Coldbrook (Hammer)(32)

He sighed, started the car, and sat back in his seat for a moment, eyes closed, trying to remember everything they had packed. Should have brought more food, he thought. And water. Only ten litres of water. Lucy had thrown a load of clothes into a suitcase and a kitbag, and Vic had added some heavy walking boots, coats and gloves, even though it was still only September. Toys and books for Olivia, a mobile charger for his phone, the spare five hundred dollars he kept in an envelope in his desk drawer. When he’d casually loaded a compact tent and camping stove into the car, Lucy’s glare had been thunderous. But he’d ignored it and walked away, because there was so much left to do.

‘Where are we going?’ Olivia asked, breaking the awkward silence. Vic looked at her in the rear-view mirror, hunched down over the DS and immersed in her child’s world.

‘North,’ he said. ‘Somewhere nice. It’s a surprise.’

‘You’ve no idea, have you?’ Lucy whispered.

Vic glanced across at her, then squeezed her leg, hoping she’d place her hand on top of his. She remained stiff and upright in her seat, nursing her mobile phone and staring through the windscreen at their house. It was a big family home, double-fronted, small pool out back, hot tub, and entirely the product of Vic’s work at Coldbrook. The facility paid their mortgage, and there was the promise of complete ownership of the property upon project completion. They’ll have the house from me, he thought, and he barked a short, bitter laugh as fear flushed coldly through his veins.

‘Shouldn’t we be going?’ Lucy asked coldly.

‘Yeah,’ Vic said. He backed away from the house and drove off. As he headed towards the centre of town he looked in the mirror again, but this time not at Olivia. He watched behind them, not sure what he was expecting to see. But he saw nothing.

They drove around the town square where he and Lucy had once sat, Olivia in her pushchair, and talked about having a second child. That had not happened yet, but Vic kept telling Lucy that they had plenty of time. The world is our lobster, he’d say, smiling and hugging her tight. The bench where they’d sat had a plaque dedicating it to the memory of a young girl called Alice Klein, the daughter of friends of theirs. She had died three years before at the age of fifteen from brain cancer. She’d been a popular girl, and as she had deteriorated she’d raised many thousands of dollars for the small town hospital where she’d spent her last days. She had been quite a character in town, pushed around in her wheelchair by her older brother, flaunting her baldness and the scars of unsuccessful surgery, demanding men’s shoes – just one from a pair – and holding them to ransom for charity. She’d taken Vic’s three times, and the last time it had cost him a hundred bucks to get it back. He’d had to collect it from her house, because she’d taken a sudden turn for the worse by then, dying five days later. He still visited her parents every time he was up in town. Her father worked for Coldbrook, though not in the facility – he was one of several accountants of theirs, responsible for dealing with their foreign investors. A good man, a friend to the Pearsons, he had changed since his daughter’s death, taking his work more seriously. There had also been rumours that he’d tried to take his own life, though no one wished to explore them too deeply.

I should tell David, Vic thought. He stopped the car to let a postman cross, raising a finger on the wheel in acknowledgement when he nodded his thanks. I should tell him, because they don’t deserve any more heartbreak. He drove on, and the atmosphere in the car was thick with tension. Even Olivia seemed to have noticed it; she’d closed her DS and sat staring out of the window, frowning into the sun.

They left the square and passed McCready’s, where Vic and his family had spent last New Year’s Eve. Old Walt McCready threw a big party every year, charging everyone ten bucks and laying on food, drink and entertainment until the early hours. Adults and kids alike remembered the party for months afterwards, for the quality of the home-catered food and the variety of drinks he’d ordered in for the evening. Vic remembered it most for the ten minutes he’d sat and watched Lucy dancing with some of her friends from town. He’d been gently drunk by then, and he’d realised that he loved his wife more than he ever had before. He’d even muttered a foolish New Year’s resolution to himself: Be better to her this year than you ever have. As they drove by he realised that he had now broken that resolution. He remembered their friends dancing and eating and laughing with them that night, and knew that he should warn them all.