I have managed to think up a reason for why we’re driving in the middle of the night. I’ll say that we are sisters (I find this notion rather pleasing) and that we are on a mercy mission to visit our dying mother. Melissa has had to borrow her husband’s van because he’s away at the moment with the car. Or something like that.
We had to leave so late because Mother might not make it to morning …
Yes, this seems plausible. I told Melissa there is no way the mechanic would need to go into the back of the van, but I can’t say that I really know for sure. There could be any number of technical reasons why he might suggest it. All I can do is hope and pray.
Bertie has fallen asleep on my lap and I stroke his soft ears and feel thankful for his trust and warmth.
Cars pass with aggressive speed, their sound like giant sheets of paper being angrily ripped apart. The vibrations rumble through the bank and into my sore hips. I’m sitting on my spare cagoule but the chill from the ground still seeps through and into my bones. It doesn’t feel like June. It could be October right now.
I glance at the van. I can see Melissa’s face in the glow of the mirror light and it looks as though she is applying make-up. We’re not likely to be appearing in Vogue as far as I am aware but I suppose I mustn’t judge. Younger women care about these things inordinately these days.
But I do wish she would join me here on the bank, as one is supposed to in these circumstances. Anything could happen.
I sigh, knowing that is a hopeless wish. If there is one thing I have learned in the last few, strange hours, it’s that this girl won’t do anything she doesn’t want to. I haven’t had time to run my story past her either. I can only hope she will employ that acting ability she demonstrated earlier.
The strobing light of the breakdown truck would be a comforting sight on any other occasion. Tonight though, it makes my stomach jolt with nerves, as it gradually gets larger and closer. It’s a little too similar to another sort of light in these present circumstances. The driver spends a minute reading something before making his leisurely way out of the truck. He’s a portly man, bald, in his forties, and looks tired and fed up.
‘Evening ladies,’ he says and then I notice the little spark of interest when he sees Melissa close up. I wonder if she is even aware of this any more?
‘Bit past your bedtimes, is it?’
Melissa gives a little giggle, and I think, Oh yes, she’s aware, all right.
I open my mouth to speak, ready with our story, but realize quickly that it is just one of those things people say. He doesn’t really care why we are driving in the middle of the night and moves straight onto a question about what has happened before we can answer.
It never ceases to amaze me, how little people are interested in each other anymore. It never occurred to me until tonight that this could ever be a good thing.
I quickly tell him what happened with the smoke and so on, and he nods knowingly before asking me to unlatch the bonnet. Naturally, I have no idea how to do this and my expression must betray this because, wordlessly, he’s already opening the driver’s door and fumbling below the steering wheel. The bonnet makes a clunking sound and he goes round to lift it up. He peers inside for a while. I can hardly breathe. I glance at Melissa, whose eyes look large and luminous in the light. She still has the tartan blanket around her although she has let it hang open a little at the front, I notice.
The AA man rummages about inside the bonnet for a while.
I am suddenly so acutely aware of the dead body crumpled just a few feet from him that I have a very inappropriate urge to start laughing. How would I explain that? It’s such a terrible but almost comical thought that I can’t seem to control my face and I feel the corners of my mouth hitch up of their own accord. I think I must have made a small sound too because Melissa is staring at me now, an expression of such terror and fury on her pretty face that I almost take a step backwards.
My heartbeat pounds in my ears. I have to appear like a woman who just wants to get on her way. Just be normal, Hester, I tell myself. Just be normal. But I can’t entirely remember how.
A few minutes later the AA man holds aloft a rectangular sort of grid that is covered in dust and dirt.
‘There you go,’ he says. ‘Your air filter is all chocked up.’
‘Oh dear, is that a big problem?’ says Melissa. The slight tremor in her voice betrays her nerves, which she has done a good job of hiding until now.
The AA man emerges from the bonnet and bends backwards, rotating his shoulders and groaning a little.
‘Bloody back,’ he says, then, ‘Nah, just need to give it a clean and you’ll be on your way again. Won’t take five minutes.’
Oh thank God. My knees almost give way as I meet Melissa’s eyes. Neither of us can help exchanging a small smile. The relief is so intense it feels like a drug flooding through my system. Not that I’ve ever taken drugs, but I imagine it must be a similar sensation.
True to his word, he doesn’t take long and soon he’s putting the filter back where it belongs. Melissa’s nervous energy is almost crackling around her now like static, and I sense she is desperate to get this over with and be on our way. I’m expecting the AA man to get some paperwork from his vehicle for her to sign, but he doesn’t do that.
Instead, he walks past us to the back of the van, without glancing at either of us.
I stare at Melissa, my mouth circling in horror. Her face is a mask of shock as she follows him. I hurry after her.
‘What’s up?’ she says in a strange squeaky voice.
The AA man gestures at the lower end of the back of the van and then taps it with the toe of his boot. The proximity of his large frame – so near the body on the other side of those doors – makes my throat close over.
‘See that?’ he says in a relaxed tone. ‘One of your taillights is gone. Noticed it was smashed as I pulled over.’
Looking down I can see that, sure enough, there is broken glass or plastic or whatever it is on one of the lights. I realize with a plummeting sensation that this probably happened when I was reversing out of Melissa’s driveway. She shoots me a look that makes my skin shrivel, then clears her throat.
‘Really, it’s okay,’ she says then, and I wonder if it’s only me who can hear the tightness in her voice. ‘We’ll get that sorted when we get, um, home. You must have another job you should be getting to!’
The false brightness in her voice makes me think of the sound made when you run a finger around a wine glass. It’s too high, too sharp, not normal.
‘Nope, this is my last job,’ says the AA man, rolling his fist over a small belch. ‘Pop open the back of the van for me and I’ll sort it for you now.’
Melissa doesn’t move, and neither do I.
The man seems to turn slowly, taking us both in.
Everything seems to go very quiet. I am no longer aware of the passing vehicles.
I have the strangest notion that we will be stuck in this odd tableau forever: Melissa, the AA man, and me. Time is unable to move forward.
My mind fills with vivid images. I see the van being opened and the AA man peering in. Asking what’s in the back. Maybe reaching out in our silence and unrolling some of the plastic to see the cool, stiff flesh beneath. I picture the look of slight confusion and then horror on his face as he reaches into his pocket for his mobile phone. I see him stumbling back a little as he rings 999.
I think I’m actually going to vomit.
And then another picture comes to me. This time I see myself finding a rock from the side of the road. I see it smashing against his bald, shiny head and splitting it like an egg. Or maybe I could find some sort of heavy spanner from his own breakdown truck. I quickly try to calculate the chances of this working. He’s quite a big man. It would also be enormously problematic if we found ourselves with two bodies to dispose of.
What’s more, all his movements tonight will have been logged …
Melissa is speaking and I’m too flustered and caught up in my own panic to make sense of what she is saying.
‘No really, my husband has planned to sort that himself … we’d better leave it, but honestly, thanks a million. You’re a total gem.’
The AA man looks understandably confused. ‘Well, it won’t take a moment, love. And I really shouldn’t send you on your way with a defective light. Did you know the police can pull you over for that?’
I gaze at Melissa. I am shaking, hard, from my legs up to my chattering teeth.
The notion of finding some kind of heavy implement in his truck is starting to feel like our only option.
Melissa casts her eyes down and seems to hunch her shoulders, visibly shrinking.
‘The thing is,’ she says in a small voice, ‘I wasn’t really supposed to borrow the van at all. My old man is away on a golf weekend and my, er, cousin and I have been to a friend’s party. I was hoping he’d never know about this breakdown. I deal with AA stuff so there’s no reason for him to know. But if you mend the light …’
Despite how shaken I am, I notice that her normally well-spoken voice is morphing into an Estuary twang.
She looks up, slyly. But maybe he can’t see that. Men are so stupid sometimes. No woman would ever believe that story about a party when neither of us is remotely dressed for one.
But she hasn’t finished. ‘He has a bit of a temper, you see.’ This last bit is almost a whisper and she gazes at the AA man with wide eyes.
He seems to grow taller as she shrinks. This appeal to his testosterone has quite done the trick.
‘Okay love,’ he says in a gruff voice. ‘I get it. I’ll leave it for now but make sure he does get it fixed, won’t you?’
‘I will,’ she says, rewarding him with a sweet, melancholy smile.
‘And … love?’
‘Yes?’
‘Take care of yourself, won’t you?’
A few minutes later she waves him away. I haven’t been able to find my voice yet and wasn’t even able to thank him before he left, which is very unlike me. I put my hand to my chest, feeling my heart beat like a trapped bird against a window. Melissa turns shining eyes to me.
‘Christ! That was a bit close, wasn’t it?’
I get the sense that she is close to tears. Her chin trembles a little and she gives a slightly hysterical laugh.
‘It certainly was,’ I say quietly. Then, ‘Come on, we’d better go.’ The thought of driving again is monstrous right now but I lower my eyes and trudge back to the driver’s side.
‘Hester?’ says Melissa, as we settle back into our seats. ‘Do you mind if we stop for a bit at the next services? I need to pee and get some coffee. That whole thing almost finished me off. And we’ve got hours still, haven’t we?’
I look over at her as the occasional car streaks past outside and stripes our interior with yellow light. She is smiling at me, hopefully, and she looks young and tired. There is a softness in her eyes that feels like something new between us.
I feel a surge of affection and do believe that this is the closest we have ever been. Five minutes ago, I felt as though I were experiencing one of the worst moments of my life, but this one I would like to bathe in for a little longer.
‘Of course we can, dear girl,’ I say. ‘Of course we can.’
Before long we see the sign for Fleet Services and I pull into the car park, which isn’t as empty as you might imagine at 2.30 a.m. in the morning.
I have to leave Bertie in the van once he has relieved himself but, he is such a good little dog, I know I can trust him not to make a lot of noise. He looks at me trustingly as I whisper to him that Mummy will be back in a little while.
These are such strange places, I think, as we go through the main doors. People come and go, all night long. There are lots of places to eat and drink now, not like my day when we would sit at the side of the road on a picnic blanket with our boiled eggs and thermos tea. Now it’s all cappuccinos and paninis, or burgers and Coke, depending on where you are on the social spectrum.
I get myself a cup of insipid tea from the least offensive-looking of the options and sit in the main seating area, where Melissa will be able to find me once she has gone to the toilet. I try to concentrate on the timing of our night ahead.
If we stay here for an hour or so, it should mean that we get to our destination as daylight arrives.
I’m terribly tired now and the tea isn’t helping all that much.
What a night!
I keep trying to picture the practicalities of moving the body and getting it down the well, but it sounds like an almost impossible task.
It’s a terrible thing to say, and, of course, I could never have countenanced such a barbaric act, but it does rather make one understand why bodies are sometimes … well, separated into more manageable pieces to make disposal easier. I’m not sure whether we would have had the necessary tools, however. Dexter has all sorts of complicated saws and things, not to mention all that plastic sheeting he uses. It’s not exactly what you’d find in the average kitchen.
We’re just going to have to work with what we’ve got but I am concerned about the rigor mortis issue. What if the thing is now as stiff as an ironing board? However will we get it in the well?
I’m half wishing I hadn’t suggested this plan, although I have no idea what the alternative would be. We couldn’t exactly put the body out with the bins.
Cradling my cooling cup of tea, I realize now Melissa has been in the Ladies for rather a long time. I wonder whether I should check on her.
The silly thought occurs to me that she has somehow left me here.
Alone.
Maybe she walked back outside and is hitch-hiking home, hip cocked cheekily and her thumb out. This thought makes me squeeze my hands into fists so tightly that my nails dig into my palms in quite a painful way. It would be a terrible thing to do to me. Evil, almost. Surely she couldn’t do that?
I really am starting to fret about this when I see her coming towards me across the concourse, holding a large Starbucks’ cup, even though this is a separate café and I believe you’re only supposed to consume items bought here. But I suppose it’s a very small misdemeanour, given our current circumstances.
She slides into the seat in front of me. Her eyes are puffy and I can see that she has been crying. This thought really rips at my heart and gives me new resolve.
I have to help this poor, lost girl. I really don’t think that, despite the riches she has (both literally and metaphorically), she is a very happy person. Mark is nice enough, I suppose but, like Saskia, I always felt that he resented my place in Melissa’s life. Sometimes I even believed he was secretly mocking me, when we had one of our rare conversations.
One thing I know for sure. There is no way we will be returning to how things used to be. Not now we have been through this together. Saskia and Mark and anyone else with an opinion will just have to get used to my new place in her life. We are a team now.
Melissa takes a sip of her drink and closes her eyes. I would like to let her rest awhile, but we have matters that must be discussed and they can’t wait.
‘So, I’ve been thinking about the rigor mortis issue,’ I say.
Her eyes snap open and her cheeks flood with blotchy colour. ‘Keep your voice down!’ she hisses, looking around the café area. ‘Why don’t you just take over the Tannoy and tell the entire place for Christ’s sake?’
This stings.
There aren’t that many people in here. There are a few men who look like truck drivers dotted about at this hour but none of them has paid us any attention. A young coloured teenager runs a huge mop around in a desultory fashion at the far end of the café area. I think she is really making an unnecessary fuss, but I do nonetheless drop my voice when I speak again.
‘I’m sorry! But I know from watching dramas that rigor mortis isn’t a permanent state, so I’m hoping we will be beyond that bit when the time comes. But even so, it’s going to be difficult to manoeuvre it, isn’t it?’
She leans forward, placing her hand on the table in front of her. Her face is so thunderous it almost frightens me.
‘Him, Hester,’ she hisses. ‘Him. That’s a person in the back of that van. Not an “it”.’ Her words seem to skid off into tearfulness then. She jabs angry looks around the café. ‘I think it’s about time you remembered that.’
Well! I can feel the tears rising up and I can’t stop them. After everything I’ve done for that girl and am still prepared to do, she speaks to me like that. The ingratitude …
My tea is only half-drunk and I am so exhausted now that my eyes seem to be filled with sand but I can’t stay here a moment longer.
I push back my chair and lift my chin, mustering my dignity.
‘I will be in the van, resting. You should stay here for a while. I think you need time alone.’ I pause. ‘And quite frankly, so do I!’
With that, I march away from the table and across the concourse, back to my Bertie.