“Oh… My… God,” Abbie’s hand slaps to her mouth.
“The night of my party?” Katie mutters.
As Georgia nods, they all sit up to comfort her. Like all friends should. But not Danielle. Danielle just continues to stare at her. Georgia? Pregnant? And ‘on the night of Katie’s party?’ Surely, she means on the night Danielle’s da went missing? How can all this be happening? Life moving forward when her da still hasn’t arrived home. She can’t believe the selfishness of them all. Shaking her head, she stands and thunders to the door, making sure it slams behind her.
Chapter Sixty-Five:
2019
_____
Jane’s frosty attitude hasn’t warmed since the two detectives landed back hours ago. She just continues to give Ferguson dagger glares and adds snippets of conversation when she’s invited to. McNally felt uncomfortable to start with, thinking about leaving, but the more wine that flowed and the more Niamh came out of her shell, the more he wanted to stay. They’ve just finished their fourth bottle between them all when Ferguson struggles to stand.
“Want another glass, love?” he directs the question towards his wife, who tuts and rolls her eyes in return.
“What? Give you an excuse to piss off again to the off licence, will it? You know there’s none left.”
Ferguson physically places himself in front of McNally, his back to him. As if that will shield him from their harsh tones towards one another.
“Actually, Liam brought two with him tonight. They’re sitting on the coffee table in the living room. Let me go and get them.”
“Of course, roll on into the living room,” she slurs, pointing in the wrong direction, going to rest her head in her hand, but missing, “you’d rather be anywhere else than with me, anyway.”
Her head juts out from behind her husband and her attention falls on McNally as Ferguson continues to eye her with disgust.
“Are you the same, Liam? Married to your job? Is that why you’re still single? I mean, no offence, but you’re bound to be in your forties by now, am I wrong? And still unmarried?”
She hiccups, nodding her head towards Niamh whilst Ferguson follows up with a ‘right let’s get you to bed.’
“Is that why you’re looking to court my sister? I hope you’re not going to treat her the same as he treats me. All these druggies and murderers. They get more attention than I’ll ever - get the fuck off me!”
She screams the last sentence as Ferguson puts a hand under each armpit in an attempt to lift her. She stands, slapping him across the face.
“Sir, I am so sorry,” Ferguson blushes, and not from the slap, as he holds two hands up to McNally, “c’mon, Jane. That’s enough.”
Leading her through into the hallway, although he closes the door, their argument can still be heard through the crack at the bottom of the threshold. McNally and Niamh smile towards each other as they can hear ‘that’s my fucking boss’ and ‘you’re embarrassing us both’ as they ascend the stairs. Just when a scream of ‘oh, I always fucking embarrass you, that’s why you’re never home’ reaches them, Niamh coughs and sits forward.
“They love each other really. It’s just… Well, it’s been a hard few months for them.”
McNally nods, thinking about asking her if she knows the reason why Ferguson stepped down from the DI job, but thinks better of it. If Ferguson wanted him to know, he’s sure he’d have found out why by now. And he doesn’t want to upset their family dynamic anymore. Just as the couple reach the top of the stairs and they hear the floorboards above them creak, raised voices continuing to shout at one another, Niamh stands.
“Why don’t I fetch those other bottles of wine from the living room?”
McNally joins her standing.
“Er… No, I think I’ve overstayed my welcome, to be honest. And anyway, we have a busy day tomorrow. Evidence to find, murderer to convict. You know,” he laughs.
“That’s a shame,” Niamh follows him into the hall, watching him grab his coat from the rack on the wall, “there’s a lovely wee pub just down the street. I know it well. After all, it’s barely gone midnight on a Saturday night.”
She’s openly flirting with him again, liquid confidence. McNally smiles and holds out his arm for her to link onto.
“Sounds good.”
Deciding against informing Ferguson and Jane where they’re going, Niamh promises to text her sister in a while as they close the door, and the heated argument, behind them.
****
I see his face. Twisted in anger. The hammer falls to the ground. The blood splattering on the grass. Him falling, still looking at me. Glaring at me. Before I hear the crash at my feet. I fetch the shovel. The shallow grave. As close to the garage as I could get. I smell the earth. The moist air, telling me a storm is coming. Wanting to get it done whilst it’s dry. More muck and more blood would make it harder. More difficult to hide evidence. Let the rain come and wash away everything, but not until I’m finished.
When I am, I pat the ground before retrieving the hammer. The shovel under one arm. It feels like I walk for miles. When I can’t see any sign of civilisation on either side, I dig into the grass. Lifting the dirt up again. Bringing back memories of him lying beside me. When I’m satisfied with my hole, I wipe the hammer with my t-shirt. Evidence. DNA. Fingerprints. Dropping the hammer into the ground, I splutter as I start to cover it in earth once more. My vision clouded. I need to hide everything I can.
My second burial complete, I walk some more. Further away from both sites. Finally cracking, miles later, I turn and thrust the shovel into the air with a grunt. Hearing it clatter away from me in the darkness, I turn and retreat the way I came. I’m exhausted, adrenaline depleting. It takes
