I look down at the watch with its rusty strap and broken face and my stomach knots. Paul can’t see this watch. He already thinks it’s odd that I don’t remember anything about Hannah leaving and he knows things were volatile between us. If he finds this watch he’ll know by my face that something went on and then I’ll have to tell him. I’m a terrible liar. And once he knows we fought that night he’ll blame me for her leaving and I can’t bear that. I have to get rid of it.
So I place it back in the hole I’ve dug and put the dead bird on top, folding its wing over its blackened eyes, then I cover them both with mound upon mound of earth until all that remains is a brown patch; an unremarkable square of soil in an unremarkable garden. Nobody would know, I tell myself, as I stumble back to the house and make for my wine stash. Nobody would know.
‘What have you done?’
His voice sounds like it’s coming from a great distance but I feel his hands gripping me as he hauls me up to my feet. I try to open my eyes but I can’t; they’re too heavy with sleep.
‘What’s this all over you? Is it blood? What the hell . . . What have you done to yourself?’ He puts his hand on the base of my back and guides me across the room.
I hear running water then the shock of heat on my skin.
‘There, it’s coming away,’ he says, and I feel his skin rubbing against the flesh of my hands. ‘Where’ve you hurt yourself? Honestly, I can’t leave you for a minute, can I?’
The water stops and I half open my eyes but they burn with the light. I feel his arms clasped round my waist and a surge of warmth through my body.
The bed is soft and I fall into it like a stone. I feel him behind me. I hear his breath grow shallow and then his hands are on my breasts. He’s moving against me like he used to. It feels wonderful to be close to him again. I arch my back and he eases himself inside me. ‘Sally,’ he moans and as we begin to make love my eyes fill with tears. I’ve missed him so much.
32
Paul is gone when I wake though I can still trace the shape of his body on the bed where he lay beside me.
Why do my hands hurt? I lift them in front of my face and see a pattern of scratches. Grains of black dirt edge my fingernails.
Panic rises inside me. What happened last night?
I pull on my jeans and a sweater and run down the stairs, calling his name as I go, but there is no reply.
‘Paul!’
I stumble into the kitchen. Nothing. I see his empty mug sitting in the sink. I slump across the counter and try to clear my head so I can work out what to do next. But it’s so jumbled all I can see are broken images that don’t fit together: Paul lying beside me on the bed; my fingers digging through soil. Why was I digging?
Then suddenly I’m back there. I’m standing in the garden looking down and my heart jerks so fiercely it feels like it’s coming out of my chest. Bones, a string of them, tiny and intricate, rippling across the top of the soil, and a flash of gold. I can see it now but I don’t want to see it. I blink my eyes to make the image go away but it stays there like a stain growing darker each time I close my eyes. I’m remembering but it’s coming to me in pieces. A loud crack and a screeching noise. Hannah. Just let me go, Mum.
Am I going mad?
I need Paul.
I run out of the kitchen and go from room to room shouting for him but there is no reply. I need him to come and get me out of here, to rescue me and take me away. He thinks I’m losing it but he can’t abandon me. I won’t let him. I’ll make it up to him. We can try again; book a nice holiday to Spain or somewhere, just the two of us. We can get away from everything and have a bit of peace and quiet. That will be nice. And the thought of it makes me feel calm where just moments ago I was all panicky. See, if I just keep focused and think good thoughts then it will be all right.
I walk back into the kitchen and as I go to the sink to fill the kettle I see him out of the window. He is there, standing looking at the flower bed. Relief floods through my body, but then I remember the gold watch and I run to the door.
‘Paul!’ I yell. ‘Come inside.’
He looks up at me then back at the flower bed and I wonder what he’s thinking.
‘Paul, please.’
He puts his head down and shuffles towards me.
‘What’s going on, Sally?’ He looks strange. Is he angry?
I try to peer round him but the soil looks undisturbed.
‘It was a bird,’ I say, looking around as though it might pop out at any moment. ‘A seagull. Its wing was all mangled and I had to put it out of its misery. I buried it.’
‘I thought it must have been something like that,’ he says. ‘I found the rolling pin just over there. It had loads of tiny bones on it.’
‘Oh no,’ I gasp, putting my hands over my face. ‘Oh, please don’t say that. I can’t believe I did it but it was making the most dreadful noise and its wing was all broken and I didn’t know what else to do.’
‘Come on, love,’ he says. ‘Don’t get yourself all worked up. Let’s go inside and sit down.’
He walks on ahead and I follow in a daze, trying not to think of Hannah and her rescue missions. All those tiny bones.
‘You go in the living room and I’ll make us a drink,’ he says, reaching up to the cupboard and taking down two mugs. ‘Tea or coffee?’