Bob said, 'Is it, like, a sex thing? Do you get off on it?'
Nathan wanted to scream, but all the strength had gone from him.
He said, 'Jesus, no.'
'Does she look like her? I mean, naked?'
He couldn't endure Bob even contemplating Holly's nudity.
He made as if to leave. The weight of Bob's eyes fell on his shoulders.
'Really,'
said Bob, 'you have to stay.'
Nathan stopped. Eventually, he turned.
'Don't mention my wife again.'
'Fine. Whatever.'
'I mean, not ever.'
'Cool. You have to admit, though. It's pretty sick.'
They locked eyes. Nathan blinked first.
He looked at his shoes, then at a ball of soiled underwear lying dead on the kitchen linoleum.
'You wouldn't understand
Bob seemed about to speak. Instead, he slurped coffee and wandered to one of the tables, the one with the reel-to-reel tape recorder on it. Its plastic had yellowed with age and gone brittle. A crack ran across it like a fault line.
Bob pulled up an office chair, the kind Nathan used at work. It was threadbare and pilled and greasy.
Nathan said,'So?'
'So. The forest where we buried her has been sold off to some property developer. They're going to build a new housing development - or extend a housing development they already built, a couple of years back. Depends how you look at it.'
Nathan reached out for the sofa, as if he were about to fall.
'In the course of doing this,' said Bob, 'they're almost certain to find her. It's not like the grave was very deep or anything.'
'I never understood why they didn't,' said Nathan. 'I was waiting for it. I expected it every day.'
'Who knows? They had their suspect. He didn't leave the party all night. So maybe they just didn't look in the right places. Maybe one of the sniffer dogs had a head cold. Jesus, I don't know.'
Nathan had a feeling like he was descending too quickly in a lift.
'If they find her,' said Bob. 'Which they will, they'll recover traces of semen from two different men. They'll assume, quite understandably, that she was raped and murdered. And they'll take a voluntary DNA sample from every man who attended Mark Derbyshire's party, and they'll identify us, and we'll go to prison for the rest of our lives.'
Nathan thought of Holly and he thought of Graham and he thought of June. He thought of the day they rehung the photographs.
He walked slowly round the sofa and sat in it. He put his head in his hands.
Bob said, 'We have to move her.'
'I can't do that.' The intervening ten years had not happened.
'Jesus fucking Christ. I can't believe this is happening.'
'It won't be difficult. There can't be much left. Not after all this time.'
'Then what's the point?'
'I mean, she won't be heavy. She won't weigh much.'
Nathan began to laugh. He clapped his hand over his mouth.
'Can we be sure they'd find her?'
'Your sperm is inside her. How much of a risk are you willing to take?'
'But won't it have -- rotted by now?'
'They have forensic techniques that you wouldn't believe. All they need is a fragment of genetic material - just a tiny, a teeny tiny fucking scrap. They can amplify it. They, I don't know what they do, they spin it or something. It's called PCR. A polymerase chain reaction. Where there's a little DNA, suddenly there's a lot. And believe me, if there's anything left in her or on her, they'll find it. It's not like they don't know where to look ... in her womb, her mouth, in her anus .. .'
'Fuck.'
'We drive down there, we park in the lane, we dig her up, we put her in the boot and we drive her to ... I don't know where. I haven't thought it through yet. Somewhere they can't find her. We might have to pour acid on her or something. You know. On her, um, nether regions. Battery acid or something.'
'I can't do it.'
'Of course you can. You've done it once already. This time will be easier.'
'Not again.'
'You have to.'
'I'll take my chances.'
'How will Holly feel?'
A droplet of sweat ran the length of Nathan's spine. He was clammy, as on a thundery day.
'Because it would be a terrible thing to do to her,' said Bob. 'To let Elise be unearthed by a fucking bulldozer. And then learn it was you who put her there.'
'Do it by yourself.'
'I would if I could. But it needs two of us, to do it properly. Two pairs of hands. Two pairs of eyes.'
'I thought she'd be light.'
'I can't do it alone. Simple as that.'
Above them, a door slammed. Running footsteps descending the staircase.
Nathan said, 'Are you scared?'
'Wouldn't you be?'
'Yes. Yeah, I'd be scared.'
They sat in silence. Then Nathan stood. 'I'll be in touch.'
'Make sure you are.'
Nathan shuffled from the bedsitting room, slamming the door behind him. He walked up the stairs and out the door and along the drive and into the daylight.
He sat on a wall from which the metal railings had been removed in 1941 -- melted down for weaponry, their black nubs long since worn smooth. He took great lungfuls of air and watched the traffic go past.
Nathan walked in and dropped himself in the armchair. He sat with his coat on, looking at the television. It was Coronation Street.
Holly was on the sofa. She'd been on site most of the day, visiting a warehouse in Birmingham she was interested in converting. Then she worked for a couple of hours in the home office they'd installed in the second bedroom.
She'd taken a hot bath to unwind: if she didn't, she couldn't sleep, she'd be thinking about work all night. Sometimes that happened to Nathan, too. He'd wake at 2 a.m., fretting about some new line of cards that was failing. Now Holly smelled of bath oil. She wore 'SS
tracksuit trousers and a T-shirt. Her hands and feet were soft and her legs were crossed beneath her. She was half-lying on the sofa, watching TV and doing a crossword.
She said, 'What's up?'
'Nothing.'
She put down the paper and muted the television.
'You look terrible.'
He touched his temple. 'I've got this really bad headache.'
She came over and sat in his lap. She was so clean. She laced her hands behind his head and said, 'This isn't like you. Have you caught a bug or something?'
'I don't know.'
She touched his burning forehead. 'God. You're really sick'
