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‘Then don’t say it. Because it’s entirely fucking irrelevant.’
Max licks his lips. He’s silent for a while. Joseph rocks back and forth, his gaze on the precious, tragic human lying in front of him.
There’s no blood on the carpet or any of the walls. Which means Max must have rolled out the plastic before Drew arrived, killing her when she walked in here and stepped on to it.
Joseph can’t think about that for long. It’s simply too horrific.
Time passes. How much, he doesn’t know. Because time, like everything else, has temporarily lost its meaning. He breathes, he weeps. He paddles through chaos and loss, trying to stay afloat.
Beside him, Max says, ‘You left a note at home, saying youwere going to see a friend. I had no idea you were coming here. It was only when I checked the garage that I realized you must have collected the car. When that door opened, I thought it was the police, here to arrest me.’ He shakes his head. ‘What were you even doing, driving around in that?’
When Max receives no answer, he takes his father’s wrist and lifts it. Joseph stares at his own fingers. He sees the dirt caked under his nails. The dust and grime on his shirtsleeve.
‘You buried him tonight,’ the boy says, his voice flat. ‘Didn’t you? Not last night, like you made out.’
‘There wasn’t enough time last night. The ground was too hard. I left it too late.’
The room feels like it’s beginning to pulse in time with Joseph’s heart. He breathes deep, tries to focus. ‘I know what I told you wasn’t true. And I know what I said this morning – about the need for us to be honest with each other.’
‘Doesn’t matter. You were trying to protect me, I get it. This,’ Max says, turning to his father with haunted eyes. ‘I guess, in a way, this is like protection, too.’
Joseph coughs, chokes. Realizing he’s about to be sick, he staggers to his feet and lurches towards the hall. In the bathroom, he heaves into the toilet bowl until his stomach is purged. There’s not much to bring up – a little toast from breakfast, that’s it – but the contractions continue regardless.
What is he going to do? There’s no way back, and no conceivable path forward. Drew is dead, and there’s no way back because Drew is dead.
How did his attempt to keep his boy out of jail turn into this? How did one death – which he’d believed was an accident, a tragic one-off – turn into two?
He can’t cover this up. He won’t wrap Drew in plastic and drive her out to Black Down.
Is he going to hand in his son? Could he actually bringhimself to do that? If he does, he’ll be condemning Max to a fate far worse than the one he’d previously feared. But what other option does he have?
Could he give himself up instead? He’d be trading his life for the life of his boy. And while he might think that a viable exchange, could he do it in the knowledge that this might happen again? And that next time he’d be in jail, powerless to prevent it?
Like you prevented this?
He flushes the toilet, clambers up. At the sink, he rinses his mouth and confronts his reflection in the mirror. ‘Are you going to lie to Erin?’ he asks. ‘To Tilly? Are you really going to let them think you did this?’
‘Dad?’
Joseph flinches. When he glances behind him, he sees Max standing in the doorway.
‘Who were you talking to?’ the boy asks.
‘No one.’
‘You mentioned Erin. Tilly, too.’
‘I’m just …’ He wipes his mouth on his sleeve. ‘I’m just trying to process this. Just trying to get my head around it.’
‘Does Erin know something?’
When Joseph hears his son’s tone, the blood drains from his head. ‘Erin doesn’t know a damned thing. She’s in the dark about this –totally.’
Max raises his hands. ‘Oh Jesus, I didn’t mean anything by it. I know this is horrific. I can’t even begin to …’ His face creases. ‘Are you OK? I heard you throwing up.’
‘I’ll survive,’ Joseph says, grimacing at his choice of words.
‘What happens now?’