What Lies Between Us(73)

This is my dead husband. When I went to bed, this was the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with. Now I must get rid of him as if he never existed.

I want to break down again but I can’t give in; I must see this through. I’ll have all the time in the world to think of myself and process this later.

It’s only when I reach the kitchen do I realise I have no idea what to do with a dead body. It’s highly unlikely that I’d be able to carry him far enough into a field or woodland to dump – even if I could get him inside the car. I don’t have the stomach or the apparatus to cut him up and dispose of him piece by piece. Now I understand why so many people try to cover up domestic murders by burying the victim in the garden. Alistair is no victim but at least here, I can prevent him from ever being discovered.

I take the torch from the kitchen drawer and slip it into my dressing gown pocket, then open the back door. I scan the neighbours’ houses for signs of activity before I drag Alistair over the step and up the path. It’s too dark to do anything with him now other than to store him in the shed.

Back in the kitchen, the clock on the oven warns me it’s past 5 a.m., and I’m mentally and physically exhausted. But this hellish night isn’t over yet. I throw all the bloody towels into the washing machine and turn it on to a ninety-degree heat. Then with a bucketful of cleaning products and hot water, I get to work scrubbing the carpet and the walls with all the household products I can find. Every few minutes, I open Nina’s bedroom door to check on her, but she is still fast asleep.



By 8 a.m., I’m on my fourth coffee and sitting at the kitchen table, staring from the window towards the shed at the end of the garden. I’ve decided where in the garden I’m going to bury Alistair. But first, I need to deal with Nina. I don’t know how to help her, though. I am so far out of my depth that I’m drowning. Perhaps I could ask one of the doctors from the surgery for advice? But how do I avoid explaining the cause of her breakdown and what she did to her dad?

‘Why didn’t you wake me up?’ The voice comes from behind me. I scream and drop my empty mug on the tabletop, breaking the handle.

I turn to see Nina, dressed in her school uniform, approaching me.

‘Clumsy,’ she says, and I watch her in disbelief, my jaw slack as my narrowed eyes follow her. She takes two slices of bread from a loaf and slips them into the toaster. ‘Why does everything in the house smell like bleach?’

‘I . . . I spilled something,’ I say. ‘I was cleaning up.’

She takes a carton of fresh orange juice from the fridge and pours herself a glass. I’m on tenterhooks, watching, waiting for something, anything unusual, to happen. She glances out of the window and for a second, I think she senses where I’ve left Alistair. But if she does, she gives nothing away. Instead, she tells me about her forthcoming day at school and a science project that’s proving challenging. I nod and shake my head in what I think are the appropriate places. The truth is, I’m not listening to her. I can’t marry the girl who killed her father with the one before me now.

She slathers her toast in raspberry jam and informs me she’s going to eat it upstairs while she gets her books ready for school.

‘You’re going to school?’ I ask in disbelief.

‘Yeah, where else would I be going?’ Her eyebrows draw together. ‘Why are you acting strangely?’

I shrug. ‘I wasn’t aware that I was.’

‘And they say teenagers are supposed to be the weird ones.’

As she heads back upstairs, I collapse at the table. Did last night actually happen or did I imagine it? Am I having a breakdown?

I wait until she shouts ‘Bye, Mum!’ and hear the front door close before I lock it, slip the chain through the latch and hurry into the back garden. Alistair is still in the shed, confirming that no, this is not all in my imagination.

It takes a good hour and a half before I’ve dug a hole to a depth of about five feet and the length of his body. I’m exhausted and sweat is dripping down my back and chest. But I can’t rest until I’ve dragged his body from the shed into the hole in the most secluded part of the garden. It’s hidden by conifers and even Elsie can’t see beyond them. Then without any last words or a goodbye, I toss his keys in with him. I use the spade to smother him in a blanket of soil until the ground is level. The excess I spread across the borders. And suddenly, this part of the nightmare is coming to an end. Nina no longer has a father and I no longer have a husband. I wish it could be over as quickly as that.

I’m filthy and am desperate to wash away the stink of death clinging to my skin, but there’s something else I need to do first. I grab the suitcases from the basement and stuff Alistair’s clothes into them. I want every shoe, shirt, tie, pair of trousers and jumper out of my sight. Then along with his golf clubs – including the one Nina used to kill him – I hide it all under the basement staircase until I can decide what to do with them. Finally, I park his car about half a mile away before returning home.

I drag my feet into the bathroom where I sit under the shower and remain there until the hot water turns cold. My world has caved in on itself and I’m buried under the rubble. All I know is that I must continue to breathe under its weight because Nina needs me. I must protect her from the truth at all costs.