A Heart in the Right Place

by Heide Goody

  “I have a dog,” said Nick, indicating. “He’s perfectly fine and he’s on a lead.” He edged away from the wheelie bin as he spoke.

  She crouched down to look at the dog. “He has a lot of blood around his muzzle,” she observed. “Is he hurt?”

  “No, definitely not,” said Nick. “He’s been chasing wotsits.”

  “Wotsits?”

  “Badgers?”

  “Badgers?” She looked horrified.

  “I mean squirrels. Squirrels. In the garden.”

  She shook her head and turned the dog’s head from side to side, checking for injuries.

  “He’s very fond of raw meat,” said Nick. “He won’t leave those squirrels alone.”

  “I’m just going to take some details,” said the woman, rising to her feet and producing a book of forms.

  Nick really wished she would go away. “I wonder if it’s next door you’re after?” he said. “I saw a dog running round there and making a mess.” He pointed at AshleysNan’s house.

  “What sort of dog?” asked the woman.

  “A big one. With a stomach complaint. Look!”

  The woman’s gaze followed Nick’s finger. A trail of excrement was clearly visible going across the shared border between this house and next door. Happily, the underpants which had held the poo were hidden in the foliage.

  “Oh dear,” said the dog warden. “Although, it will be a civil matter, of course, given it’s on private property. We’re more pavements and footpaths.”

  “Well, maybe you could just go and tell her off a bit?”

  “Tell her off?”

  “Some people are just a bit thoughtless or, you know, ignorant. In need of educating.”

  The woman gave Nick a sideways glance before turning to look at next door. “I’ll pop round, but I’ll be popping back to see how you’re all getting on.” She scratched the dog behind the ears. “Can I suggest you get your dog a nice bone from the butchers in future?”

  Nick nodded and smiled before wheeling the bin, dog in tow, over to his own house. He unlocked his car and put the dog on the backseat with the rucksack as he worked out a way to transfer Oz’s body to the boot. He was dimly aware of raised voices drifting across from AshleysNan and the dog warden. Good. If they were arguing with each other they were leaving him alone.

  His car was parked facing the street, so getting the body into the boot could be done discreetly, although Nick berated himself for his slovenly habits. If his garage wasn’t so full of useless clutter he could have reversed his car inside and been completely unseen. He popped the boot and wheeled the bin round. He experimented with the idea of tipping it over the sill and just dropping Oz into the boot. He didn’t think he had the strength. He had an idea if he did a fireman’s lift, he could get Oz out. If only he knew how to do a fireman’s lift.

  He heard the sound of a car slowing down just beyond the driveway. He looked fearfully at his phone. Eight o’clock, on the dot.

  With speed and strength fuelled by outright fear of his dad catching him in a compromising position with a corpse, he grabbed Oz by the armpits, yanked upright and hit his head on the open boot lid. With a cry of pain he stumbled forward, somehow taking Oz with him. Behind him the bin tipped over. He kicked it away. Blood trickled into the garden borders. There were splashes of it on the Cadillac, but the hot rod red paintjob hid them well.

  “Is that you, Nick?” called his dad from the road.

  Oz now leaned halfway into the boot, legs trailing over the sill. Nick poked his head round the car. Tony Carver, in sensible cords, a no nonsense shirt and a wouldn’t-suffer-fools-gladly raincoat stood on the pavement. Tony Carver, the unstoppable dad machine.

  Throughout Nick’s life there had been a number of things he could count on. He knew, for example, his enthusiasm for a project was not always matched by his technical ability or his patience. One reason the garage was filled with half-painted junk shop finds and planters with mysterious twiggy dead things in them. He also knew this would never stop him from launching, half-baked, into the next new and exciting thing. When he’d caused actual damage to the house, like the time he’d put a house brick into the cistern (a simple, water-saving measure), and dropped it so hard it cracked the thing and created a flood, he’d always relied on his dad being there to help. His dad: always knowing how to do things and knowing how things worked.

  But disposing of corpses was well beyond Tony Carver’s remit. He couldn’t be allowed to see the body. He just couldn’t.

  “Dad,” said Nick, needlessly.

  Tony jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the kerfuffle going on across the road. “What’s that nonsense about?”

  “I think that woman’s been letting her dog do its business all over people’s gardens.”

  Tony tutted. “Should be a criminal offence.”

  “I think it is,” said Nick.

  “Ah.” Tony gave a sharp upward nod of his head as though his own views were being confirmed. “Here come the boys in blue now.”

  “What?”

  Tony pointed, beyond the front hedge, where Nick couldn’t see.

  “Maybe you should see what they’re up to,” suggested Nick.

  Tony pulled an interested face, nodded and wandered off. Nick hurriedly began tucking splayed limbs into the boot.

  13

  “Now, that’s a police car,” said Adam.

  “I can see that,” said Finn.

  The police officer ambled towards a woman resident and the council dog warden. It was unclear from this distance what they were arguing about, although the resident appeared to waving around what Finn could only think of as a shitty pair of pants.

  Finn leaned back in her chair. “Audrey…”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re thinking you could jump out of the car and run over to that copper, screaming for help, and he could keep you safe.”

  “I wasn’t,” she said. “I’m just going to sit here and—”

  “It wasn’t a question,” said Finn. “I just want you to be aware if you so much as touch that door, I will kill you, the cop, the dog warden and that woman waving— That is a pair of pants, isn’t it?”

  “Would appear so,” said Adam. “Here comes another man. Is he one of Oz’s known associates?”

  Finn watched the older man approach the policemen with a well-practised amble of his own. His contributions to the pavement conversation were unclear but they didn’t seem to be helping.

  “Don’t know,” said Finn. “It’s unimportant. Oz is still on the driveway. I can see movement. We just observe for now.”

  14

  “That’s a rum to-do and no mistake,” said Tony, sauntering down Nick’s driveway.

  Oz’s dangling body bits had been pushed into the boot. Nick was in the process of turning the sheepskin coat inside out so the fresh splashes of gore he’d suffered in packing Oz were on the inside and he could present an almost passable exterior to the world. Things rattled and crinkled in the coat pockets.

  “Rum to-do?” Nick slammed down the lid.

  “Even a fracas, one might say,” added Tony. He held out his holdall and approached the boot.

  Nick slammed his hands on the lid. “Ah, no. You can’t go in there. The catch has gone.”

  “What? You were just in there as I walked up the drive.”

  “Yes. Yes I was,” agreed Nick. “I was fixing it. With glue. We can’t open it again now, the glue’s setting.”

  “You can’t fix a thing like that with glue,” said Tony with an impatient shake of his head. “Let me have a look, you don’t want to gum up the mechanism, or you’ll never get it working again.”

  “It’s fine, dad. I booked it in first thing next week. The garage gave me special temporary glue. Just put your bag on the back seat and we’ll get going.”

  “Temporary glue?”

  “Yes. Or wax, maybe it was wax. They said to keep it shut anyway. We don’t need the boot when there’s only two of us
.”

  Tony gave him a sceptical look but stepped up to the rear door. “And why’s there a dog in your car?”

  Nick cursed his own stupidity. How could he have forgotten about the dog? “Yeah. Funny that. I’ve, um, got a dog. It was a fairly recent thing. Just fell in love with him.”

  “Great stuff!” said Tony, reaching in to fuss the dog. “Joining us for the ride, huh? What’s your name then, pooch?”

  “Pickles,” said Nick instantly. “He’s called Pickles.”

  “Really? Well unless I’m very much mistaken, this is a bitch.”

  “Yes,” said Nick. “And her name is Pickles. It can be a girl’s name.”

  “But you called her he. Is this one of those gender things I hear them going on about.”

  “Probably that. Exactly that,” said Nick. “I don’t want to put labels on things. He. She. Pickles can be what she wants to be.”

  “Trannie dog,” said Tony.

  “I think the preferred term is trans or transgender,” Nick corrected gently.

  Tony gave Nick a weary dad look.

  Pickles’ contribution to the discussion was to spit something out of her mouth onto the back seat.

  “What’s this?” said Tony, leaning across. “Good Lord above, it looks like a wedding ring.” He held up a gold band for Nick to see. “Where do you suppose she got that from?”

  “She’s a bit of a devil for picking things up,” said Nick. “Um, I’ll hang onto it and see if I can find the owner. Let’s set off, eh?”

  They got in. Father and son in the front. Dog, luggage and a whisky presentation gift on the back seat. A dead guy – most of him – in the boot.

  Nick glanced across the road at Oz’s house. The policeman was talking to AshleysNan, who still seemed to be embroiled with the dog warden. He had no idea who had called the police. Perhaps the dog warden; or more likely AshleysNan had phoned about the screaming and smashing noises. He hoped nobody decided to go and have a look next door. If only his fire lighting skills had worked out better. He’d feel so much better if he didn’t have to leave the exuberant display of bodily fluids he’d created. It occurred to him his dad would have known how to light a better fire, or why his own efforts had proven so ineffectual.

  Nick drove the car off the drive and turned right. He accelerated towards the junction at the end of the road, not turning his head to look at AshleysNan and the rum to-do (or possibly fracas) centring on his discarded underwear as they passed.

  “So, here’s a question for you, dad,” he said. “Er, a friend of mine let their cigarette burn against one my cushions at home.”

  “What friend? You let people smoke in your house? That kind of thing affects property re-sale value.”

  “Point is,” said Nick. “Point is, it didn’t burn the cushion, and I was just wondering what the stuff in them was that … didn’t burn.”

  “I had no idea any of your friends smoked.”

  “It was Abigail, all right.”

  Tony made a very dubious noise, although Nick wasn’t sure what about. “Most likely polyester stuffing,” he said eventually. “Maybe wool or feathers if it’s an old-school cushion. Of course, interesting thing about natural fibres—” Tony settled into his favourite role of dad-style lecturing “—they are naturally safer. It’s quite hard to set fire to wool, did you know that? Often it will just smoulder. Of course all upholstery has to be fire resistant anyway.”

  “What? Like it’s the law?”

  “Fire regulations.” Tony gave him a stern look. “Don’t they teach you anything in school?”

  And like that, their old roles were established for the journey; the father and the child. The fire regulation thing did explain why his bonfire had been unsuccessful though. If only there had been some minor smouldering…

  There was a loud boom from behind them. In the rear-view mirror Nick watched glass, upholstery and splintered woodwork billow out into the street on a ball of flame, peppering a BMW which was doing a three-point turn.

  “What the hell was that?” declared Tony, trying to turn in his seat.

  “Nothing, nothing,” said Nick, pulling onto the main road. “Car backfiring. Or something. Probably something.”

  15

  The blast rattled the windows of the hire car. Audrey gasped. Adam slammed on the brakes, mid turn. Flames were visible in the downstairs windows of Oz’s house, thick black smoke billowed out of the shattered glass.

  “You stopped,” said Finn.

  Adam looked at her and did a double take. “The house…! The house just exploded!”

  Finn pointed down the road. “Oz is leaving.”

  Adam did his own pointing: at the windscreen. Scraps of net curtain and charred window frame littered the glass. “The house…!”

  Finn reached over and flicked on the wipers. “There.”

  The copper ran to his car, presumably to radio for help. The dog warden stared, dumbfounded, at ruined iron bars bent outward from the windows, like crooked teeth.

  “Time to go,” said Adam.

  The rear door slammed. Finn turned. Audrey was gone: gone and hurrying towards the copper. Finn put a hand on the door handle, but Adam was already accelerating. She touched the lapel pocket of her Muubaa. She had the woman’s name and face; she’d be able to find her again. The cop and the dog warden … they’d be a little trickier to track down, but life was all about challenges. Finn was always adaptable.

  Adam turned onto the main road, cutting up a transit van in the process.

  “You know,” he said, “this looks a lot like he’s on the run and covering his tracks.”

  Finn nodded. The assignment just got a whole lot more interesting.

  16

  The chafing of Nick’s trousers was beginning to get annoying. As a younger man he’d questioned the point of underwear. Why wear an extra layer? Surely it just meant more laundry? He laughed at his naivety. Underwear was surely the basis for civilisation. Without it, there could be no way to avoid grinding his unfortunate genitals into the clinging remnants of poo he could both feel and smell. He hoped his father couldn’t smell it too. There was a good chance the heavy sheepskin coat was shielding Tony from Nick’s private, stinking ecosystem. The coat was extremely hot, but Nick couldn’t possibly take it off, given the blood-soaked state of his clothes. He turned the car’s heating down a little. He would have to put up with it for a while, until he could find an opportunity to change into clean clothes.

  “There’s some sucky sweets in the glove box,” said Nick as they turned onto the motorway slip road.

  Tony pulled open the glove box. “You want me to pass you one?”

  “No, I’m fine,” said Nick.

  “Oh, right.”

  “They’re barley sugars.”

  Tony took out the tin and looked, holding it at a slight distance to focus. “Yes, they are.”

  “Your favourites,” Nick prompted.

  “Maybe later.” Tony closed the glove box.

  They drove onto the motorway, and immediately hit queuing traffic. Nick jiggled his mobile out of his pocket, wiping it on the coat in case it had somehow been splattered with blood or, God forbid, crap. He cradled it in the Satnav holder on the wide American dashboard.

  “Ok, Google. Directions for Rosemarkie, near Inverness.”

  The Satnav app whirled and thought.

  “I think we can get to Inverness without the need for that,” said Tony sourly. “It’s M6 for the first two hours at least.”

  “I know, dad, but it’s nice to see how far we’ve got to go. And maybe if there’s traffic...”

  “M6, M73, M80, M9, then the A9 for over a hundred miles. Just point the car north.”

  “Ah, but where’s north, eh, if you don’t have a compass?”

  Tony stuck out his left hand decisively. “North.”

  The Satnav app concluded much the same. Four hundred and fifty miles to go. Eight hours travelling time. And north was indeed that way.


  “Shall I tell you some of the things we’ve got in store for us this weekend?” asked Nick, shuffling in his seat, eager to share the excitement.

  “Yes?” said Tony.

  “So, the cabin’s got gorgeous views over the Moray Firth. And I’ve even ordered us a hamper of goodies for when we get there.”

  “Nice,” said Tony. “Saves us having to go to the shops, I guess. If it’s self-catering I did think we’d need to pop to a Londis, or something. Pick up a loaf of bread and maybe a couple of Fray Bentos pies, or something.”

  “No, these are proper goodies. Not quite a Fortnum and Mason hamper, but fine cheeses, patés and I think there’s some of those cracker bread with the—”

  “Can you still get Fray Bentos pies?” said Tony. “Haven’t seen them in the shops for ages.”

  Nick glanced sideways. His dad wasn’t sharing his enthusiasm for fine food treats. “You like cheese and paté and that, don’t you, dad?”

  “Spam,” said Tony.

  “Sorry?”

  “Not seen that in the shops for ages either.”

  “I couldn’t say,” said Nick. “But we won’t waste time going to the shops because we have some serious fun to pack in this weekend. We’re going to be doing some clay pigeon shooting, did I tell you that?”

  Tony frowned. “No, I don’t think you mentioned it. Do you like shooting?”

  Nick had never fired a gun in his life.

  “I just never realised you were a fan of shooting,” said Tony.

  Nick tightened his grip on the steering wheel. This wasn’t about what he was a fan of. This weekend was all about his dad, surely that was obvious? “I haven’t got to the best part yet,” said Nick, unable to contain his glee any longer. “You’ll never guess what I’ve got a bottle of? Something special to sip as we watch the sun go down.”

  Tony looked up at the sky and down at the slow moving traffic. “The sun will have gone down by the time we get there.”

  “Or while the Moon rises,” said Nick peevishly. “There’s a full Moon this weekend. Guess.”