'Friday night.'
'What will you tell Holly?'
'That I'm going for a drink with you. And that I'm sleeping at your place.'
'Is that wise?'
'I never go out. The only nights I've ever spent away from my wife, I've been at a sales conference. And there isn't a sales conference for five fucking months, and it's in fucking Dublin. Okay?'
'Okay. Steady on. Whatever.'
'I'm sorry. I'm on edge, here.'
Bob said, 'I'll be in touch', and hung up.
Nathan wrapped the duvet tighter round himself and turned up the volume on the muted television. He watched a shrieking advert for loan consolidation, then a quieter ad for orthopaedic beds, a third for stairlifts, and a fourth for a flu remedy which took the form of a macho, corporate mini-drama.
So this is who was watching with him. The unemployed, the elderly and the sick. A silent nexus of them, in lonely communion.
He turned it off.
26
On Friday night, Holly kissed his cheek and told him to have a good time.
In the hallway, he crushed her to him and she pulled back, laughing: 'You're only going for one night.'
She brushed down his lapel - he was wearing a good suit and carrying an Adidas sports bag - then turned him round, swatted his arse and shoved him through the front door. A taxi was waiting at the kerb.
He took it into town and met Bob, who was waiting for him at the wheel of an old Audi 100. Its rear bumper was gaffer-taped and his tax disc was out of date.
Nathan got in, pointing to the tax disc.
'That's a good idea. Get us arrested.'
'It's a detail. What's in the bag?'
'Clean underwear. Nurofen Plus for the hangover. Lucozade. That sort of thing.'
'It's like she's sending you off to camp.'
Nathan belted himself in, saying: 'That's the last time you mention her this evening.'
'Fine,' said Bob, and pulled away.
They drove.
Nathan asked him, 'Have you got everything?'
'Pretty much. Do you want to stop somewhere? Pick up some cheap clothes?'
Bob waited behind the wheel in an NCP car park while Nathan went to Millets in the mall. He bought a dark- green fleece and a black cagoule, some hiking shoes, a pair of khaki trousers. Also a balaclava.
He
paid cash.
Back at the NCP, he dumped the carrier bags on the back seat of Bob's car, next to his overnight bag.
Driving, Bob said, 'How are you coping?'
'I feel sick. You?'
'I'm all right. A bit hyper. Like I had one coffee too many.'
To calm down, and to kill some time until it was late enough, they stopped at a pub.
Bob moped over a pint of Guinness. Nathan drank several tepid gin and tonics. They sat in a booth, unwilling and unable to talk -- the jukebox was too loud. Before they left, Nathan went for a long piss.
They turned off the motorway and on to the B-roads. The night was overcast, with multiple layers of quick- moving clouds, backlit by the moon.
They left the yellow lights of the city behind them. Nathan turned to see it, sitting in the valley like a UFO. Bob took the familiar route to the forest and located the lane with almost no difficulty.
He slowed and, with a heave on the wheel, he turned the Audi into the slot of darkness. They followed the beam of its headlights. The trees shifted in the edge of their vision.
They came to the right place.
They knew it was the right place.
Bob stopped the car. They heard its engine ticking. The wind through the trees. Nathan remembered the last time he'd sat here. He remembered Elise. Laughing, naked. The way her fingers tightened then relaxed on his arms as he entered her. He thought of the semen he'd pumped into her.
The sound of them breathing.
Bob said, 'I used to come here sometimes. In the early days. Just drive past. Y'know.'
Nathan didn't want to listen. He freed his seat belt and scrambled on to the back seat. He took the new clothes from the carrier bag and began to rip the tags from them. Then he began to undress.
'Just like old times,' said Bob.
Nathan was pulling off his smart trousers.
'You,' said Bob. 'Taking off your trousers in the back of my car.'
Nathan had folded the clean trousers next to him and removed his shirt. He was pulling on a Millets T-shirt. His hair stuck up.
'Make sure you get all the tags off those clothes,' said Bob. 'You don't want to leave any behind.'
Nathan brushed his hair flat.
Bob said, 'Look, I'm sorry. I just thought it was pretty freaky, that's all. You undressing in the back of my car. Here, of all places. You have to admit.'
Nathan said, 'If it gets any more freaky I'll go fucking mad. Do you know what I mean, Bob? They'll find me in the town fountain, hitting myself with bricks and eating dog shit. So give me a break, all right.'
Bob smoked a cigarette while Nathan finished dressing. The clothes smelled new; they were still creased with their shop folds. The boots had been expensive - he didn't want to wear something that might give him blisters.
He and Bob looked straight ahead, through the black windscreen.
'Shit,' said Nathan.
His voice, so loud in the confined space of the car, seemed to galvanize Bob, who slapped his leg and opened the door. He walked round to the boot. Nathan joined him. In the boot were two shovels and a big roll of clear plastic. There were two rolls of duct tape and two pairs of gardening gloves.
They listened to the wind. The clouds moved fast overhead, lit silver by the moon.
'We are going to do this,' said Bob.
He reached in and grabbed two shovels in his fist. He passed them to Nathan. Bob lifted out the bulky roll of plastic. He rested his chin on top of it and said, 'Right.'
Nathan looked at the trees: the oaks, the silvery ash, the swaying ferns and the soft moss. The smell of it.
'Are you sure this is it?'
'Pretty sure.'
So was Nathan. He followed Bob into the trees. After a single step, the moonlight winked out and the darkness was complete. He could hear Bob's exerted breathing, the rustle of clothing. But he could see nothing. The canopy of branches formed a rustling, shifting membrane above his head.
Bob's harsh whisper:
200
201
Neil Cross
'Are you there?'
'Yeah. I can't see a fucking thing.'
'Press on a few feet. I'll turn on the torch as soon as it's safe.'
