Burial

32

In the morning, having gone to some effort to look and act less hungover than he felt, he told Holly, 'I'm going to see Brian.'

Brian was their family doctor; he was one of Graham's domino playing cronies.

She said, 'Good.'

Nathan knew Brian socially - they'd spoken at various fetes and barbecues and New Year's Eve parties. It was to Brian that Nathan and Holly had gone, when first trying to conceive. So he was able to book an appointment for that afternoon.

Brian was petite and aquiline and dapper -- sixty-three and unmarried.

Nathan

liked Brian - they often gravitated to one another at parties.

Nathan thought they recognized a secret in each other --although Nathan supposed his secret was not what Brian imagined.

Now Nathan described to Brian his anxiety, his inability to sleep.

'But I don't want anti-depressants. They don't work. I'll get through it without them. All I need is sleep. Just a few good nights'

sleep, and it'll be okay.'

Brian wrote Nathan a prescription for three months' supply of temazepam, telling him: 'Everyone has their ups and downs. You've probably been working too hard. I've seen it all before, more times than I can count. You need to slow down, take some time out.

Graham and June are always telling me how hard you're working.'

'You're probably right.'

'Come back and see me, if you need to.'

'I will. I will. But I'm sure I'll be fine.'

He stood outside Oakley's the Chemist while the pharmacist prepared his prescription. Wandering up and down the pavement like a polar bear in a zoo enclosure, he called Bob. Who said, 'How are you?'

'Tired. We need to talk again. Can we meet tonight? In the Plough?'

'I can be there at eight?'

'I'll see you then.'

Nathan pocketed the phone, went in to Oakley's to collect his prescription, then drove back to work. On the way, he stopped off at Travis Perkins, building suppliers, where he bought a pair of heavy duty bolt cutters.

The man behind the counter looked at Nathan in his suit and his good tie and his haircut, buying bolt cutters. Nathan smiled tightly and walked out, dangling the bolt cutters in his fist by one long handle.

He called Holly from the office. She said, 'How are you?'

'Tired.'

'How did it go with Brian?'

'Good. He says I've been working too hard.'

'Well, we know that's true.'

'He offered me something. To help me sleep.'

'What?'

'Temazepam. But I've kept the prescription. I don't think I need it.'

'That's good. It's good to hear you say that.'

'I'm going to be fine.'

'I know.'

'And so are we.'

'I know.'

He took a breath and said, 'I'll be late tonight.'

A moment of silence on the line. 'Where will you be?'

'Look. You're right. Part of it is this bloke, Bob. He's been on my back. He's unhappy, he's got no friends. He's really needy. You know what I mean.'

She said nothing, which meant she did.

'Well, it's too much,' said Nathan. 'I feel sorry for him and every thing, but I'm sick of it. I hardly even know him. So tonight, I'm going to tell him: I've got my own problems, leave me alone.'

Now he could hear her smiling as she said, 'Okay.'

'I'll see you later,' he said. 'Don't wait up.'

At 7.45, he called Bob.

'Hello?'said Bob. 'Where are you ?'

'Why?'

'Noise in the background.'

'I'm in the pub.'

'Okay. Good. Look, I've got an issue at work. I'm stuck in the office. I'll be fifteen, twenty minutes late. Is that a problem?'

'No problem.'

'Then I'll see you about quarter past.'

He terminated the call and turned off the phone, placing it in the glove compartment.

He wasn't really at work. He was parked outside Bob's lock-up garage.

He waited until the street was empty, then got out of the car -- his coat slung over his forearm -- and went to the boot. He took out the bolt cutters and slipped them under the coat, then slammed the boot closed. He walked to the garage door. He looked left and right, then applied the cold beak of the bolt cutters to the padlock chain. He gripped the long handles in his fists and leaned into them with all his weight.

It was harder than he expected, much harder than they made it look on television. He was sweating when the chain finally gave, and there was a band of pain across his chest and under his armpit and across his guts.

He edged into the garage and turned on the lights. He closed the door behind him and slid the bolts closed. The Audi wasn't there: Bob had sold it. He'd yet to buy another car and the garage was weirdly empty, except for the old Workmate and the utilitarian shelving and the rusty, humming freezer. It smelled of damp concrete and spilled oil and old exhaust.

He examined the freezer. At the rear, it was connected to the r

breeze-block wall by thick, dusty cobwebs. Nathan took a moment, then employed the bolt cutters to the small padlock on the freezer lid: they took it apart with comparative ease.

Nathan lifted the freezer lid. Its cold exhalation chilled the sweat on his face and the front of his shirt. He lifted aside the baskets of frozen peas and sweetcorn, setting them carefully on the floor.

He wondered if there was time to burn Elise's clothing before his meeting with Bob. The bones he could pulverize, then soak in quicklime: it was the semen-steeped clothing, those fungal rags, that presented the biggest threat.

Nathan leaned deep into the freezer.

But the taped-up plastic parcel was not there.

The bones and the clothes had gone. Bob had moved them.