by Daniel Hurst
I will do anything for my daughter.
Anything.
I’m aware some might consider hiding a body as going above and beyond the normal realm of parental responsibilities. But is it really when looked at under these circumstances? If my daughter was a cold-blooded killer who had done this on purpose, then there is no way I would have looked to protect her, no matter how much I love her. If she had committed a crime, then she deserved to pay the price for that. But this was an accident, so there is no way I could stand by and watch Chloe’s life go down the drain because of something that was a consequence of nothing but sheer bad luck.
No way at all.
I feel a sharp pain in the back of my neck and stop digging for a second, worried that I might have pulled something that would hinder the rest of this operation. Fortunately, the pain quickly subsides, and I’m able to get back to work. Maybe it was just a warning that I’m in danger of overexerting myself. Or maybe it was a reminder that I won’t just have to deal with the mental pain of what I have done tonight.
The edge of the spade suddenly hits something hard, and I let out a yelp of pain as I lose my grip on the handle, and it falls to the floor. Squeezing my wrist, I feel a tingling sensation caused by the spade’s vibration hitting whatever it was that is beneath where I am digging.
Picking up the spade again, I tentatively tap it against the base of the hole, but there’s no doubt that I’ve gone as deep as I can. This will have to do it. Is it four feet? No, its three and a half at best, but I lack the strength to break through this firmer sediment, so I throw the spade to my left and clamber up out of the grave.
Now is the moment I’ve been dreading.
It’s time to say goodbye to Rupert.
I lift his hands and pull him towards the hole, feeling the pain once again in my neck but not stopping this time because I want to get this part over with as quickly as possible. I’m able to manoeuvre Rupert’s limp and lifeless body to the edge of the hole before crouching down and placing my hands on his torso.
Here goes. I close my eyes.
And push.
I don’t open them again until I hear the thud of his body landing inside the grave. As soon as I do, I give my aching neck a quick rub before picking up the spade and returning the soil to where it was before I disturbed it.
I get halfway through filling in the hole when I hear a loud crack in the distance. Looking up in the direction of the noise, I can feel my heart hammering in my chest as I pray that I don’t see anybody looking back at me. But all I see are more dark trees, no different to what I’m surrounded by in every other direction.
What was that noise? Maybe it was nothing. Just because it sounded like somebody stepping over a fallen twig or branch, it doesn’t mean that it was.
I remain still for another thirty seconds to make sure no more sounds are forthcoming before returning to the task at hand. The pain in my neck is starting to grow more consistent now, and I have already accepted that it will be sore for the next couple of days. But if a stiff neck is the worst thing to come out of all this, I guess I’ve got off lightly.
With the hole filled in, I pat down the soil and use the edge of the spade to drag a few scraggly tree vines over the top of it before deciding that I have done as much as I can. Without wasting any time, I turn and head back in the direction of my car, using my free hand to rub the back of my throbbing neck while I carry the spade in the other.
It feels good to return the shovel to the boot, although I know I will have to give it a good clean when I get home. But that can wait until the morning. A check on the time on the dashboard tells me that it is now half-past three. This never-ending night is only halfway through, but all I have the energy for now is falling into bed.
I start up the engine and get back on the move, leaving the dark woods and all the spooky sounds they hold behind in favour of the warmth and silence of my car as I cruise through the streets. I would have one hell of a job explaining to anybody who might pull me over now why I was driving around in the middle of the night, but somehow, I doubt I’ll come across any police cars before I get back. I barely see any cars at all. Everybody is home in bed, as they should be.
As Chloe is.
I wonder how my daughter is getting on. I hope she has been able to somehow get some rest, although I wouldn’t be surprised to find her sitting up waiting for me when I get back. Just as long as she hasn’t done anything stupid. My biggest fear now is that she can’t keep the secret to herself and lets something slip to Zara or one of her other friends. That would be a disaster, but I should have more faith in her than that. Besides, she knows now that it’s not just her that could be in big trouble.
I would be neck-deep in it with her too.
It’s quarter to four by the time I get home, and the sky seems blacker than ever. I hurry inside though I doubt anybody will be curtain-twitching at this time, and close the door before remembering that I’ve left the damn spade in the boot.
I go back for it before getting it back on its hook in the garage, and finally, all the jobs are done. There’s nothing left to do but crawl into bed and see about getting some sleep.
After creeping up the stairs, I enter my bedroom and peel off my muddy clothes, tossing them before slipping on my pyjamas. I’m doing my best to be quiet, but it turns out that I needn’t have bothered.
‘Mum?’
Chloe’s voice sounds faint from the other side of her bedroom door, but I heard it, so I go inside to investigate. Walking in, I find her lying on her bed, under the duvet with the lights off but very much wide awake. She squints her eyes as the light from the hallway behind me surges past me and infiltrates her room, but even with them only half open, I can tell that she has been crying.
‘Is it done?’ she asks me, her voice still quiet even though I am in the same room as her now.
I nod.
‘Have you been able to get any sleep?’ I ask optimistically, but the shake of her head comes as no surprise.
‘I can’t stop thinking about him,’ Chloe confesses, and I approach her bed because I can see that she needs me now just as much as she needed me earlier in the night.
Taking a seat on the bed beside her, I stroke my daughter’s hair, and it’s a reminder of more innocent times when I used to sit like this when she was a child.
If only everything else was as innocent.
‘Did Zara text you back?’ I ask, noticing Chloe’s mobile phone lying on the bed beside her.
‘Yeah,’ she says solemnly. ‘She bought it.’
I almost say “good” before I catch myself and simply nod my head.
‘Close your eyes,’ I say as I continue to stroke my daughter’s hair, and she reluctantly complies.
I keep stroking for several more minutes, although I’m not sure if it’s more therapeutic for her or me. But I eventually hear the soft breaths that tell me she has drifted off to sleep, and I at least feel a little better about the fact that my last act for my daughter this evening was a pure one.
Taking care to exit her room quietly so as not to wake her, I close her door behind me before creeping into my bedroom and climbing straight into bed. Unfortunately, I have no one to stroke my hair and help me drift off. Instead, I roll over onto my side and stare straight at the wall, the images of what I went through in the woods tonight running through my mind.
The mud. The digging. The thud of Rupert’s body landing in that grave.
It was all so familiar to me. It was just like all the nightmares that have tormented me over the years. But that isn’t the only reason why I have been experiencing a strong feeling of deja-vu for the last several hours.
The reason for that is just as bleak as the part of the world where Rupert will lie hidden for eternity.
Tonight was not my first time hiding a body.
12
HEATHER
TEN YEARS AGO
‘Promise you will be good for mummy tonight?’
I don’t
know whether my question will elicit an honest answer, but I have to ask it anyway.
‘I promise.’
‘Good girl.’
I lean down and kiss Chloe on the head before going back to stroking her hair because I know it’s the fastest way of getting her to fall asleep. Some kids like bedtime stories, but Chloe has always enjoyed having her hair stroked, and that’s fine by me. Anything that saves me from reading about dragons or wizards or whatever else is in those children’s books that my poor mum and dad had to read to me.
Leaving my peaceful child to get a good night’s sleep, I head for the door but not before checking that the nightlight is on the correct setting. There are numerous shapes and patterns it gives off, but Chloe prefers the stars, so I make sure they are projected onto the bedroom ceiling in case she wakes up during the night, before leaving her room and closing her door softly behind me.
Checking the time, I see that Tim is due any minute now, so I type out a quick message and fire it off to him.
Chloe has just gone to sleep. Text me when you’re outside. DO NOT KNOCK ON THE DOOR!
Using capital letters in a message might seem harsh for the recipient, but I know that Tim will take it in the spirit it was intended. It’s not as if he hasn’t been here plenty of times before and doesn’t understand how annoying it is to have to get a young child to sleep again after you thought you had already achieved it.
With the warning message sent, I have just about enough time to go into the bathroom and re-check my hair and makeup before my phone buzzes with Tim’s response.
I’m here.
I would have liked a couple more minutes to play around with my hair and maybe add a little more lipstick, but I guess this will have to do. But I’m feeling confident about my appearance, and a lot of that has to do with the beautiful compliment my daughter gave me as I was tucking her into bed tonight.
‘You look like a princess, Mummy,’ she had said, which made me beam because I know how much Chloe loves princesses, and she wouldn’t call me one unless I were worthy of such a lofty title. I thanked her for her kind words, as well as laughed them off and played them down, but I wasn’t fooling anybody, least of all my seven-year-old child.
She knows how crazy I am about Tim.
I’ve been seeing him for five months now, although I have taken things very slowly for a number of reasons. I’m aware that introducing a new man into Chloe’s life has to be done with the utmost care. But the fact she has met Tim on several occasions now proves both how much I like my new man and how important it is to me that Chloe does too.
Fortunately, he has already got the seal of approval from her, thanks in no small part to the hefty bag of sweets he always brings her whenever he calls round to visit. But I have also been taking things slowly for my own sake. I’ve had my heart broken enough times in my twenty-nine years on this Earth to know that I should proceed with caution when it comes to the opposite sex from this point on.
As well as Chloe’s father, a drunken adulterer of a man who I should never have allowed into my bed before summoning up the courage to kick him out again, there have been many false starts, false dawns and false promises when it comes to the men in my life. That’s why I took a much-needed sabbatical from relationships for a two year period, focusing on myself and my daughter over blind dates and bad first kisses. I wasn’t planning on bringing that self-imposed break to an end when I did, but then I hadn’t been planning on meeting Tim.
It had been in my local supermarket of all places where I first crossed paths with the man who I am currently enamoured with. A rainy Tuesday evening in Bolton was the setting for what would turn out to be an unexpected but pleasant evening as I made my way into the store with Chloe, pushing a trolley and reminding her not to touch anything as we browsed the aisles.
It was on aisle three when I was approached by the handsome man carrying a packet of chicken.
‘I’m sorry. Can I ask you a question?’ he said to me.
‘Of course,’ I had replied, expecting him to ask me if I knew which aisle the pasta was on or something else utterly banal like that.
‘It’s just I really fancy chicken tonight, but I’m useless when it comes to recipe ideas. Any suggestions what I could do with this?’
He flashed the packet of poultry at me, and I laughed before mentally trying to come up with not just the most appetising recipe I could think of but also the one that might make him think more of me.
Did I mention he was really handsome?
‘You can’t go wrong with a chicken curry,’ I eventually replied, deciding that was a safe bet to go with for a guy. ‘And you could wash it down with a nice beer. They have a good selection of Indian lagers on aisle ten.’
‘I like your thinking,’ he had said, flashing me two rows of perfect white teeth. ‘I’m glad I asked you now.’
I’m glad you did too, I had thought at the time though it had nothing to do with the topic of what to have for dinner. I wouldn’t mind if you asked me something else either.
After five minutes of flirty chit-chat in which we moved from talking about supermarket shopping to what we had planned for the weekend, I ended up pushing the trolley away with a big smile on my face because that man’s number was now in my mobile phone. Who would have thought I would have got lucky in a supermarket on a rainy Tuesday night? Not me, and not even Chloe, who had giggled at me all the way around the rest of the store that night while saying things like “Mummy’s got a boyfriend.”
I had laughed her comments off at the time, but it turned out she was right. The man I met that night in the supermarket became my boyfriend. And now he is at my front door again.
‘Hey,’ I say, feeling that familiar rush of endorphins that I always get when I’m in the presence of Tim.
‘Hey to you too,’ he replies, flashing the two pizza boxes he collected from the takeaway around the corner.
As we take our seats on the sofa and tuck into our pizzas (a large pepperoni for him, a small ham and pineapple for me), we chat about what we have been up to in the two days since we last saw each other. I fill him in on my usual travails as a busy parent who is also trying to complete her training to become a police officer. When I’m done, he updates me on his daily routine, which mainly involves him fixing cars at the local garage and sorting out the finalities of his divorce from his ex-wife.
I still don’t know the full story of why he separated from his last partner, other than the bits he has told me when I have felt confident enough to try and coax a little more out of him. The gist of it is that they were arguing a lot, and eventually, it became too much for them both, hence why the reason for the divorce on the paperwork has gone down as ‘irreconcilable differences.’
I’m sure there is a little more to it than that. Somebody usually does something wrong to get to the point where divorce lawyers are contacted, but maybe I’m wrong. They could have just argued every day over silly little things, which eventually turned into big things. But I suspect the ex-wife was a feisty character because Tim certainly isn’t. He’s so laid back and calm, and I really find it hard to imagine him raising his voice and arguing with anyone. Then again, I’m a similar type of person. I barely shout at Chloe when she has done something that she shouldn’t have, so I’m hardly likely to go shouting at him too. I guess that explains why our relationship so far has been a very enjoyable one without a single disagreement in sight. Tim has been nothing but caring and attentive to me and Chloe ever since we met that night in the supermarket, and I feel fortunate to have found him.
As we devour our pizzas and Tim somehow manages to finish his enormous one before I finish my smaller one, I ponder again the topic that has been on my mind for a few weeks now. I’m thinking of asking Tim to move in with us when his divorce is finalised. He is currently crashing at a mate’s place while he gets his finances sorted again, having been the one to move out of the flat that he shared with his ex and her six-year-old daughter.
Some might take that as a sign that he was the one who did something wrong, but he tells me it was because it was way easier for him to go and sleep on a friend’s sofa than it would have been for his ex and a child to do the same somewhere else, and I can see that. I haven’t mentioned anything to him yet about the possibility of him moving in here, but I have been pondering it more and more recently, and there are many benefits if it was to happen.
First of all, I would have an extra pair of hands around here to help with Chloe, which I am going to need as my police training ramps up and I eventually qualify, taking up shift work and God knows what else my senior officers are going to make me do in my first year on the beat. It would also be nice for my daughter to have a male influence around the house and somebody else to talk to when she comes home other than just me. She loves Tim and jokes aside; it’s not just because of all the sweets he gives her. He plays games with her long after I have tired of playing the same ones, and he even creates new ones to play with her, which I would never have had the imagination to do. The fact his ex-wife had a daughter when he met her means he is well used to being around children, as well as being around a stressed, sleep-deprived and slightly paranoid mother. In essence, he’s the perfect guy for someone like me.
That’s why I have decided that tonight will be the night when I bring up the idea of him moving in with us when his divorce is complete. He could always say no, which would sting a little, but I have a good feeling he will say yes.
I should have held on to that good feeling and quit while I was ahead.
Little did I know that I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life.
13
HEATHER
PRESENT DAY
As expected, I didn’t sleep a wink again last night. Instead, I stayed awake, staring at the curtains until sunlight began seeping through them to tell me that a new day had dawned.
