked his nose and ran a palm up and down his face.
“What good would it do if I went to jail?”
“None, I know… I don’t want that…”
“Or you.” He said simply.
“Well, I mean…” I started, not knowing what to say to that. I didn’t want to point a huge finger in his face and say – ‘I’m not the one who hit him over the head. I’m not the one who put a pillow over his face’.
“Questions would be asked about you meeting with us the other night,” he continued. Other questions too. Maybe they’d put two and two together about us. Maybe they’d say we planned it.”
He paused.
“Maybe they’d find out about you robbing our house,” he said flatly.
It felt like I had been stabbed.
I said nothing and couldn’t place his tone.
I hung my head, literally in shame.
This exchange was enough to kick me into action. Maybe it was what I needed. There were no options for me. None, anywhere. I dutifully held an end of the sheet as we rocked Ivan back and forth onto it. We clumsily tried to pull him onto the sheet, limbs flopping back. His body must have been already rigid in places and we struggled with it. Touching any of it revolted me. Eventually we succeeded, Ivan lying on some kind of death hammock. The contrast of the crisp sheet holding death within it reminded me of when my Dad passed. It had all been too sudden at the end with him. Not like this, but losing a parent is its own kind of horror. I remember focusing on the sheets, not able to look into my dead father’s face for long. Once the hideous death rattles had ceased I was told he was gone. There was still a whisper like faint breathing, but the nurse told me it was the body expelling the last of the air. There was nothing left. It was just a shell.
Ivan was a fucking mess and I kept my eyes fixed away from him throughout, as we struggled shifting him. I didn’t want to look at Richard much either. It was tough on every level and I already felt exhausted and pummelled. I had to try and think like we were doing something else, I couldn’t think about what we were actually doing. By a quarter to four, we had bundled him up in two sheets and heaved him a bit closer to the door. Where he had lay, there was no huge patch of blood left like I had feared. My searching and frantic eyes did catch a few drops glistening, picked out by the harsh spotlights on the ceiling. I took out the cleaning spray and cloth and set to work on it. Richard started to scrub at the floor too.
“Don’t use too much,” he said in a concerned tone behind me.
“I’ll use as much as I need to,” I replied, irritated. I was bloody well scrubbing blood from his dead husband’s face off my carpet.
“I don’t want it to look like we’ve been cleaning during the night.”
“Alright, I get it.”
There wasn’t much to clean and after a minute or two I was satisfied. I’d give it another go later, once we had moved the body.
Moved the body?
That made it very real. Jesus.
“I’ll go and check outside,” said Richard, moving quickly to the door.
I suppose he just wanted to get this over with. I didn’t want it to begin.
“All clear. Okay?” he asked, his voice now vulnerable, his eyes like saucers.
“I suppose
