The Mistress - Jill Childs Page 0,7

willing my eyes to adjust to the gloom. The concrete floor felt tacky underfoot, the sole of my shoes sticking slightly to the surface when I moved.

I tried not to feel, not to think, just to do, as she’d told me. Anything else was impossible. But the thought kept breaking through. This was Ralph, this weighty, inert body, encased now in a massive plastic zip-up bag, a surfboard cover. This was his flesh inside.

He used to surf when he was younger. He’d told me she’d never been interested. I tried to imagine when and where he’d bought a surfboard and this bag for it, where he’d travelled. Somewhere sunny where he’d bronzed as he surfed, strong and muscular. I swallowed hard, feeling her waiting, glaring at me.

I crouched where she’d pointed, at the bottom of the steps, and looped my arms around the end of the cover. The plastic was cold and slippery. When I tried to lift, the hard shapes inside shifted. Feet. Ankles. Knees. I dropped them with a start as if they were burning hot.

She raised her eyes.

I stuttered, ‘I can’t…’

She shot me a poisoned look. ‘You’d better.’

I bit hard on my lip, bent down again and threaded my arms under his legs, inching forward until I was grasping him higher, taking the weight of his thighs and hips. Helen, her face set hard, shuffled towards me from the other end, her arms encircling the bag. His head and shoulders, his chest.

‘Okay? Now move. Small steps.’ She was already panting.

I closed my eyes and teetered backwards, my heels bumping into the bottom step. Ralph, raised from the floor now, sagged between us. Together, we crept upwards, heaving him, one step at a time. First me, steadily rising up the narrow steps, all my energy poured into my straining arms, into trying not to stumble, then Helen coming jerkily after me. The only sound was our own heavy breathing and low, visceral grunts.

In the hall, we set him down, as gently as we could, on the floor, just feet from the front door. I collapsed back against the wall, sweat dripping down my back, and closed my eyes, seeing spangles. My chest hurt. My muscles ached. I just wanted to get my breath back and then sleep. To wake in the morning and find all this gone. To have Ralph alive again.

Helen’s bony fingers dug into my shoulder. I forced my eyes open. Her face, thrust into mine, was flushed, her hair in clumps.

‘I’m going upstairs to check on Anna, then we go. Don’t leave anything behind.’

I blinked. ‘Will she be all right on her own?’

‘She’ll be fine. Thank you for caring.’ She gave me a sour look. ‘The hatchback’s right outside. I’ll check the coast’s clear, then we move him.’ She hesitated. ‘We need to be quick. We can do it if we work together.’

I took a deep breath, then forced myself to nod.

Four

It was nearly ten o’clock by the time we got Ralph into the back of the car and set off.

Helen sat straight, her back rigid, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, eyes fixed on the road ahead. The satnav had calculated her route, out to the coast. Thirty-eight minutes. For once, there was so little traffic that it might actually be right.

I twisted away from her and watched passing, empty pavements, trying not to think about the load in the back. The only voice was the mechanical female tone of the satnav, reeling off instructions.

‘In eight hundred yards, turn left.’

I thought, I’ve killed someone. Ralph. I’ve killed Ralph.

The satnav said, ‘Now turn left.’

Helen turned the wheel.

I thought, It was an accident.

The satnav didn’t care. ‘Now take the right-hand lane.’

What was I doing? My stomach heaved with a fresh surge of panic. This was madness. Why was I letting her take control like this, letting her bully me?

‘Prepare to take the second exit.’

I sat there, numb. It was too late. All too late.

I knew where we were heading. I recognised it from the satnav’s map. I’d been there before. With Ralph.

As we approached the coast, the line of shabby wooden boathouses came into view, running along the back of the shingle beach. My face glowed hot, remembering the last time I’d been here. Ralph and Helen had access to a friend’s sailing dinghy, stored in one of the boathouses. Months ago, before Christmas, Ralph had taken me out in it. He said he’d told Helen he’d promised to check over the sails and lay it