Bob said, 'Look, okay. It's been a long night. But we did it. So let's not fuck up now, by doing something rash when we're both so tired.
The truth is, that's how people get caught. They do something stupid when they're feeling exactly the way we're feeling right now. Like going to an Internet cafe and looking up how to dispose of a body and being caught on CCTV.' He held up a hand - pre-empting Nathan's interruption - and said, 'Look, I'm sure you're right. I'm sure we can just douse the clothes and burn them. Fine. But what if, I don't know - you've seen the way stuff floats around when you light a fire.
The embers, whatever. What if, by burning the clothes, you're leaving little fragments all over the garage? The kind of thing you can't see, but that Scene of Crime Officers can detect in two minutes flat?
Traces of human fat, or whatever.'
'It sounds pretty unlikely to me.'
'And to me. But I'm not sure. Okay? I'm not sure. I just want to research this stuff. Believe me, it's the best way.'
'Keeping her in a freezer?'
'It's as good as anywhere else. It's better than where she was.'
He watched Nathan's eyes flit to the boot, and said, 'Look, we got away with it. We're not even suspects. But we'd become suspects if they found her, out there in the woods. But they're not looking, Nathan, they're not even looking. We just have to make sure that, if they do come looking, they find nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I want to find out the best way to do that.'
There was a standing pipe in one corner. Nathan flicked away the cigarette and walked over to it. He ran the tap. He took off his shirt.
The water was unbearably cold. He forced his head under. His scalp constricted. He straightened, spluttering. Goosebumps ran the length of his torso. His sparse body hair stood erect, his hair in wet-cat spikes.
He was shivering when he said, 'You're right. I can't think straight. I don't know what to do for the best.'
Bob nodded, with gravity.
Then he opened the boot and hoisted the plastic-wrapped remains in his arms and carried them to the freezer. Still half naked and shivering, Nathan opened the lid. He removed the baskets of frozen vegetables. They put Elise in the bottom and hung the racks of frozen vegetables above her.
Then Bob closed the lid and secured it with a padlock.
Nathan watched him do it. 'Now that's suspicious.'
'What is?'
'Padlockinga freezer. Who padlocks a freezer?'
'What if some kids decide to burgle the place?'
Nathan buried freezing hands in the pockets of his trousers. He hurried to the bonnet of the car, where his clothes lay, and pulled the T-shirt and shirt over his head.
'I'm going home.'
'Do you want a lift?'
I'll take the bus or something.'
'Are you sure? You look like shit.'
I'll be fine. I need to get my head together.'
'What will you say to Holly?'
She'll be gone when I get home.'
'Better make sure she is.'
'She will be.'
'Because you look fueled, mate.'
'That's pretty funny.'
'Can you do me one favour?'
'What?'
'Take our clothes and dump them somewhere?'
Nathan sagged. He reached into the boot and removed the bag of muddy clothing. It smelled of soil. He tied a knot in it.
'Just dump it outside one of the shops on Endymion Road,' said Bob. 'There's always rubbish piled out there.'
Nathan tested the bag's weight. It seemed heavy. His arms were so tired.
He said, 'What are you going to do?'
'Sleep. Then get rid of the car. The spades. The rest of it.'
'Okay.'
There was nothing else to say. So, clasping the bag of evidence in his fist, Nathan unbolted the garage door and stepped into the fragile morning.
Behind him, Bob slid the bolts shut, one by one. Locking himself inside with the bones.
28
Nathan carried the binbag along the tree-lined street of Victorian bedsitters.
At the corner, it joined a main road. A yellow skip stood outside the gutted shell of a house in the early stages of renovation. The skip was half full of plasterboard and broken bricks and rusty wire frames. It was still early. Nathan leaned in, lifted a piece of plasterboard and wedged the binbag in the bottom corner of the skip. Then he dusted his hands and turned on to the main road.
At the bus stop, he paused to open his Adidas sports bag. He removed the pack of Nurofen Plus and dry- swallowed a handful.
There was a greasy spoon across the road. Nathan half-jogged over to it. His legs were stiff, on the edge of cramp. Inside, there was the sound of frying and hot water jets and local radio. He ordered a full breakfast and a mug of tea and sat down with a copy of yesterday's Sun. When the breakfast arrived, he looked at it without conviction. But hunger found him. He ate the breakfast and drained the tea and hoisted his bag on to his shoulder. He left the cafe and caught the bus home.
It was full daylight when he opened the door. The house was quiet. He could smell Holly's perfume in the hallway. A floorboard creaked, the house warming to the new day. He set down his bag by the telephone and stared at the photos on the wall. He could not connect that laughing girl to the cracked remains in Bob's freezer. He reached out, to straighten a frame. But he couldn't touch her. He thought of those rattling teeth, loose in the skull. And those clean limbs, gnawed at by foxes and badgers and local dogs drawn to the scent of rot.
He couldn't go upstairs.
He put the kettle on, and the television. While he waited for the kettle to boil, he sat in the armchair and fell asleep.
In the dream, he awoke. Elise was in the room with him. She didn't say anything. She was on the sofa, legs crossed. She looked at him. He felt a swell of love for her, as he might for a lost child.
He said, 'I'm so sorry.'
Elise said, 'I'm cold,' and then she began to scream.
Nathan woke in the act of wetting himself. The warm-cold stain spread across his crotch and thigh.
He moved to the centre of the room and stood there with his back to the bay window, until his queasily thrashing heart had slowed. He stood there so long that twice he nodded off, his head dropping to his chest. He saw Elise tearing at her hair, hanks of it in her fists.
He jerked awake and sat on the windowsill. The television was meaningless and brash.
He stayed there until 1 p.m. He walked to the kitchen. With every footstep he glanced over his shoulder. Each creak of the house made his heart lurch.
He opened the fridge. Looked at the eggs and the cold meats and the milk and the remains of a chicken, the half-drunk bottle of wine.
He closed the fridge door. Got himself a glass of water. He was shivering.
He went to the thermostat and turned up the heating.
