‘Are you still doing it this weekend?’ The corners of her mouth are pulled down. She’s holding her hands together, pulling at her fingers. ‘Because I hate it here, in this house. I’m scared. I’m really scared, Kate…that…that he…’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Tomorrow night.’
‘You promise?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll be in the house?’
‘Yes. But it won’t matter.’
She nods.
‘If anything happens…just say you were asleep. You had no idea. You never heard a thing.’
She nods again. ‘Thank you.’
‘That’s okay, Holly. It’ll be over soon.’
I spend all night trying to figure out how to syphon fifteen thousand pounds from Max’s bank account. Obviously, I don’t have access to his bank account. If I try to log in online with the wrong password, I will get locked out. And surely that will be a very big red flag when the police finally start looking for him.
But then I remember that I have his Visa card. The one he leaves me for emergencies. I couldn’t withdraw the full fifteen thousand pounds at once, but I could take a little money out here and there, maybe five hundred pounds a week, or every three days. Add that to my salary and I could probably pull it all together in two or three months.
Two or three months. Who am I kidding? She’s not going to wait that long.
Saturday morning, I stop by the ATM and withdraw five hundred pounds. I’ve actually never withdrawn that much from Max’s account before, and it’s so easy, it makes me lightheaded. I wonder why I never did this before.
Holly goes to bed early. I give her something to help her sleep. I get changed into the only pair of jeans I possess and a T-shirt. I bring down his jacket, and his cap and sunglasses. I wait another hour to make sure Holly is asleep, then I go into the garage, slip my gloves on, grab the key and open the freezer.
I was worried about the smell, but it’s not so bad. Which means now I’m worried that he’s not thawed enough. I move the flaps of the tarpaulin, just enough to slide my hands under his armpits. His face looks surprisingly the same, just more waxy, paler.
It takes an hour, and a lot of effort, but I manage to pull him out. I drag him to the car slowly, inch by inch. I haul him into thebackseat. That also takes a while, but I am determined. In a few hours, I will be free.
The streets are mostly empty; the town has that hollow feel. The street lights thin out as I leave Brookford. Everything looks dark out there. I can just make out Max in the rearview mirror. I never drive this car. I’m not allowed, obviously.
As the road gets smaller, the surface feels rougher. It’s so dark. Everything looks different. Every time I pass a farm entrance, I slow down, thinking this is it, but it’s not. Now I’m starting to panic I won’t find it. And then as I drive around the bend, I see it, and my heart stops.
The turn-off to the common is a small side road, a slightly steeper lane. But tonight, framed in the headlights, something is very, very wrong. There are cones. Everywhere. There’s a barrier across the opening of the lane. And a big yellow reflective sign.
No Public Access. Military Training in Progress.
This can’t be happening. I was there only a week ago, and it was completely quiet. I drive past slowly, my stomach in knots. And as I get closer, I make out the rest of the signage.
Army Training Saturday 21 November to Sunday 6 December. All Entries Closed. Bridleways Only.
Am I dreaming? Am I in the wrong place? Did I go too far? I keep going a little further. I can just make out an army Land Rover beyond the barrier and some dark shapes that look like a trailer or stacked equipment.
This can’t be real. I loop back and drive there again, but that’s it. It’s the right place. And there’s no way on earth I can drive down there.
I have to find somewhere else. I have to pull myself together. I keep looking for another lane, another road, another embankment, but nothing is right. I begin to panic. I can’t leavehim somewhere he’ll be found. He’s half thawed out, for Christ’s sake. He’s supposed to have an accident, not a nap by the side of the road. He’s supposed to stay hidden for long enough that by the time they find him, he’ll be sufficiently decomposed that no one would know he wasn’t driving.
I can’t breathe. I think I’m having a panic attack. At one point I think I hear gunshots in the distance through the trees. I’d get lost in the woods, in those dark, narrow lanes. What if I get bogged down? It’s just me and a corpse in the car. How am I going to explain that?
I’m going mad. I can’t even breathe. And at this point, it would not surprise me if Max lurched forward and strangled me.
I have to turn back.
I have to take him home.
