Page 25 of The Bodies

TWENTY-THREE

They eat at Meghan’s, a place on Crompton’s high street that serves a Mediterranean-inspired menu.

Max orders a steak. Joseph orders a falafel and cauliflower shakshouka, his first full meal in days, and demolishes it in under a minute.

Calling back the waiter, he requests hummus and flatbread, halloumi fries and a pot of scotch bonnet mayo.

It feels worse than crass to be filling his stomach while Drew lies dead in his mother’s living room, but once he’s started eating, he can’t stop. Only when he’s paying the bill does he realize he avoided anything on the menu containing meat.

A few doors down at Hannah’s Flowers, they pick out some blooms. Greenacre cemetery is a twenty-minute drive from Crompton. Claire’s grave lies near the summit of a grass rise.

There’s no need for words. Joseph hands Max the flowers, and together they approach.

As always, he can’t look at Claire’s headstone directly.

He knows the shape because he chose it from the brochure, and he knows the words inscribed on it because he wrote them himself, but he hasn’t laid eyes on the finished piece. Nor will he.

Strangely, although he can’t look, he can touch, perhaps because he knows the headstone extends into the earth, forming a conduit of sorts between him and his late wife.

The granite is cool beneath his fingers. Beside him, Max kneels and arranges the blooms. Then he stands beside his father and bows his head. For a minute or more they’re both silent.

Finally, the boy says, ‘You and Erin. Things have been difficult recently. Haven’t they?’

Joseph frowns, dropping his hand from Claire’s headstone.

‘When you first met her,’ Max continues, ‘it was like she brought you back to life. But now, this last year … Do you still love her, Dad?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Are you sure? Because you don’t act like you do.’

‘I love her as much as I always did.’

For two years following Claire’s death, Joseph had existed in a permanent state of torture. Healing Max from the trauma of losing his mother had been his only concern. Not that he’d ever been much good at it.

And then he’d met Erin.

After such a crippling bereavement, after so long without emotional or physical intimacy – it had felt like a rebirth. Their love was all the more fierce because of its genesis in grief, and the losses they’d both suffered.

But in Joseph’s full-tilt run towards what had seemed at the time like salvation, he’d horribly neglected Max, leaving the boy to flounder. He’d hoped things would improve after the marriage, with everyone living in the same house, but by then the distance between them had seemed insurmountable.

This last year, with university fast approaching, he’s done what he can to repair the damage. It’s all been too little too late – and by holding Erin at arm’s length throughout, he’s also caused terrible damage to that relationship.

Max puts his hand on his father’s shoulder. ‘I’m not trying to make you feel bad. It’s just … if things keep going the way they are, you’re going to lose her. The only reason I’m telling you is because I don’t want you to end up alone.’

Joseph lifts his head, less fearful of what Max is telling him than what he isn’t. ‘Why would I be alone? I’ve got you.’

‘I just want you to think about the future and how that looks. Because if Erin is part of it, you need to commit to her, Dad. If she isn’t, you really need to decide now while you still can, while there’s still time to start afresh.’

He pauses, then adds, ‘Maybe, when I go to university, you and her could go away for a while, take a long holiday somewhere. Escape all this and give yourselves a chance to figure everything out.’

‘Listen,’ Joseph says, after a moment to collect his thoughts.

‘I appreciate the advice, Max. I appreciate that you’re thinking about this stuff – about me and Erin, and about the future – but let’s put it into perspective.

You just killed two fucking people, OK? Which means there’s quite a lot to deal with right now.

I think we should focus on that. And worry about the marriage guidance stuff later. ’

Max recoils, shoving his hands into his pockets. He stares at his father, his cheeks filling with blood. ‘OK,’ he mutters.

‘Is it? I mean, stupid question, but are you handling this? Do you need to talk?’

‘I’m fine.’

Joseph isn’t convinced, but this doesn’t feel like the right moment to push it. He shouldn’t have let emotion overcome him, or have spoken to his son so harshly. Squeezing Claire’s headstone in goodbye, he puts an arm around Max and leads him back to the car.

‘Dad?’

‘Uh-huh?’

‘We need to decide what we’re doing about Drew.’

‘I’m working on that.’

‘We can’t leave her where she is.’

‘I know.’

‘Something else I’ve been thinking about,’ he says. He takes a deep breath. ‘I think I should defer. Go to St Andrews next year. It won’t make much difference, not really. And if I’m at home I can make sure that—’

‘No. There’s no reason for you to be here.’

‘But, Dad—’

‘I said no. You’ve worked too hard. And it wouldn’t achieve anything, anyway. Better for us to carry on exactly as planned.’

Traffic is light on the way home. When Joseph pulls into the driveway he sees, parked in front of him, a white Mercedes he doesn’t recognize.

Max frowns. ‘Whose is that?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Is Erin back from London already?’

‘Maybe,’ Joseph says, remembering the text he received outside the police station.

‘Did she say anything about having visitors today?’

He shakes his head. Conscious of how it might look if they remain in the car too long, he opens his door and climbs out.

As he walks past the Mercedes, he peers inside.

On the centre console and the interior glass are stickers barring occupants from smoking.

It might be an Uber, dropping Erin home – but if so, where’s the driver? Could it be a police pool car?

Joseph goes to the front door and slides his key into the lock. In the hall, Erin’s travel case stands near the stairs beside her discarded heels. ‘Hello?’

‘In here.’

He opens the living-room door. On the sofa, one foot tucked beneath her, sits his wife. In the armchair opposite sits the dead man.