Burial

38

When Nathan arrived, Holly was sitting in the living room, in darkness.

He

stood in the doorway.

She said, 'They found her.'

He went to her. Kneeling, brushing the hair back from her face.

He wanted to look at her.

She did not want to look at him. She turned her head away.

He withdrew, standing.

He said, 'Will you call June and Graham?'

'In the morning. Let them sleep. Just one more night.'

He followed her to the kitchen.

There was too much to explain.

He said, 'We don't know it's her. Not yet.'

It's her. You know it's her.'

She frowned, knuckling a knot between her eyes. She said, 'You know.'

'If you hadn't. If you hadn't lied, we might have been spared . . .'

All this.

Holly said, 'Every word. Every word you ever spoke. All of it.

Based on a lie.'

She lit one of his cigarettes. Her first for years.

'How could I tell you?'

'How could you not?'

'Because I didn't want this to happen.'

'Well, it's happening.'

'I know. I'm sorry.'

He searched for better words. But they'd passed into a territory where words had no function. So he just said, 'I'm sorry.'

They sat at the table and talked in slow circles until morning.

There was a dawn chorus. Sunrise through the condensation cast pearly drops on their skin.

In the wan light, she went to stare at the photos ofElise. Then she came back into the kitchen to light another of his cigarettes. She ran her hands through her hair. It was frizzy and dry: it needed washing.

Her lips were cracked.

She said, 'I can't have you around me.'

'Okay.'

'You should never have lied. You should just never have lied.'

'I know.'

She grabbed his face. Her nails dug into his flesh. Her eyes fluoresced with hatred. And then her eyes welled with tears and she let him go.

At 6.30, she rang her parents. There were long silences at either end of the line. There were no tears. It was like the mumbled declaration of illness. Finding Elise was almost a disappointment. Having her back would change their lives again. Already she was coming between them, breaking up the close unit they had formed.

Holly was sad when she put down the phone. Something was found, something was lost.

He could see into her. She was wondering if it was worth it, and hating herself for thinking that.

Nathan had a headache. All that coffee and all those cigarettes.

And no sleep. He was weary beyond measure.

Holly poured herself a glass of water from the tap. She drank it.

She looked at him, the empty glass in her hand. Her eyes were puffy and sore. She looked exhausted and old.

She said, 'When I get home, you need to be gone.'

He drew a long breath. He was so tired. He was almost glad.

'Whatever you think is best.'

She went upstairs and packed her bags. She wasn't very methodical about it. Later, he found the drawers still open: clothes ripped from them apparently at random. She left behind her favourite toiletries, her toothbrush, the book she was reading. She came downstairs lugging a big suitcase in two hands. It was the suitcase she'd taken on honeymoon.

He stood in the hallway, leaning against the stairwell. He rubbed at his bristling jaw.

He said it again: 'I'm sorry.'

She couldn't answer. She looked at him, then hoisted the suitcase and headed for the door, leaning away from the weight of it. She stuffed the suitcase into the boot of her car. She sat at the wheel. She stayed there for a while, looking at her lap. He watched her from the window Then she started the engine and drove away.

He thought of her, speeding past the empty grave, the trees that would soon be uprooted.

Then he went inside their home. He went upstairs, to bed, and curled in a circle and slept. The bedclothes smelled of her.