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Angus flicks on the headlights, illuminating the clearing. ‘Come on. It’s a clear night. I’ve got a picnic blanket in the boot. Let’s get out and watch the stars for a while.’
‘I just want to go back to town.’
‘Well, it’s a long walk. I don’t envy you. Or – you can join me for ten minutes of stargazing and then I’ll drive you. Your choice.’
Drew holds his gaze, sees he isn’t kidding. Throwing open the passenger door, she grabs her phone from the central rest and swings her legs out of the car. When she stands, her heels sink into soft mulch. Cursing, because the shoes are brand new, she bends down, unfastens the straps and steps out of them.
Angus’s door opens. He emerges, looking smug. Going to the boot, he raises it.
Drew scoops up her shoes and walks barefoot around the front of the car so she doesn’t have to pass him. She gets a few yards up the track before she hears Angus rush up behind her. He grabs her arm and spins her around. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘Home,’ she tells him. ‘You told me I had to walk.’
‘Don’t play games.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You’re the one who chose these woods. We could have gone to a hotel.’
‘And now I’m choosing home.’
‘Just come and sit.’
‘No thanks.’
‘I brought vodka,’ he says. ‘There’s a bottle in the glovebox.’
‘Oh, Jesus.’ Drew rolls her eyes. ‘What am I, fourteen? Get off my arm.’
‘So you’re a tease. Is that it?’
‘Yeah, I guess that’s it.’
‘Fuck you, then.’
‘Fuck you back, Comrade.’
His eyes blaze. Releasing her arm, he slams her shoulders with his open palms.
Drew stumbles backwards, but she can’t compensate fast enough. She sprawls on to her back, grunting with the impact. Her shoes go flying but not her phone, which she brandishes before her like a crucifix.
Angus swears, seems to realize he’s gone too far. And then Tilly Carver emerges from the darkness. She’s holding one of the logs from the wood pile, and as he turns towards her she swings it with all her strength into his face.
FORTY-NINE
It’s a devastating blow, bone-cracking and tooth-shattering. Angus staggers, trips, falls. Drew, still lying prone, can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. His mouth is a mush of pulverized flesh and broken teeth. It looks like his jaw has detached. He splutters, coughs, launches a fountain of blood drops that glitter like rubies in the glare of the Lexus’s headlights.
As he elbows himself backwards across the leaf litter, Tilly walks him down.
‘Tilz, stop, what the fuck!’ Drew yells, because she doesn’t understand what’s happening, here. She’d agreed to lure Angus to this part of Jack-O’-Lantern Woods, had agreed to kiss him so that Tilly could film their liaison, had even agreed to a little harmless action in the front seats. She hadn’t agreed to this.
Tilly lifts the log above her head. Angus raises an arm to block it. There’s a crack of breaking bone.
Drew screams, sits up straight.
Tilly’s third swing goes undefended. The damage it inflicts is cataclysmic, driving Angus’s nose and cheekbone inside his skull. He twitches once, his heels kicking. Then he lies still.
Tilly drops the log and kneels at Angus’s side. She looks grimly satisfied.