No Place Like Home by Jane Renshaw (top 10 non fiction books of all time .TXT) 📕

water in the stream, the stepping stones, the trees on the other side, no longer shades of grey but green and brown.

The barrow got away from Bram on the bank that sloped down to the water and it tipped over, catapulting the body out into the stream.

‘Fuck!’ Kirsty hissed.

‘It’s okay!’ Bram righted the barrow and manoeuvred it next to the tarpaulin-wrapped body. ‘Help me lift him!’

Eventually they had him back in the barrow and, with Kirsty pulling and Bram pushing, got it up the other bank. They shoved the barrow right up to the boot of the car and hauled the body inside. It took a lot of pushing and pulling to fit him in there, with those long legs of his. They were lucky, he supposed, that there was no rigor mortis. It must have come and gone while he was in the ground. Eventually they managed to fold him into the space and slam the boot shut.

‘Now the barrow,’ Kirsty hissed. ‘We’ll have to bleach it too. Where’s the bleach?’

‘In the shed.’

‘Did we lock the shed? Maybe we should slosh some water over the floor to rinse it off a bit – the smell of bleach is overpowering. They might wonder–’

‘And we need to get these waterproofs off and dispose of them.’

‘Not until we’ve got rid of – it,’ said Kirsty. ‘We don’t want our DNA getting on it. Then we can put the waterproofs in a wheelie bin too.’

‘We can’t put the bags of cardboard and the waterproofs all in the same wheelie bin! The people would notice their bin suddenly being full.’

‘Okay, so we put it in a few different bins.’ Kirsty groaned. ‘But look how light it is already! We’re not going to have time to clean up here, find somewhere suitable, dig a hole, bury him–’

She was right. ‘Okay. We can leave him in the car for now. Dispose of him tomorrow night. We’ve got time to clean up in the shed and bleach the barrow and stuff.’

They rinsed out the pails in the stream and carried fresh water up to the shed, and sloshed it over the floor, and used the cloths to mop up as best they could. By the time Bram had cleaned the barrow and, while he was at it, his phone with some diluted bleach, it was properly light, although it wasn’t yet five o’clock.

‘We can leave the waterproofs in here,’ Kirsty said, wriggling out of hers. ‘They’ve already searched the shed, haven’t they?’

‘We were mad to think we could get everything done tonight. We haven’t even thought through what we’re going to do with… Where we’re going to re-bury…’ He broke off, staring out at the lovely dawn light on the tops of the trees, the mist hanging in skeins across the forest. ‘Oh Christ, Kirsty! How could we have thought we’d ever get away with this?’

‘We are going to get away with it.’ She caught hold of his arm, as if without its support she would keel over. ‘But the sniffer dogs! The police are probably going to park right next to the Polo! The dogs will be all over it!’

‘Okay. Okay…’ God! ‘We’ll have to park somewhere else.’

‘And how do we explain the car being gone?’

Bram tried to think. ‘Scott said the sniffer dogs will be here early afternoon. What if we say that watching the search for Finn is too upsetting for Phoebe, and we’ve decided to take the kids to your parents’ place? We can do that first thing this morning. Stay the day in Grantown, then dispose of him tomorrow night. Does that make sense?’

‘Yes… I don’t know. God, Bram – I can’t tell any more what makes sense and what doesn’t!’

‘I know.’ He took in a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I can’t either.’

21

It seemed to be taking forever to get the kids organised. First Max couldn’t find his phone, then Phoebe had a meltdown and refused to leave the house, obviously picking up on her parents’ tension.

‘It’s too early!’ she sobbed. ‘I feel sick! Why do we have to go?’

‘The police are going to be doing a proper search and they want us out of the way,’ Bram improvised. ‘Come on, kleintje. Don’t you want to see Bertie?’

‘Bertie could come here.’

‘Not with all the sniffer dogs around. Bertie would be a bad influence. He’d probably lead them all on a wild goose chase for biscuits.’

A tiny smile.

‘Now, what are you going to take to Grannie and Grandad’s? Your paper and pens? You could do portraits of everyone.’

‘Okay!’ And she ran up the stairs.

‘Dad, the Taylors are coming,’ said Max from the door.

Oh Christ.

‘Go up to Phoebe’s room and keep her there till they’ve gone,’ Bram told him.

‘What are they–’

‘Just do it, Max!’

Bram stood out on the verandah and watched Sylvia Taylor marching up the track towards the house, Andrew hurrying along in her wake.

‘What have you done to him?’ Sylvia yelled as soon as she was within shouting distance.

Bram just shook his head.

She stormed up the steps and pushed him with both hands so he staggered back against the wall of the house. Her hair was even wilder than last time he’d seen her, and there were streaks of mascara dried on her cheeks. ‘If you won’t tell me, you’ll tell the police!’ she yelled into his face, flecks of spittle landing on him.

Bram looked behind her to Andrew, who was standing staring at Bram.

‘Did you kill him?’ Somehow it was much more shocking, the calm way Andrew spoke, almost conversationally, as if they were chatting about the weather.

‘Of course not,’ Bram got out.

‘The police will be here any minute,’ Andrew added. ‘We’ve called them. I imagine they’re going to arrest you.’

So this was it. He was going to be arrested, and he would confess everything. It was over. He felt almost glad.

‘Why on earth would Bram kill Finn?’ It was Kirsty, striding towards them across the verandah. ‘I know you’re going through a terrible time, but really – If you think