between a road and a river.'
The strength drained from Nathan's legs.
Bob was saying: 'For years, I thought I'd cocked it up. I used to scan the papers, to see if something had been reported by the road Way. Phantom hitch-hiker. Anything like that. I used to drive down the lane - twice a week, in the early days. But there was nothing.'
I don't think I understand what you're saying.'
'I thought she'd haunt the woods.'
'Who?'
'But it was us. She stayed with us.'
'Bob, what did you do ?'
They stayed like that for a while. Until Bob said: 'I was trying to make a ghost.'
Nathan dropped his glass.
It rolled on the carpet. Its base described an arc. Nathan and Bob fixed their eyes on it and watched until it had stopped.
34
Nathan wanted to laugh.
Then he wanted to cry.
He ran his hands through his hair. His hair stuck up.
He said: 'You know you're mad. You do know that? There's something wrong with you. In here . . .' He tapped his head. 'You're all wrong. Jesus. You're fucked in the head.'
For a passing moment, Nathan felt eight years old and helpless. He said: 'What have you done to me?'
He went to the kitchenette and slid open the cutlery drawer. He itemized the contents: forks, spoons. Knives.
Bob turned slow eyes upon him.
Nathan closed the cutlery drawer and poured off a dirty glass of clean water. While draining it, he turned briefly to follow Bob's eye line. In the far corner, near the rotting velveteen drapes, stood a heavy-duty combination safe. It was green, and flecked with dull metallic chips.
Nathan tugged at his lower lip and muttered, 'Sweet Jesus Christ.'
and he stood there, blinking rapidly. He did not want to cry.
He looked up at the ceiling. He could hear furtive movement up there: scratching. The neighbours, perhaps, or rats.
'You said she had a fit.'
Bob shrugged, red-eyed.
'Sorry.'
'How did you . . .?'
Bob held up his hands. Flexed them.
Nathan was still looking at the ceiling. The machinery in his head was running out of control.
The weak overhead bulb flickered three times. The darkness stuttered around them.
Nathan said: 'I didn't know.'
He wasn't talking to Bob; but Bob was watching.
Bob said, 'She's haunting us.'
'No she's not.'
'She should be at the roadside, close to where she's buried. That's what road ghosts do. But I woke up, and there she was. In my room.
Next to my bed. Just standing there and hating me. She's here now.
Can you feel her?'
'No.'
'Liar.'
'You're delusional. It's not real.'
'You've seen her.'
'No.'
'Yes.'
'No. It's not real.'
Bob said, 'Second drawer down. Near the bottom.'
Nathan took a moment to work out what Bob was saying. Then he opened the middle kitchen drawer and rooted around. Beneath carrier bags, broken corkscrews, dead biros and stray 9-volt batteries, he found a note that had been printed and laminated on A4 paper: These are the remains ofElise Fox, who died an unnatural death. We commend her into your care and wish her peace.
Bob let him scan it two or three times, then said, 'I did it in an Internet cafe. You might want to think about washing your fingerprints off it, though. Use Fairy Liquid and a sponge.'
'And what do you want to do with it?'
'We drive her to a church.'
'We can't just dump her.'
'That's my point. We're not. A church is hallowed ground. If we're careful, nobody ever knows. Not Holly. Not anybody. And soon after that, it's done and dusted. Elise is gone. Out of your life.
Me, too.'
It's not real, Bob. It's not real.'
Tonight.'
Not tonight.'
Yes tonight. I'm ready.'
We've been drinking.'
Exactly.'
So let's not do something careless.'
I have to make her leave. I have to do that.'
It's not real.'
She's here.'
Nothing's here. She's dead.'
Both of us did this. Both of us put it right. That's the way it works. Both of us put it right -- or it just goes on and on.'
S He scrubbed at his face with dry hands.
Then he said: 'Having her with you. Every minute of every day.
It's horrible.'
Nathan began to shiver. He wasn't cold.
He said, 'Tomorrow.'
'Tomorrow.'
'Tomorrow.'
Nathan walked to the door. He could feel the foul bedsit behind him; its filth and its corruption. He opened the door and hesitated there -- looking up at the long, dark stairwell.
Then he reached out and hit the timer switch and raced the light all the way upstairs and out, into the cold unsoiled night.
35
Nathan was on his knees before the lavatory, shaking like a sick dog.
Holly walked in. She was topless in silky pyjama trousers. On them was a design: swallows and brambles and delicate spring flowers.
Her hair was a mess. It was 6 a.m.
