For some reason the thought of this gave Julia a little comfort.
"You need to go down there and push her in," Rob said.
"Me?" Julia replied.
"Yeah, you. This is your fucking mess, isn't it?" Rob spat back. "We're just trying to help you out!"
Julia was taken aback by the sudden change in his voice. But also by the sense in his reasoning. More than that, she was terrified he might yet change his mind. So instead of arguing further she told herself this wasn’t happening, and began to descend the side of the ditch. As she did so she thought how incredible it would have seemed if someone had told her an hour before that she would be doing this.
"Shit!" She swore as her foot slipped on the greasy slope.
"Here." She looked up, and saw Rob holding out his hand. She took it, and carefully climbed further down into the ditch until she was close enough to the woman's body to reach the head. Letting go of Rob now, she placed one hand into the earthy wetness, feeling the mud ooze through the fingers of her gloves, and seep inside at her wrist. With her other hand she reached out, nearly touching the woman's lips.
"What do you want me to do?" she called out.
"I don't know. Just... Splash water on it, and rub it around with your hands. Grab some leaves or something, and do it with that."
Julia hesitated a final time, then simply closed her mind and did what she was told.
"That's it. Now see if you can push her completely underwater? That way no one will find her for a while."
Again Julia did as she was being told, and she discovered that whatever the woman's body was snagged on wasn't very strong. Julia was able to push her completely underwater. The only problem was, she kept coming back to the surface.
"It's floating!" she shouted back after the third attempt.
"Wait a minute," Rob said. "I'll grab a stick, and you can pin her under the water." The light from the torch disappeared as he crossed to the other side of the road, where a couple of trees stood like silent sentinels. Slowly, Julia's eyes re-adjusted to the moonlight, and she saw the woman's eyes shining back at her. Julia looked away.
When Rob returned he handed down a forked stick, and in the light of Rob and Becky's mobile phones Julia somehow managed to pin the woman's body so that no part of her cleared the surface. When she was finished she climbed back up, her shoes now soaked through with mud, her gloves ruined.
"Well done," Becky said. She touched Julia on the shoulder.
"Now we should get the hell out of here," Rob said.
"What about the bike?" Becky reminded him. "Aren't we going to throw that in the ditch as well?"
"Shit. Yeah." Rob swung his torchlight back into the ditch. But when he went on he sounded suddenly panicked. "But there isn't any room is there? She hardly got the body in there."
"Well, what are we going to do with it?" Becky asked. “We can’t just leave it here. Someone will find it.” She sounded panicked too. And for a long moment no one answered.
When Rob finally did, it was like he had suddenly been taken beyond the point where he could cope with the responsibility that had been thrust upon him.
"I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. Maybe we should just take it? Get it as far away from here as we can? Then it won’t matter. Would it fit in the car?" Rob asked.
Together with Becky he turned to look. Julia saw them both register how small the boot on the Morris was.
“Maybe we could, like, dismantle it or something. Fit it in that way?” Becky said.
"No! There's no time," Rob replied. "Someone could come along at any moment. If they see us now, with her in the ditch, what are they going to think? We've got to get out of here!"
He stepped quickly towards the car.
"Becky, get in. Just get in."
"What are you doing?" Julia asked.
"We're gonna drive. You take the bike and ride it. When we find somewhere good we'll ditch it. But we've got to get out of here!" He was moving so quickly now that Julia didn't have time to think, much less to argue. Before she knew what was happening Becky had handed her the bike and was already in the passenger seat, putting on her seatbelt. Rob was in the driver's seat revving the engine. Each time he did so the lights brightened.
"Come on! Move. Let's go. Let's get the fuck out of here," Rob said as Becky slammed her door shut. With a lurch, the car moved forwards.
And now, feeling blind panic at the thought of being left there alone, Julia climbed astride the bicycle.
Seven
At first they drove fast, the lights rapidly shrinking into the distance, and an instant panic rose up inside Julia. They were stealing her car! They were leaving her here in the middle of nowhere, with only the dead woman's bike! But then, ahead of her, the brake lights lit up on her car and it stopped. For a second Julia hesitated, but desperate to reach them she began cycling. It was a while since she had ridden a bike, and this one had a noticeable buckle to its front wheel. The dynamo lights lit up, but they were pitifully weak. Julia ignored it all, focussed only upon reaching the car. Escaping the dead and staying with the living. As she drew close, gasping with relief, she heard Rob's voice from the open window.
"Overtake us. You go in front," he said. Without questioning why, she did what she was told, wobbling past in the narrow lane. And with the lights of the car behind her it was now easier to see. She steered a straighter course as her speed increased, but felt even more unsafe. The bike was more damaged than Rob had thought. The front wheel wobbled sickeningly each time it went round. Each revolution made her veer to the right, and each time she wondered how it would feel if the car behind her were to plough into her, to knock her to the road. Just as had happened to the owner of the bicycle only a half hour before. She felt tears streaking down her face again. She wanted to wipe them away but was too scared to move her hand from the bike’s handlebar.
Julia soon tired. Her legs were not used to such exercise, and she had been pedalling frantically, but Rob drove so close behind that she was terrified of slowing, in case the car ran into her. For the first time since buying the little car she didn’t think of its sloping nose as something full of character and charm, but as a dangerous lump of metal, and she fought to keep away from it.
They reached a hill. It wasn’t steep, but even so she had to work much harder to keep the bicycle moving at all. Behind her the car drew even closer, almost touching her, as if Rob wanted to push her to go faster. Rob revved the engine, and called out of the window for her to speed up, and between panting breaths she yelled at him she was going as fast as she could. Some of her fear became anger, and it gave her the power to keep the pedals turning. Eventually the hill levelled out, but now she faced a new danger. Now the road plunged into a valley in the landscape, and the ribbon of tarmac part-illuminated in front of her appeared to steeply and dangerously drop away. Now she didn’t need to pedal at all; the bike was seemingly being sucked downward. Julia clutched at the brake levers in a new panic. It seemed that the damaged wheel was going to send her careering into the ditch. Perhaps Rob thought the same, for he had pulled back now, which further scared Julia since it meant she was more dependent on the weak dynamo light fitted to the bicycle. But the bike, now up to speed, stabilised a little, and on some level Julia – the wind sweeping her hair out behind her – felt a visceral thrill from the sensation of simply falling, momentarily letting gravity choose her fate.
Then the hill bottomed out, sapping Julia’s speed. Ahead of her she saw the darkness of another incline looming ahead of her. But then she heard the honk of her car horn. Her chest still heaving, she came to a stop.
"There's a lake," Rob said from the open window. He was indicating to the left, and he papped the horn again. "Go in there."
Again, Julia did as she was told, and Rob followed her down a short dirt track that led to a parking area. When he was safely off the road, Rob turned off the engine and the lights. Julia was suddenly pitched into the dark quietness of the night.
&nb
sp; But as her eyes adjusted she saw, through the bushes, the moon shining on the surface of water. Rob was out of the car now. Julia heard Becky getting out as well.
"It's a quarry lake. That means it'll be really deep. You just need to make sure you throw the bike a long way out.”
It was a few moments before Julia was able to reply, she was panting so hard.
"No. You have to do this one. I'm not strong enough."
Rob said nothing, but Julia sensed he understood. He took the bike from her with his hands covered by the cuffs of his jacket. He wheeled it to the edge of the water, and then he lifted it and – just like they had with the woman – practised swinging it back and forth a couple of times. The only way he seemed able to do it was to swing it around, like an athletic hammer thrower, or maybe like he was dancing with it. After his practices he finally released it, right at the edge of the lake. It swung through the air, under the moonlight, but not far. Almost at once it caught the surface of the water with an ugly splash, like the black lake was some monstrous beast claiming the machine. It fell so close to the shore Julia expected a part of it to stick out, but when the water cleared, there was nothing to be seen.
"How deep do you think that is?" Becky asked.
"Deep enough," Rob said. "Now let's get out of here."
Eight
Bang!
Bang, BANG!
Julia woke with a start. The noise came again. She propped herself up, in her own bed. For a moment she was confused. The fragments of dreams sloughed off her like water from a surfacing submarine.
The clock on her bedside table said 11.30 a.m.
"Julia?" a voice from outside called. A jovial, genial voice. "Are you in there?"
She recognised the voice, and slowly remembered why he was here. Geoffrey said he'd pop round to see how the party had gone. His way of showing that he understood she hadn't been able to take him, and that he still supported her.
There was a moment when she felt relief. Relief that the shards of horror in her mind were about to melt away into the reality of daylight. But then came something else, the question of whether it had all been a dream or… She looked around and saw her tights, left by the bed, covered in mud.
Oh God.
She sank back onto the pillow. It was all flooding back to her now. Her hand flew to her mouth as she remembered how she'd handled the woman's body. How she'd pushed the face under the water.
She cringed. She shuddered. She wanted to pull the covers over her head and never come out.
"Julia? Are you alright in there?" Geoffrey called again. The playful note turning to concern. She knew he was looking at her car. There was nowhere to go in Julia's village. Nowhere. If someone’s car was there, they were in. Could she pretend she was sick? She had a new, fresh memory. What Rob had told her when they finally went their separate ways the night before. No, this morning.
“Whatever you do, you have to act normal.”
She’d agreed, but she hadn’t thought she would need to do so at once. Without even a moment to prepare.
“Julia?”
With a groan she pushed herself up off the bed, and began throwing some clothes on. Geoffrey would keep trying.
"Just coming," she called out.
Two minutes later she took the chain off the front door and pulled it open. The friendly, bearded face of Geoffrey Saunders broke into a smile.
"There you are! I was starting to get worried." From behind his back he produced a bag of pain au chocolat. He jiggled them about.
"Ta dah!" he said. "Pop the kettle on then. I can't wait to hear all about it."
The words, the pastries, none of it made any sense to Julia.
"Hear what?" she asked.
Geoffrey gave her a funny look and moved as if to come inside. Julia imagined herself stopping him, but reminded herself she had to act normal. It was normal for Geoffrey to invite himself inside. It was normal for her to let him in. Therefore she had to let him in. She stepped aside. But as she did so she noticed how she'd parked her little car. The front was actually in the hydrangea bush that was planted under her living room window. She remembered now that that had been a plan. An actual decision. To bury the front in there, in case anyone from the village walked past – perhaps on an early morning dog walk. She didn't want anyone noticing the front of her car, with its guilty scratches in the paintwork. But it looked strange there, almost like she'd crashed into the cottage. Had Geoffrey thought it odd how she'd parked it? She didn't know, and didn’t dare ask.
"Well you look like you've had quite the night," Geoffrey said, once they were both in the kitchen, where Geoffrey always gravitated to. He picked up the kettle and felt its weight, to see whether it needed filling. As he did so a memory surfaced in Julia, of tearing her gloves off the night before and washing her hands in the sink. The gloves were still there, balled up in the bottom of the sink.
"No, no. Let me." Julia tried to stop him, but Geoffrey was already clicking the kettle into its base, apparently content it had enough water already.
“Don’t be silly. I want you to sit down and tell me all about it."
Reluctantly, she did what he said. But no words came out.
"Well? Come on! I'm all ears."
Julia wondered if this was even going to be possible. The gleaming memories from the party, that had felt like they would last a lifetime, had been shredded by the horror of what came after. Now she wondered if she could even open her mouth at all. And if she could, would it be everything that had happened later that would come tumbling out? How she had run over the woman on the bicycle. How they had decided – stupidly, crazily – that they should hide her body instead of doing the sane thing of telling the police. She suddenly felt dizzy. But she couldn't hold her head. She put her elbows on the table and dropped her face into her palms.
"That good, huh? Crumbs. Well, who was there? Did anyone famous show up?"
Whatever you do, you have to act normal.
"Deborah Gooding," Julia said, lifting her head.
"No!" Geoffrey stopped what he was doing and turned around. He hadn't been watching her before, his attention taken by spooning coffee into the cafetiere. "The Deborah Gooding, the Booker Prize lady? You're pulling my leg!"
Julia shook her head, wondering if she were going to be sick again.
"Well, did you actually meet her? Or was she just there?"
Julia forced herself to concentrate. And it helped. The conversation with Deborah had been – until it was eclipsed by later events – one of the most momentous experiences of her entire life. To Julia's utter amazement, they had chatted. Almost like equals. Julia wondered how to express all this to Geoffrey now.
"Yeah. She was... nice," Julia managed.
"Nice? One of the greatest writers... No – I take that back. Two of the greatest writers in the country get together and that's the best you can say? Well I hope you managed to be a little more eloquent last night. Good Lord!" Geoffrey laughed at his own joke, apparently oblivious to how pale Julia had become. He continued. "I say, Julia, you're not actually hungover are you? I don't think I've ever seen you hungover."
Julia wondered how to respond. The idea of grasping at the excuse seemed useful, but she sensed danger too. He might go on to ask how she got home, if she had been drinking. It might make him register the badly-parked car. That might even be why he was asking. He might be putting two and two together already. He was clever. Geoffrey was clever.
"No." She willed her voice to sound as it normally did. "I just... I just haven't had my coffee yet." She forced a smile. "And it was all a bit overwhelming, I suppose." She heard in her own voice how close she was to tears.
"Oh..." Geoffrey's face crumpled with concern. "Darling! Should I ask you later? When you've had time to process it all?"
He turned around and finished making the coffee, then when he was done, placed a cup in front of her. She picked it up at once and drank as quickly as the temperature allowed her to. It helped.
"Is that better?"
"I'm fine, really. I just needed that coffee. Sit down, I'll tell you all about it."
Julia forced herself to talk through exactly what happened at the party, who was there, and what she had said to them. She turned it into an exercise of discipline. She tried to remember who she had spoken to, and in what order. Whenever a moment from later tried to insert itself into the narrative she squashed it at once. All the while Geoffrey drank his coffee and ate his pain au chocolat, asking questions here or there, and expressing wonder at who she met, but always being clear it was nothing less than she deserved. Of course, Julia didn't mention anything about the misunderstanding over where she lived, and hence her need to drive, and obviously she didn't say anything about killing a woman on the way home.
When she had finished and their cups were empty, she began yawning, hoping he might take the hint, but instead he started talking about the latest gossip from the Rural Dorset Creative Circle, of which they were both long-standing members. It met every Friday evening, but it wasn't without its problems. A new member, Kevin, had started coming along, but he didn't seem particularly creative. He'd made little effort to contribute, and according to Marjorie who coordinated the group, so far hadn't paid his dues for the hire of the hall and the purchase of biscuits.
Julia only half-listened. It seemed incredible. Before last night, this very issue had registered quite highly on her own list of frustrations in life. The power of a little perspective.
She gave up listening altogether and wondered whether she could just tell Geoffrey. A problem shared was a problem halved and all that, and if there was anyone she could talk to it was him. He was her greatest friend. She thought for a minute. Perhaps he was her only, true friend. They always had exactly the same views when a problem – like Kevin – came along. She was tempted to confess. She imagined how he would tell her it was alright, how he would find a way to put the mess back together. But something stopped her. The sheer scale of the problem. It was more than Geoffrey could solve with his little bag of pain au chocolat from the shop in the village. He would insist on calling the police. And they wouldn't understand. They wouldn't accept how she had genuinely forgotten about her drinking. Nor how the woman had been so wrong to cycle with no lights, in the middle of the night. No one could. No one ever would.
The Glass Tower Page 6
