The two women start to walk down to the bank of the river. The rain has eased into a fine aerosol-like mist. The need to pee is now so urgent that Melissa has to do the pelvic squeezes she learned during pregnancy. Her groin aches with it as they reach the river.
Gunmetal-coloured water churns and moves like an oily length of cloth before them. It will be so cold in that water.
She blinks, hard.
‘I bet it’s a lovely spot in the sunshine,’ says Hester.
Melissa fights an urge to say, ‘Don’t you understand? Don’t you know what we’re doing here?’
‘So what sort of place are we looking for?’ she says instead. ‘The water will have to be deep, won’t it? Can we be sure that he won’t … float?’
Hester smiles, showing small white teeth like a child’s. ‘We’ll have to put some rocks into the wrapping, won’t we?’ she says patiently.
Melissa nods. Something is happening inside her. It would be so easy to give up. To switch on her phone, dial the nines and wait for the consequences. Would it really be worse than this?
‘This way!’ calls Hester, cutting through her thoughts. Her chipper tone chimes out.
Melissa hurries after her and then sees what Hester is gazing at, a triumphant expression on her face.
HESTER
It’s as if my prayers for a dose of luck have finally been answered.
A little further down to the left the river narrows slightly and a curved brick bridge straddles the water. If we can get to the very centre, then this would surely be the deepest part? It strikes me as an eminently sensible idea. But Melissa doesn’t seem to match my enthusiasm. She has been looking very strange over the last few minutes. I wish I could open up the top of her skull and see into her thoughts.
‘How on earth are we going to get him up there?’ she says. ‘What if someone is watching from the other side and sees us?’
I really could do without the endless negativity. I gather all my inner resources and briefly squeeze my eyes closed, wishing she would remember that we are both tired.
That I am the only friend she really has, when it comes down to it.
‘Melissa,’ I say, tolerantly. ‘It’s unlikely that anyone will be out at such an early hour in this weather. And we’re going to just have to drag it – him – aren’t we?’
Melissa shrugs, like some sort of moody teenager. I can feel the foundations of my considerable patience begin to shake.
I can’t do this alone. She is the one who has created this mess by allowing that man into her house in the first place. I had to help her clear it up.
Frankly, I think it’s time I stopped being such a doormat. It’s always been my problem. I let people abuse my kindness. Just like Terry did with his endless wheedling demands to be ‘loved’.
Why do people have to be so difficult? Things are going to change when all this is over. Melissa has to understand that we are equals.
‘We’re going to have to work together. I suggest you put a brave face on things and we just get on with the task at hand.’
For a split second all I can see is Tilly in her expression. Then she colours, swallows visibly and looks at the ground.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbles. ‘I’m just sick of this whole thing, that’s all. I want it to be over.’
‘So do I! Come on. Let’s get on with it. I think we should use the loading trolley again, don’t you?’
She nods grudgingly. It appears that gratitude for the various helpful ideas I have come up with will not be forthcoming.
No matter. There is plenty of time for all that. The rest of our lives, in fact.
I just have to be patient.
The path to the bridge is muddy and studded with small stones. It is going to be extremely difficult to wheel the trolley, which is only slightly smaller in length than the cargo itself. The bridge is made from very knobbled, uneven brick. It is steeply curved, to make things even more complicated.
But there is no point complaining. This has to be done.
Silently, we trudge back to the van. My knee is really quite painful now and my back throbs miserably. I feel a little sick and my eyes prickle and sting with sleeplessness.
I’ve already decided that I am going to treat myself to all my favourite things when I get back. I will lie in the bath for hours then have a wonderful sleep. When I get up it will be a new day. Maybe I will see if Melissa would like to go out for breakfast somewhere. That’s a lovely thought and I picture us hazily in some café, me drinking tea and her with that complicated coffee she likes. We will eat pastries and maybe read the papers in companionable silence.
But first there is this.
When we open the back of the van we are silent for a moment. Even I am a little cowed to see that the body is positioned at a very strange angle; the foot end trapped under the decorator’s trolley. I suppose it must have moved about in transit. Unfortunately, some of the plastic wrapping has come undone in the process.
His face is clearly visible. I look away but Melissa lets out a little cry and begins breathing noisily, almost panting.
I knew she would make much more of a fuss than I would. With difficulty, I crawl into the back of the van and yank a piece of plastic sheeting over his head, trying to tuck it in. But I don’t manage to do it in time to prevent a glance of what lies beneath. His skin has taken on the waxy pallor of cheap cheese.
Melissa makes another funny little sound. I glance at her and see she is biting down on her hand, eyes huge and shining.
‘Melissa!’ I say sharply. ‘Get a grip. This is no time to fall apart! Come up here and help get this onto the ground.’
Still making small noises deep in her throat, she clambers into the back with more grace than I managed and then presses herself back against the wall. She stares down at the wrapped body and a few tears snake down her cheeks.
‘Focus, Melissa!’ I say. ‘We are almost on the final straight now! We can do this. I know we can! But we need to work together.’
She gazes at me and swipes a hand under her nose, her nod almost imperceptible. I must remind myself of the great stress she is experiencing. This girl simply isn’t as strong as I am. I didn’t even know how strong I was until today. As I glance down again at the bulky shape in its opaque plastic, I offer a little prayer of thankfulness to the man himself for giving me this gift of self-discovery.
Together, we haul the body to one side so we can get the trolley down onto the ground. It is very heavy and, when Melissa climbs down and takes the far end, I accidentally lose my grip and it pushes into her tummy.
She swears viciously and repeatedly. This is a very bad habit and I sincerely wish she would stop doing it.
‘Are you all right?’
To her enormous credit, she doesn’t complain further, just nods, tears slipping down her cheeks, unchecked now.
Once the trolley is flat, we push and pull until the body slips off the edge of the van’s interior and lands, somewhat awkwardly, across it. I am interested to see that the effects of rigor mortis seem to have worn off and a certain floppiness has returned. Although I had been hoping for this, it strikes me now that it would actually have been helpful had we been able to prop him up vertically and push the trolley that way.
Then we huff and puff, push and pull, until the body is sitting upright on the trolley, back against the handles. Melissa is very red in the face and her eyes shine with fear and exertion. She looks very pretty, despite everything. A hank of bright hair has come undone from her ponytail and my hand itches with a sudden desire to gently tuck it behind her ear.
Being the taller, younger, and stronger of the two of us, Melissa takes the job of pulling the trolley backwards. My job is to try and prevent the man from falling off. He keeps slumping to the side.
Honestly, it feels as though he is deliberately trying to make things difficult for us.