Dusk had become night by the time I finished digging. Blisters had formed and split on each hand and a thick, muddy sweat ran down into my eyes. I rubbed the back of my hand across my forehead and held it there as the tears came again. I thrust the blade of the shovel into the soil and then used it to hold me upright until I could pull myself back together. I knew this had to happen at some point, but I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t finish this, not now, not tonight.
I had chosen the plot well. It was in the corner of the back garden, tight in by the six foot wall that had been, for what seemed like the longest time, the only thing that had stood between us and the end. I’d planted a row of saplings that would give this spot even more cover. I, of course, had kidded myself at the time that it was the best place for them to catch the sun, and that the rain drained away towards that corner, too. But I knew what I was doing and why; that once Danny told me he wanted to die, it would have to come to this.
I needed to go into the shed. The roll of plastic pond liner was in there. It was as much as I could do to open the door and throw it in there last week. Why hadn’t I just left it in the garage? No chance could I open that door now and face the full extent of what I needed to finish once and forever.
Leaving the shovel standing upright, I climbed out of the hole. It was at least three feet deep and three feet wide. I would double line it with the plastic sheeting and then dump him in; simple as that.
A shuffling sound came from inside the shed. Could I hear that shallow, raspy breathing or was it an echo in my mind?
‘Shut up,’ I muttered, unsure.
Head bowed, I began the trek up to the house.
* * *
I let the water run until the shower was hot. My skin stung as I washed the dirt off myself, rinsed the suds and turned the shower off. Hearing the telephone ring, I stepped out of the shower cubicle, quickly took a towel from the silver heated towel rail and wrapped it around my waist, a habit I would never lose no matter how long I lived by myself.
‘Hello.’
‘Matt? This is Nick. How are you, mate?’
I could do without this. I had complete sympathy for him, I really did, but I had enough on my mind tonight and I couldn’t cope with his issues too.
‘ Look, I’ve just got out of the shower and…’
‘Okay, I get the message, mate. But I’ll be in the King’s Head for last orders if you fancy it. You know where I am.’
Yeah, more and more in the pub, mate.
‘Appreciate it, Nick,’ I said, possibly a little too sarcastic, ‘Sorry. Just tired.’
‘Not a worry, mate. I’ll catch you soon.’
Click.
I sat on the edge of the bed and placed the phone back in its cradle.
What could I have said to him? ‘Sorry, would love a beer, but just been digging a grave in my back garden’?
My stomach rumbled and I knew I needed to eat, but fatigue overtook me and I slumped onto the bed. I desperately tried to keep my eyes open, because every time I closed them all I could see was Danny’s face.
* * *
I must have drifted off at some point, fading in and out of sleep without gaining any of the real benefit. I could feed myself all kinds of rubbish that it was bad dreams that kept me awake, but I don’t think I ever went off deep enough to have nightmares, and if I did, I was lucky that I was unable to recall them.
The digital clock on the bedside cabinet said 6:45. I got out of bed and headed downstairs.
The lights remained on in the kitchen but I flicked the switch off as I walked in; the bright March sunshine was burning in around gaps in the curtains and that was more than enough light for making coffee. Although my back felt tight and my hands had been better, I was more or less okay, and I wanted to press on. The kettle boiled and I added the hot water to the coffee. I unlocked the back door and stepped through onto the decking, looking out over the garden.
From here, I could see over the wall at the end of the property and across the river toward Usk itself. I could see the floodlights from the tennis club and, beyond that, the cricket field. Further away, and to the left, was the steeple of the church, these days more a spiritual center of the village than it had been in decades. The garden was nicely laid out: the decking, a long stretch of lawn with a pond in the middle, the large shed off to the left and in the far left corner, the row of saplings and the hole I had created the evening before. That kind of ruined the scene.
Over the left wall was the neighbors’ expansive garden, bigger than ours, so much so that their house was far enough away not to overlook even a section of our land. To the right had been farm fields, now sold, and it was my final failure to get the plans rejected that had brought me to this dark and miserable position.
I finished my coffee and a small bowl of cereal before pulling on some clothes and my boots. I felt my stomach churn as I purposefully marched down the garden with the keys to the shed in my hand. The shovel had tilted in the night and lay against the side of the hole, but the ladder was just as I had left it.
The hole was deep enough and I couldn’t keep putting this off. I unlocked the two padlocks on the shed and leant in. There was immediate movement and a muffled gasp, almost a moan, but I blocked out all noises and I was able to pull out the roll of plastic pond liner without any trouble. I pushed the shed door closed and launched the roll down into the hole, turned and re-clipped the padlocks and pushed the keys to the bottom of my pocket. I climbed down the ladder, stopping halfway as a muscle in my back gave a small twinge. Pulling the shovel out of the ground, I threw it up over the lip of the hole, only then realizing how fatigued my deltoids were. The shovel almost made it, but then tumbled back down toward me.
If I wasn’t so tired I could have jumped out of the way, but I didn’t and the blade caught me a glancing blow on the right forearm, drawing a narrow line of blood. Immediately, I wiped it off, then let it well up again. I glanced at the shed door.
‘Shut up,’ I said coldly, looking down at my wound.
Not so long ago a cut like that would be a death sentence, but now I had no need to worry and it could be cleaned and dressed later. This time, I climbed halfway back up the ladder before popping the shovel up onto the level ground, laying the ladder flat in the hole after I had stepped back down. I unrolled the pond liner as best I could, doubling it over and folding it up the sides of the hole. I used the ladder to weigh down the liner while I folded and adjusted it, then righted it and ascended for the last time.
The keys were burning a hole in my pocket. I could do this now. No one could see me; I had checked every angle, had even trespassed on my neighbor’s grounds to check if they could see anything until their black Labrador had spotted me and brought its ball over for me to throw. It had felt good to do that, to do something normal. Not like doing this.
I had to be sensible. Yes, everything was set to go; now I would have to wait until darkness began to fall later in the evening. I had to sort out the cut on my arm and then find something to keep me occupied.
* * *
The night had a crisp, cold bite and I knew that the bottle of vodka at my side was not helping me get any warmer. It wasn’t making me feel any better either; it was taking me to a darker place than the one I was already in. Like that was possible.
My plan had been to eat, have a couple of slugs of booze to increase my confidence and then get the job done. I didn’t drink much, but a few shots had turned to half the bottle and before I had taken up camp on the decking, I had phoned Nick and arranged to meet him tomorrow. I sat staring out across the garden, the pond, over to the hole, the grave I had dug.
A short while earlier a cat had slunk across the lawn to the pond, lapped at the water and then strutted off. I couldn’t recall the last time I had seen an animal in our garden. Birds didn’t even linger for too long. The trees between the furthest reaches of the boundary wall and the river trembled in the light wind that had picked up, silhouetted by the orange glow from the town. The sky wasn’t totally clear of cloud and although the moon was covered, a spattering of bright stars glistened brightly above me.
I still had one other job to finish tonight. I tried to push myself up off the decking. I had to do it and the first thing I needed were the shed keys. I didn’t even get halfway up before losing my balance a little, and I slumped back to the floor, knocking over the vodka bottle. It rolled away from me, rotating slowly as it went, trailing the alcohol in looping script like when we were first taught cursive in the classroom.
I got to my feet with a struggle and picked up the now static vodka bottle. I took a mouthful and stepped back towards the house. I stole a look at the shed. There was no sound from there tonight, but there never was during darkness. I wouldn’t have been able to handle that. Since the end of the epidemic I had felt no fear but if I ever heard a howl in the middle of the night, it would drag me back to those terrifying days when it felt the world was on the cusp of capitulation.
I stepped into the kitchen and pulled the door shut behind me. All the lights in the rooms I used were, as ever, on. I paused at the kitchen table, sank a little more vodka, cradled the bottle in my arms and headed towards the front of the house. I stood unsteady and unsure at the foot of the stairs. I took each step slowly and methodically. With the shuffling steps of a drunk I reached the door to Danny’s room.
How long was it since I had stepped inside?
Too long.
And I couldn’t bring myself to do it now, not when the only thought coursing through my mind was about how I was going to kill my brother.