and at the same time a desperate desire to forget everything about her.
Someone mentioned Sarah again, but this time the question was more probing and less respectful.
‘Still locked away in her dressing gown, is she?’
‘You’re a bloody saint, you know that?’ came another voice as a hand patted him hard on the shoulder.
He felt the rage ripple within. He stared down at his empty glass and one of the guys grabbed it from him and replaced it with a full one.
*
David had drunk too much. He sat there, slurring angrily. His mates had tried to pull the conversation away from Zoe, but he wouldn’t allow it and they were bored with the way he wallowed in it.
‘She wants to fuck you, alright, but what she really wants to do is fuck you up there,’ said Jerry, tapping his head. ‘That’s what women do, isn’t it?’
‘Look at poor old Martin,’ said Al, idly tearing a bar mat into tiny pieces. ‘It used to be the four of us here, didn’t it? Now look what’s happened to him – stuck with that miserable cow all the time, watching box sets of
Sex and the City
.’
‘That’s what they do to you,’ Al nodded drunkenly.
David remembered the thrill he’d felt when he’d entered Zoe’s hotel room. He remembered thinking that she wasbeautiful. He hadn’t only wanted sex, he’d wanted her. And she’d mocked that.
‘Fucking bitch,’ he muttered.
His friends laughed at him.
*
Upstairs, Zoe and Sam pored over the documents. All roads led to Sarah. But there was never a reason. No sense of why something so cruel would or could have happened. Sam received a call from his elder daughter, Isabelle, and Zoe pretended not to listen in as her boss stammered into the phone, clearly unable to placate her.
‘Women, Christ,’ he said wearily as he finally hung up.
She winked at him, then cuffed him lightly over the head, again and again until he laughed.
*
Downstairs, Tim’s head spun. He had to get out of there. The men were laughing and the words rebounded around his head, shapeless and senseless. He was grinning as best he could manage, but all he could think about was Sarah.
*
David poured more beer down his throat.
*
They pushed through the door at the same time, staggering out into the cold and the dark together. David felt awkward next to Tim, wanted to say something appropriate, but he was all too aware of his drunken, enfeebled mind. So hepatted him weakly on the shoulder instead. Tim looked at him but said nothing, marching away. David felt stupid. He turned and looked up at the windows on the first floor. One of them would be Zoe’s. He considered throwing a stone against it, breaking it. But then he too walked away and, like Tim, the darkness hid him soon enough.
NINETEEN
Cameron and Angus Farmborough dragged the dinghy down to the water and jumped in, ripping the off-board engine into action as they raced away from the shore and out towards the middle of the lake. The sun was up, but it wouldn’t get over the peaks for a good hour yet, and Lullingdale Water was dark and somnolent. A mist hung over it, fighting with the warmer air. This brief respite would soon give way to the inevitable icy blast. It could be brutal here in the winter, and the two lads wanted to enjoy the last few days of good weather that the year would offer. They were athletic boys who were always outdoors. Winter for them was a dour purgatory.
As the elder brother by two years, Cameron steered the boat, heading into deeper waters while Angus attached floats and bait to each rod. They had some food, a six-pack of Coke, sunscreen (‘like we’ll need it!’) and a big can of maggots. Today was going to be bloody ace.
Sheep wandered around the lower slopes of the fells, and Cameron watched Mike Ham’s tractor dragging hay over to his cows on the far side of his land. He gazed back at the patterns the propeller made, the white foam and the twisting funnels of water that chased behind. A little later he killed the
Someone mentioned Sarah again, but this time the question was more probing and less respectful.
‘Still locked away in her dressing gown, is she?’
‘You’re a bloody saint, you know that?’ came another voice as a hand patted him hard on the shoulder.
He felt the rage ripple within. He stared down at his empty glass and one of the guys grabbed it from him and replaced it with a full one.
*
David had drunk too much. He sat there, slurring angrily. His mates had tried to pull the conversation away from Zoe, but he wouldn’t allow it and they were bored with the way he wallowed in it.
‘She wants to fuck you, alright, but what she really wants to do is fuck you up there,’ said Jerry, tapping his head. ‘That’s what women do, isn’t it?’
‘Look at poor old Martin,’ said Al, idly tearing a bar mat into tiny pieces. ‘It used to be the four of us here, didn’t it? Now look what’s happened to him – stuck with that miserable cow all the time, watching box sets of
Sex and the City
.’
‘That’s what they do to you,’ Al nodded drunkenly.
David remembered the thrill he’d felt when he’d entered Zoe’s hotel room. He remembered thinking that she wasbeautiful. He hadn’t only wanted sex, he’d wanted her. And she’d mocked that.
‘Fucking bitch,’ he muttered.
His friends laughed at him.
*
Upstairs, Zoe and Sam pored over the documents. All roads led to Sarah. But there was never a reason. No sense of why something so cruel would or could have happened. Sam received a call from his elder daughter, Isabelle, and Zoe pretended not to listen in as her boss stammered into the phone, clearly unable to placate her.
‘Women, Christ,’ he said wearily as he finally hung up.
She winked at him, then cuffed him lightly over the head, again and again until he laughed.
*
Downstairs, Tim’s head spun. He had to get out of there. The men were laughing and the words rebounded around his head, shapeless and senseless. He was grinning as best he could manage, but all he could think about was Sarah.
*
David poured more beer down his throat.
*
They pushed through the door at the same time, staggering out into the cold and the dark together. David felt awkward next to Tim, wanted to say something appropriate, but he was all too aware of his drunken, enfeebled mind. So hepatted him weakly on the shoulder instead. Tim looked at him but said nothing, marching away. David felt stupid. He turned and looked up at the windows on the first floor. One of them would be Zoe’s. He considered throwing a stone against it, breaking it. But then he too walked away and, like Tim, the darkness hid him soon enough.
NINETEEN
Cameron and Angus Farmborough dragged the dinghy down to the water and jumped in, ripping the off-board engine into action as they raced away from the shore and out towards the middle of the lake. The sun was up, but it wouldn’t get over the peaks for a good hour yet, and Lullingdale Water was dark and somnolent. A mist hung over it, fighting with the warmer air. This brief respite would soon give way to the inevitable icy blast. It could be brutal here in the winter, and the two lads wanted to enjoy the last few days of good weather that the year would offer. They were athletic boys who were always outdoors. Winter for them was a dour purgatory.
As the elder brother by two years, Cameron steered the boat, heading into deeper waters while Angus attached floats and bait to each rod. They had some food, a six-pack of Coke, sunscreen (‘like we’ll need it!’) and a big can of maggots. Today was going to be bloody ace.
Sheep wandered around the lower slopes of the fells, and Cameron watched Mike Ham’s tractor dragging hay over to his cows on the far side of his land. He gazed back at the patterns the propeller made, the white foam and the twisting funnels of water that chased behind. A little later he killed the
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