The Hiding Place(88)

“He never hit you, did he?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. No, he didn’t. I’d had a scrap with Angie Gordon after school.”

“So you lied about that too.”

“For fuck’s sake, it was twenty-five years ago. What happened happened. I can’t change it. I wish I could.” She glances at the entrance to the cave. “Please, Joe. Just let me go.”

“I can’t.”

“I’ll do anything. I can give you money, whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Yes.”

I think about Hurst bleeding to death in the dirt. I think about the money I owe. I think about Annie’s wide eyes staring out of the window one bright, snowy morning and her small, crumpled body lying on the cave floor.

I think about the explosives I placed in the cave and the mobile detonator in my pocket. I look at Marie. Hatred burns bright.

“You can tell me something,” I say.

“Anything.”

“Where are all the fucking snowmen?”

She opens her mouth. The side of her head collapses. Bone, blood and brain matter explode into the air and rain down like confetti. Her skull is an open crater, bone torn apart like papier-maché.

Her eyes barely widen in surprise. It is too sudden for that. There is no moment of reckoning or understanding. One minute she is alive. The next she is dead, folding to the ground in an ungainly pile, like someone pulled the switch. Cut the power. Off.

“Jesus Christ!” I spin around.

Gloria stands behind me, holding the gun.

“You killed her!”

“She wasn’t going to give you anything. I’ve dealt with bitches like her before.”

“Where’s Hurst?”

“Turns out he was a fast bleeder.”

Hurst. Dead. I try to comprehend this. For years, I thought I wanted him dead. Wished for it, even. But standing here, I don’t feel anything, except sick and tired. And scared. Because now, it’s just me and Gloria.

“You didn’t have to let him die—”

“Afraid I did. But look on the bright side. I have two extra bodies to dispose of, so I really don’t have time to kill you slowly.” She points the gun at me. “Any last words?”

“Don’t shoot me?”

“I wish.”

There’s no point begging. Not with Gloria. I could try. I could tell her that I am a teacher. Teachers do not get shot. We’re not that interesting. We die slowly, several years after people presume we’re already dead. I could tell her I have another plan. I could tell her I want to run away with her. I could tell her I’m not ready. It won’t make any difference.

I shut my eyes.

The gun cocks. “Hope you’re wearing your boogie shoes.”

I close my hand around the cellphone…and press Call.

Not a rumble this time. A roar. It bellows up from the earth and shakes the ground I’m standing on. I open my eyes. I see Gloria stumble, the gun waver. Have I got time to run, charge her? She looks back up. The gun steadies. Her finger tightens on the trigger…

No reprieve. No last-minute escape. No second chance.

Gloria drops through the ground.

Like a rabbit down a hole, a penny down a well. Not even a scream. Gone. Vanished. I stare in shock at the spot where she was standing; at the sinkhole that has just opened in the earth.

I limp over. I can just see a glimmer of pink, a strand of blond hair. The ground shakes again. Soil and grass start to fall away beneath the toes of my trainers. I stagger backward. Just in time, as the sides of the hole fold in and more gravel, earth and rocks pile on top of her body.

I peer into the deep chasm, feeling dazed and sick. My vision falters. Something warm trickles down my cheek, past my ear. My head hurts. I raise a hand to touch it. The area above my eye feels sticky and strangely soft. I don’t have time to dwell on it. There’s another growl from below. A warning. I need to get out of here before I join Gloria. Down there. In the darkness. Among the bones of the dead.

And other things.


—



It seems to take a long time to make my way back. My balance is off. I stagger and sway over the inclines and descents. Several times I fall. There’s a ringing in my left ear and one eye doesn’t want to focus properly. This isn’t good. Not good at all.

I’m almost at the old colliery gates when I feel the final aftershock rumble through the ground. I stop and glance back. Black smoke mingles with the charcoal sky.

Something falls on my face. It feels like flakes of snow. It takes me a moment to realize that the flakes are black, not white. Flakes of coal. I stand for a second or two and let them fall around me.

And then I sit down. This is not a conscious decision. My legs simply give way, like the instructions from my brain have stopped working. Clocked off for the night. Maybe for good. I’m tired. My left eye is clouded with red. It occurs to me that I might not get up again. I don’t care.

I lie back on the stony ground. I stare up at the sky, but it feels like I’m staring down, into a deep black hole. The darkness tugs at me.

Someone grabs my arm…





37


TWO WEEKS LATER


“I’m not big on emotional goodbyes.”