Adele was exhausted when they returned to Peter’s flat. All she wanted to do was sit down, but they still had work to do.
‘We’ve got to clean your car out tonight,’ said Peter. ‘We don’t want to wait till morning. It’ll be easier for someone to spot us then.’
Peter parked the car in a quiet side street. Then they crept through the street carrying cleaning equipment and set about the arduous task of scouring the car out. To enable them to see in the dark, they switched on the car’s internal light.
Peter was the first to spot a man walking his dog. ‘Quick, get down,’ he said, flicking the light off before concealing himself in the footwell.
Adele was crouched down low in the footwell of the driver’s seat. She could feel a cold sweat and a prickling sensation down her spine as they waited for the man’s footsteps to pass the car. But the footsteps stopped.
Adele could sense the man hovering nearby. She tensed, expecting the man to peer through the car window or try the door. But then she heard him say, ‘Good boy’ to his dog, and the footsteps continued. When she could no longer hear them, she started to straighten herself up but she could feel Peter’s hand on her back, pressing her back down.
‘Not yet!’ he whispered. ‘We need to give it a couple more minutes until he’s well out of sight.’
Once the immediate danger was over, Adele became conscious of the cramped conditions, which made her achy and uncomfortable. She was glad when Peter gave the OK and she could stretch out her limbs again.
‘Shit! That was close,’ whispered Peter.
They carried on scrubbing out the car until they had eliminated every last trace of blood. By the time they had finished, Adele was exhausted from the night’s events. But she wasn’t sleepy yet. Her senses were still on full alert, which added to her exhaustion.
Back in the flat, she felt edgy and unable to settle, her muscles twitchy. While they had done what they had to do, she didn’t have much time to think, but now it hit her anew. Images of what she had done pervaded her brain. She’d killed her father and helped to dispose of his corpse. Adele could feel the tension throughout her body. Her chest was tight and her breathing shallow.
‘Here, get that down you,’ said Peter, handing her a liberal measure of brandy. ‘It’s for the shock. You can stay here tonight.’
Adele did as instructed and they stayed up till the early hours discussing the situation till they’d covered every angle. An ironic thought flashed through Adele’s mind. It reminded her of their childhood days when she would help get Peter out of trouble. But now they were adults, and this wasn’t just a bit of trouble. She was seriously in the shit!
It took several more measures of brandy before she was able to sleep. It was an eerie feeling. Despite being sickened by her own actions, she couldn’t help reliving the ordeal over and over inside her head, and examining it in minute detail. It was like some form of misguided punishment.
At four in the morning she fell into a disturbed sleep only to awaken in a panic a few hours later. In the transitional period between sleep and consciousness she tried to shake off the bad dream she’d had until she realised it wasn’t a dream. She really had killed her father.
Realisation hit her like a brick. She tried to calm herself, taking deep breaths and relaxing her muscles. But it was no use. Eventually, when further sleep escaped her, she rose from bed and made herself a coffee, passing the time watching breakfast TV until she heard movement from Peter’s room.
‘You OK?’ he asked when he entered the lounge.
Adele shrugged. Did he really expect her to be OK?
‘Listen,’ said Peter. ‘I didn’t mention it last night but we need to talk about the police. They’ll want to interview you and there’ll be questions asked, especially when our mam tells them about the missing rug and brass cat. We need to get our stories straight.
‘Tell them everything was normal when you went to pick up her things. That you didn’t even go into the living room. Pretend to think about it. Say you would have noticed if anything was amiss. That way they’ll think something happened after you left the house.
‘Don’t expect them to go easy on you though. They’ll come at you with the same questions over and over, just from different angles. Don’t buckle, whatever you do. They can’t prove owt. And if you get upset, just make out it’s because you’re worried about him.’
Adele’s spirits plummeted further.
‘Try not to worry,’ he urged. ‘Just do as I say and everything will be all right. Oh, and wear something that covers up those marks on your neck.’
Adele instinctively raised a hand to her throat.
‘Where he tried to strangle you,’ Peter added. ‘He’s left marks. Wear something that isn’t too obvious though.’
Adele wished she had Peter’s confidence.
‘Try and get some rest before you pick our mam up,’ he added. ‘It’s gonna be a long couple of days.’
But Adele knew she wouldn’t rest; her mind was too preoccupied, as well as hazy from the excess brandy the night before. She’d just have to cope as best as she could, and hope she didn’t give the game away.