The last, gentle, well-laundered light of the day was playing through a canopy of leaves. Cloud shapes of brightness shivered on damp earth. The ash tree in the dell’s dead centre shone a resonant blue, ringed by grasses and cramped roots, looking like a traffic island, hemmed in by BMX tracks. Everything else was turning black.
‘What?’ Vince asked.
‘When I was little, I always had places like this,’ Penny began. ‘I think this is a magical place.’
‘I’ve had enough of this,’ Vince said.
‘I always thought certain bits of countryside were like magic,’ she whispered. ‘I must have been mad. There’s nothing special here. It smells like shite.’
‘No.’ Andy nudged forwards and started to trip down the slope into the bowl, finding the footholds that tree roots had woven into the soil. ‘There is something about this place.’ He padded down the incline and stood in one of the patches of blue light. ‘I think we should start the search here. Good vibes.’ Vince muttered, ‘It still smells like shite,’ as he went slipping on dead leaves.
Rose and Ethan had taken the gravel path at the side of the stream. They walked very slowly, talking all the while. Ethan had found himself a long branch, stripped it of twigs and leaves, and was trailing it through tbe dark water. Rose thought he looked like a dodgem car, crackling along on static electricity. She wasn’t sure what good that branch would do. If there was a body in the stream, he said, the branch would snag. But every few feet the branch snagged on rocks or weeds and each time he pulled it unstuck without a single glance. He wouldn’t know a body if one fell on him, she thought. Still, they were doing their bit.
‘Andrew is who I had in mind for best man.’ He was still thinking about the wedding. Good.
‘He seems a nice enough lad. Remind me to catch up with our Jane before we go home tonight. Don’t let me forget. I could really see him in her spare room. And she could do with some rent money, helping her along.’
‘I think she’s got other things on her mind at the moment, Rose.’
‘Yes.’ Rose considered. ‘Don’t you think that Andrew is… well, about having Andrew as best man…’
‘Hm?’
‘What I’m thinking is that — don’t take offence or anything, dear — but perhaps he isn’t… well, impressive enough to be best man.’
‘Impressive?’
‘He’s a bit soft, isn’t he? I mean, let’s face it. If he wasn’t an orphan I’m sure he’d be a mummy’s boy.’
‘He’s a queer, if that’s what you’re getting at.’
Rose stopped in her tracks. Ethan’s branch tangled itself up in water weeds. ‘He’s a what?’
‘That lad I was telling you about, the one with the poems in Germany, he was one too, as I remember.’
Rose stared. ‘And you stood there and let me make plans to have him move in with our Jane? And our Peter? You let me ramble on like an old fool when you knew it was impossible? What were you thinking of?’
Ethan considered. ‘Actually, I was thinking about dead bodies. The one we’re looking for. All the animals back at my shop in Darlington. I have to get rid of them. I think I’ve decided what to do.’
‘What have your bloody animals got to do with anything? With anything at all, Ethan Nesbit?’ Rose was furious. She abandoned her part in the search and started stomping off the way they had come. ‘I’m talking about perversion and all you can think about is your bloody stuffing.’
‘It isn’t really feasible, you know.’ Liz smiled fondly at him, not wanting to disappoint. It was late in the afternoon and they were in an empty bar. It was done up to seem as if it was in Manhattan, leather, glass, faked seaminess, the Carpenters:
‘On Top of the World’.
‘It isn’t?’ He was making cow eyes across the table’s shiny surface. She suddenly felt like kicking him.
‘No.’
All afternoon Cliff had been flashing his credit cards around. Their plastic bags littered the floor in their corner of the bar, like things that didn’t really belong to them. Nicely patterned shirts for Cliff, fabulous frocks for Liz, lingerie for both (he had succumbed; the pair of them ensconced in a cubicle in Ms Selfridge’s, Liz in a giggling fit, Cliff in apricot), all of it spilling from the bags on to the carpet.
And then, in the Body Shop, he had confessed his shopaholicism. It was true, he was different here. Garrulous and almost feverish. ‘It’s my feminine side coming out,’ he tried to explain. Liz was about to take issue with that when he went on to say that he was alone because he couldn’t stop spending. But, he reckoned, he had disposable income and he didn’t give a fuck. He was glad he had Liz to spend on. He suggested something that would cost a lot of money. A big trip away for the two of them. Liz looked uncomfortable. It wasn’t on.
‘Why not?’ he asked. He looked like a child whose game had been thus far indulged by a fond aunt or uncle. There comes the point when the adult puts their foot down. Liz’s stiletto heel was ground into the hood of his new heavy-weather anorak.
‘I can’t just leave. I can’t just up and off. It’s avoiding the issue. I’ve only just moved into a new house and a new life.’
‘Exactly.’ His eyes were as glassy as the table. ‘New lives. They aren’t set yet. They can still be what we want.’
‘Reinvention.’ Liz smiled sadly. ‘But there’s no point in reinvention if you don’t stop for a bit to take stock. Handle your responsibilities. Enjoy what you’ve become.’
He gave a short, barking laugh. ‘So you won’t run away with me?’ She had let him buy suitcases, even urged him to buy ones to match whichever outfit she would travel in.
‘I’m not ready to leave
