The Woman Next Door(38)

Melissa brings back her arm and throws the phone into the bushes with all her strength. She doesn’t hear it land.





HESTER


I have managed to think up a reason for why we’re driving in the middle of the night. I’ll say that we are sisters (I find this notion rather pleasing) and that we are on a mercy mission to visit our dying mother. Melissa has had to borrow her husband’s van because he’s away at the moment with the car. Or something like that.

We had to leave so late because Mother might not make it to morning …

Yes, this seems plausible. I told Melissa there is no way the mechanic would need to go into the back of the van, but I can’t say that I really know for sure. There could be any number of technical reasons why he might suggest it. All I can do is hope and pray.

Bertie has fallen asleep on my lap and I stroke his soft ears and feel thankful for his trust and warmth.

Cars pass with aggressive speed, their sound like giant sheets of paper being angrily ripped apart. The vibrations rumble through the bank and into my sore hips. I’m sitting on my spare cagoule but the chill from the ground still seeps through and into my bones. It doesn’t feel like June. It could be October right now.

I glance at the van. I can see Melissa’s face in the glow of the mirror light and it looks as though she is applying make-up. We’re not likely to be appearing in Vogue as far as I am aware but I suppose I mustn’t judge. Younger women care about these things inordinately these days.

But I do wish she would join me here on the bank, as one is supposed to in these circumstances. Anything could happen.

I sigh, knowing that is a hopeless wish. If there is one thing I have learned in the last few, strange hours, it’s that this girl won’t do anything she doesn’t want to. I haven’t had time to run my story past her either. I can only hope she will employ that acting ability she demonstrated earlier.

The strobing light of the breakdown truck would be a comforting sight on any other occasion. Tonight though, it makes my stomach jolt with nerves, as it gradually gets larger and closer. It’s a little too similar to another sort of light in these present circumstances. The driver spends a minute reading something before making his leisurely way out of the truck. He’s a portly man, bald, in his forties, and looks tired and fed up.

‘Evening ladies,’ he says and then I notice the little spark of interest when he sees Melissa close up. I wonder if she is even aware of this any more?

‘Bit past your bedtimes, is it?’

Melissa gives a little giggle, and I think, Oh yes, she’s aware, all right.

I open my mouth to speak, ready with our story, but realize quickly that it is just one of those things people say. He doesn’t really care why we are driving in the middle of the night and moves straight onto a question about what has happened before we can answer.

It never ceases to amaze me, how little people are interested in each other anymore. It never occurred to me until tonight that this could ever be a good thing.

I quickly tell him what happened with the smoke and so on, and he nods knowingly before asking me to unlatch the bonnet. Naturally, I have no idea how to do this and my expression must betray this because, wordlessly, he’s already opening the driver’s door and fumbling below the steering wheel. The bonnet makes a clunking sound and he goes round to lift it up. He peers inside for a while. I can hardly breathe. I glance at Melissa, whose eyes look large and luminous in the light. She still has the tartan blanket around her although she has let it hang open a little at the front, I notice.

The AA man rummages about inside the bonnet for a while.

I am suddenly so acutely aware of the dead body crumpled just a few feet from him that I have a very inappropriate urge to start laughing. How would I explain that? It’s such a terrible but almost comical thought that I can’t seem to control my face and I feel the corners of my mouth hitch up of their own accord. I think I must have made a small sound too because Melissa is staring at me now, an expression of such terror and fury on her pretty face that I almost take a step backwards.

My heartbeat pounds in my ears. I have to appear like a woman who just wants to get on her way. Just be normal, Hester, I tell myself. Just be normal. But I can’t entirely remember how.

A few minutes later the AA man holds aloft a rectangular sort of grid that is covered in dust and dirt.

‘There you go,’ he says. ‘Your air filter is all chocked up.’

‘Oh dear, is that a big problem?’ says Melissa. The slight tremor in her voice betrays her nerves, which she has done a good job of hiding until now.

The AA man emerges from the bonnet and bends backwards, rotating his shoulders and groaning a little.

‘Bloody back,’ he says, then, ‘Nah, just need to give it a clean and you’ll be on your way again. Won’t take five minutes.’

Oh thank God. My knees almost give way as I meet Melissa’s eyes. Neither of us can help exchanging a small smile. The relief is so intense it feels like a drug flooding through my system. Not that I’ve ever taken drugs, but I imagine it must be a similar sensation.

True to his word, he doesn’t take long and soon he’s putting the filter back where it belongs. Melissa’s nervous energy is almost crackling around her now like static, and I sense she is desperate to get this over with and be on our way. I’m expecting the AA man to get some paperwork from his vehicle for her to sign, but he doesn’t do that.