Burial

19

He lay his forehead on the desk. He was smiling. He too went to pieces when leaving personal messages on answer machines.

Then he strutted through to Justin's office.

He said, 'It turns out, I'm not as busy as I thought. I'll look after the report. We should talk about it down the pub.'

Justin almost burst with happiness.

When Nathan got back from lunch on Thursday, Justin was dallying in the corner of his office, a draft report concertinaed in his fist.

Probably, it was something important and overdue -- something that Nathan would be required to take immediate and urgent care of, because Justin had filed it in the boot of his Mercedes for the last three months.

It took twenty minutes to convince Justin it wasn't necessary to discuss this emergency down the pub.

When, finally, Justin had stomped away, Nathan retrieved his voicemail. The first two calls were from irate customers chasing delivery of orders agreed at terms two months ago. The third was from Holly. Gently, Nathan closed the office door and listened to the message three times, looking for hidden significance.

Hi. It's me. I hate these things. Anyway, I was wondering -- are you still there? - if you'd like to come for lunch on Sunday. And then.

I don't know. Go out or something. Am I rambling? I'm no good at these things. Anyway. Give me a bell. Right. Bye. It's me, by the way. Did I say that? Bye.

On Sunday, Nathan took the long route to Sutton Down.

Graham had cooked the Sunday roast. When Nathan had finished clearing the table and loading the dishwasher and leaving the roasting tin to soak, Holly slipped her arm through his.

There was the shock of first physical contact.

She said, 'Come on.'

'Where are we going?'

'Drink?'

Nathan looked at June as if to say What can I do ? as he and Holly got their coats.

A morning fog had not quite cleared. The village was quiet.

They walked along the banks of the river. He tried to think only good thoughts.

She said, 'We're doing this backwards.'

'What do you mean?'

'My parents know you as well as I do.'

'I don't mind that.'

They walked for a minute.

Holly said, 'Thanks.'

'For what?'

'I don't know. Trying to understand what it must be like.'

They had arrived at a mossy stone arch that crossed the river. It looked a thousand years old. The mist was deeper here. It pooled in the roots of the trees. He could feel the cold rising from the water.

He said, 'This isn't about your sister.'

She let go of his arm and turned to face him. There was an anxious comma between her eyes. 'I know that. But everything has been. For a really long time.'

She stood on tiptoes and kissed him. Then she grabbed the lapels of his coat: "Well, say something.'

But he didn't want to hear his voice -- he wanted to be someone else, in this good moment.

He said, 'You already know what I want to say.'

She slipped an arm round his waist and hugged him as they walked across the river, towards the pub.

They got back to the house at 10 p.m. It was dark. Graham and June had gone to bed at 9.30.

Nathan and Holly were both a little drunk. For ten minutes they stood on the doorstep, kissing. Then Holly dug out her key and let them in.

In the hallway, she said nothing. He followed her carefully upstairs where she showed him the spare bedroom. There was a small vanity unit in there. Clean towels, a tube of Aquafresh toothpaste. There was even a toothbrush, still boxed, laid out for him. Holly said goodnight and closed the door. Nathan kicked off his shoes and socks and shirt, and leaned over to clean his teeth and wash his face. The existence of the small vanity unit made him feel obligated to do so.

There was a stealthy rap on the bedroom door.

He whispered, 'Come in.'

Holly was barefoot in creamy silk pyjamas. He glanced at her and felt uncomfortable and glanced away.

She said, 'Are you okay?'

'Fine. I'm good.'

She made a comical face.

'Goodnight then.'

'Goodnight.'

She closed the door. He listened to her, sneaking like a burglar back to her childhood bedroom.

He lay down and closed his eyes.

He opened them again.

Perhaps this had been Elise's bedroom.

But he knew it wasn't. Of all the places he'd been since the night of Mark Derbyshire's Christmas party, this house was the one place that Elise Fox was not. Her absence from it was absolute.

Nathan turned off the bedside lamp. His eyes were startled by the unfamiliarity of the darkness. It took time for them to adjust to the moon-tinted edges of the room. But he must have slept, alone in that darkness, because he woke to the first hints of the dawn chorus.

He got up and got dressed. He removed the duvet from the bed and left it folded there, with his towels alongside it. He slipped out the front door.

Outside, it was cold and wet. He was tired and the engine, in the country stillness, made a loud and lonely sound.

He went home first, to shower and shave, and was not late for work.