‘Whatever came over me and I’m not making excuses, but I had a desire. Something I struggle to control. I removed my arms from around her and placed them either side of her head. I kissed her hard on the lips.
‘She pulled away at first, saying it was wrong. I saw the shock on her face, the realisation of what could happen. She didn’t want to. Blame it on loneliness, dejection; I don’t know, but as I went to leave, she beckoned me to come back. I’m embarrassed to say that I slowly undid her clothes, and we made love on the floor.’
Edward stopped talking. He searched his son’s face for a reaction – something to denote what would happen next.
Ben waited, watching Nigel, the gun. His fingers twitched and his smiling facade sunk into a grimace.
Edward stood in front of his son, waiting, expecting at any minute to get a bullet in the head. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he offered.
‘Sorry? Sorry for what exactly?’ Nigel struggled to conceive what his father was saying.
Edward moved his head forward, staring towards the ground. He didn’t answer the question.
‘You and Abigail? I don’t believe it. It’s not true. This is a nightmare. I’ll wake in a minute, and I’ll find myself at home with my wife, under the duvet, the telly on in the background, and I’ll be sipping warm coffee. It’s a bad reaction; it has to be something I ate. Any minute now, I’ll wake up.’ Nigel was babbling to himself.
Edward lifted his head. ‘I didn’t mean for it to happen.’
‘Wait – the pregnancy. We were having problems. I found out I’m infertile. I’ve had the tests. We can’t have children. I took her back, prepared to father another man’s child. Christ, I’d do most things for a happy marriage. I was prepared to deal with it. To accept it.’ Nigel turned away for a moment. He composed himself, then faced his father. ‘Are you telling me the baby was yours?’
‘Please, Nigel. Don’t make this any more difficult. Yes, the baby was mine.’ Edward’s face turned red. He fought to stop himself from passing out.
‘So what happened to the baby?’
Ben stood between the two men, his eyes, darting back and forth as if he were watching a tennis ball being smashed across a net. He could hear the caller’s breathing rasping down the phone.
‘Nigel, I’m begging you.’
‘Did she lose it?’
‘Son. Please.’
‘It makes sense now. You terminated it, didn’t you? Your sordid secret. The baby would remind you every time you saw it of what a cruel manipulating bastard you really are.’
Ben took a step back, now facing both men. ‘Guys, this isn’t the time. Let’s go back to the coach. To Abigail, Mary.’
‘But then again,’ Nigel continued, ‘you’ve always been a selfish bastard. Abusing your position. When I think back, you’ve always done what you wanted, regardless of anyone’s feelings. You stamp on people, crush them and move on.’ Nigel lifted the shotgun and looked at Ben. ‘Get out of my way.’
‘Don’t do this. It’s what the caller wants, can’t you see? He’s put us in this position, beaten you black and blue and made your father confess. Drop the gun, Nigel,’ Ben shouted.
‘I said, move out of my fucking way.’
Ben stood his ground.
Nigel moved to the side, holding the gun to his father’s head.
Edward stared ahead; his eyes were closed as he mumbled a prayer to himself.
‘Don’t do it, Nigel. You’ll work through this. You’ll sort it out. It will take time. That man in front of you, regardless of his actions, is your father. Your flesh and blood.’
Nigel turned his head to where Ben was standing, keeping the shotgun aimed at his father. ‘Why didn’t he think of that while he screwed my wife? Terminated her child? He’s my father, but he’s a selfish, arrogant, pig-headed bastard. I’m doing all of us a favour.’
‘You won’t achieve anything.’ Ben braced himself for the explosion as Nigel squeezed on the trigger.
Edward screwed his eyes tighter; sweat dripped down his face, and he had a damp patch on his groin. He screwed his fists tight, mumbling to himself.
Nigel pulled the trigger a little more; his hands were shaking, his expression contorted. Suddenly he dropped the gun and fell to his knees. He sobbed hysterically, ashamed that he’d almost murdered his father.
Ben sighed with relief while Edward opened his eyes and crouched by his son. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.’ Edward held his son, who was crying like a child. He pushed his face into his father’s shoulder, and they clasped each other.
After a few minutes, Edward stood. ‘Let’s go back to the coach. Your mother and your wife need you. I need you.’
Ben blew out another heavy breath.
The caller had failed with his trap.
Nigel stood, brushing himself down. He would struggle to walk the distance, and his hands were severely cut and would need attention.
Ben told him that Milly had a box with bandages and antiseptic back on the coach. Ben moved to the door of the barn.
There was an almighty bang. He swung around, his ears ringing, seeing the back of Edward’s head and what the older man was staring at.
A body lay on the floor.
Nigel had placed the sawn-off shotgun under his chin and pulled the trigger.
17
Lydia and Jack
Jack stood on the drive, staring at the empty space where his car had been parked. He stared down at the glistening marble-style paving slabs. His hand, pressed against the white painted brick. He moved out onto the street, wondering if he’d left it along the road. He hoped the pressure was playing tricks on his mind. He moved quickly along the pavement, searching for the vehicle.
No, no, no. This isn’t happening. It can’t be happening. How can I lose the car? Think, Jack. We arrived late last night; I distinctly remember parking on the drive. I’d have no reason to leave the car on the road, especially in the circumstances. With a body – with Chloe in the boot I’d have all the more reason to park the car close to the house.
He stopped, turned and walked back the other way, checking. He heard the birds’ morning song. The sky was clear, the sun rising and he’d normally go to the corner shop, buy a paper and come home to look at the Saturday football fixtures over a hot coffee. He’d bring Lydia her tea at around 9am, kissing her gently on the forehead. She’d stretch, thanking him, and then turn over for another hour of sleep. Later she’d gulp the tea and call down for a warm one.
He needed routine, normality. But it could never go back to how it was. Lydia had killed Jack’s boss. He was knee-deep in the appalling crime; and now they’d lost the body.
Jack stood on the drive for a few seconds, focusing. He stepped into the house and sat on the bottom of the stairs. He rubbed his eyes, circled his head and swung it left and right to clear his mind, then stood.
It has to be a dream, a brain freeze. It’s a temporary lapse in normality. That’s it. That’s what has happened. The car is on the drive. It has to be.
Jack held his breath as he reached for the front door, pulling it hard. I’m going to see the car.