Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1 by Sue Nicholls (primary phonics .txt) 📕

and towed it back to Twitch. She lay on her back, still unconscious, her hair stretched in a long mass behind her, with twigs and leaves caught up in its curls. Maurice took an uneven breath and grasped Twitch under her arms. She moaned, making the panicky knot in his gut squirm even more.

It was harder than he expected to get her onto the trolley, and he whimpered with frustration, cursing Paul for not adding brakes. But after wedging the bloody stone behind one wheel to keep it steady, he slid his arms under her knees and shoulders and hefted her up like a sleeping child. Her oozing head lolled onto his chest, leaving smears on his shirt, then it fell backwards over his arm, and the ends of her hair brushed the path. With a heave and a gasp, he dumped her onto the wooden surface and secured her in place with the bungees. Next, he stuck the rock between her knees and trundled her across the open space where the picnic had been, and pulled the trolley down the bank into the frigid water. With his feet sinking into slimy mud and catching in coils of tree root, he towed the heavy kart through the shallows, grunting furious encouragement to himself: ‘Come on. Keep going. You have to do this!’

He had tethered the boat to a rotting post, and the pull of the water had dragged it to the extent of its rope, out into the lake. Still hauling the trolley, Maurice waded deeper, gasping as frigid water seeped through his trousers and up his torso. As the trolley entered deeper water, its rear end with its heavy burden, sank low in the water leaving only Twitch’s head and breasts above the surface. The water was now up to his armpits and giving a final yank on the rope, Maurice grasped the dinghy and with clumsy fingers, secured the trolley to a cleat on its stern.

The roar from the outboard motor sliced through the peaceful evening, making his heart pound harder. With a knot in his stomach, he scanned the perimeter of the lake. But in the cordoned off park, the only sounds were from the gentle grumbling of ducks, and piping of moorhens paddling in the vegetation. An aeroplane growled overhead, leaving its white spoor across the cornflower sky. Maurice ducked, imagining the distant passengers spotting him through their tiny port holes.

The little dinghy puttered across the lake with the trolley lurching in its wake. Water flowed over Twitch’s unconscious face, and Maurice turned away and fixed his eyes on his destination.

At what he judged to be the deepest point, he cut the engine and pulled the trolley alongside. Twitch’s blood bloomed about her head in a pinkish cloud as Maurice, on his knees, looped the rope attached to the bag of rocks, around Twitch’s neck and sliced through the bungees that held her onto the trolley. Next, he teetered to his feet and put both arms around the heavy sack. The boat lurched, and he braced his feet against its sides, then with his last bit of strength, he jettisoned the sack into the water. With terrible timing, Twitch’s eyes opened and she stared up at him - or did he imagine that? The rope snapped tight round her neck and with a jerk, she vanished into a messy whirlpool. As the water settled back to tranquillity, air bubbles streamed to the surface, and Maurice leaned over the water and retched.

Back on land, he smashed a hole in the dinghy’s base and aimed its rudder at the centre of the lake, then he yanked the starter rope and sent the little vessel chugging away from him. It struggled on, shipping water and slewing to the left before the motor cut out and it sank from view. When it had gone, Maurice looked about him. If he tried, he could almost persuade himself that nothing had happened here. But the speeding of his heart reminded him of his awful act.

He had promised Fee he would look after Sam and Josh that afternoon. She had practically begged, and acceptance was out of his mouth before his brain had engaged. Now, the prospect of entertaining the boys seemed impossible.

With clumsy fingers he wrapped the trolley in sheets of black plastic and secured them with the remaining nylon rope. He had thought of sinking it in the lake with Twitch, but it was so buoyant that it would have required more rocks than he could have lifted.

Because the children were coming tonight, his plan to dispose of the trolley must wait until tomorrow. There was a spot some miles away. A new section of motorway under construction, with drainage pipes in a deep ditch along its edge. It would be a relatively simple job to push the blood-stained trolley far into a conduit.

On his way to collect the boys, he threw Twitch’s bike into a ditch outside Chelterton and pitched the parcelled-up trolley into the garage where it teetered on top of the pile of junk that covered most of the floor. His children did not seem to notice his shaking hands and distracted manner when he fed them KFC and took them to the cinema. In the darkness he stared at the movie, but a gorier image played over and over in his head. Afterwards, he marched them to the car, desperate to be home.

The moment he strapped Josh into his seat, the child fell asleep and remained in deep slumber, hanging over Maurice’s shoulder all the way to bed. Maurice and Sam sat before the television for half an hour before Sam too went to bed.

With the boys settled, Maurice dropped onto a kitchen chair and threw Scotch down his throat – glass, after glass, after glass.

~~~

The next morning, the boys begged to go swimming, but Maurice could not face it. He fed them