It had been a dreadful night, sleep clotted with violent dreams for both her and, judging by his grunts and spastic kicks and flails, for Jake as well. Bella had dreamt of sunbathing in the garden, stretched out in the warmth of the summer sun, star-fished on the lawn. She’d been wearing a swimming costume she’d never seen before, a red polka-dotted two-piece, and her hair was plaited into school-girlish ponytails. She lay in her own private corn-circle, long stems of grass forming a protective green barrier around her. Then the grass began to rustle, the long stems began to sway, and as Bella watched, trapped in the dreadful sludgy stasis of dreams, an arm, a hand came through the wall of grass, a puffy white hand, nails lined with dirt, palm moist with decay, the fingertips scraped back to raw flesh where she’d clawed her way out of the ground…

Awake, Bella squeezed her eyes tight shut, shuddering. At the feel of another hand on her hip, a warm hand this time, she gasped, the sound a thin little puff of air in the dim bedroom.

“What’s wrong?”

Jake’s voice was barely a whisper. She felt him curl himself around her cold back and sighed.

“It’s okay. I just had a bad dream, that’s all.”

He was silent for a moment.

“So did I,” he said.

“I thought so. You were moaning.”

He pressed his face into the back of her neck: the tip of his nose was cold. His stubble grazed her spine.

“I dreamt Candice was coming up the stairs after me. I couldn’t get away from her. Not her as she – she was – her, dead. God, it was horrible.”

Bella didn’t say anything. She reached for his hands and held them clasped between her palms, and they both lay there in a small pool of body warmth, surrounded by icy sheets.

“I suppose we should get up,” said Bella without enthusiasm, some minutes later. The thought was not appealing.

“Not yet,” said Jake. “Wait until Carl and V have gone.”

Bella twisted her neck to look at him.

“I thought they went last night?”

Jake looked confused. “Oh yes,” he said, a little uncertainly. “Yes, that’s right. They were going to go once the traffic dropped.” He blinked. “I totally forgot. How stupid of me.”

Bella wasn’t really listening.

“I’ll check and see,” she said and threw the covers back, emerging shivering into the raw air of the bedroom. She wanted to know if they’d truly gone. If they had, then she could properly relax. But, on the other hand, if they’d left, it meant that Jake would want to put his lunatic scheme into action. He can’t really mean it, Bella told herself. He can’t really mean to dig up a body. She wrapped the dirty white folds of her dressing gown around her. Face it, Bella, you don’t really know if you believe him or not, do you?

The idea was so startling, it stopped her in her tracks at the door, her fingers on the door handle. Did she believe him? Did she honestly think that her boyfriend had buried the body of a girl in his back garden? How could it be possible? Bella hurried along to the bathroom. Things like that just didn’t happen to people she knew. Not real people. She locked the bathroom door behind her. Surely it couldn’t be possible? She hoisted up the skirt of her robe, in preparation for sitting down. Then another thought struck her and she froze. Why would he lie?

The house was empty – Carl and Veronica were nowhere to be seen. Carl’s leather jacket was missing from the hook on the back of the kitchen door. Bella made coffee for herself and Jake, her toes curling away from the cold tiles of the kitchen floor. As she waited for the kettle to boil, she glanced idly at the shelves on the opposite wall of the kitchen. The sight was so familiar she barely saw it anymore – but today, a framed picture caught her eye and she picked it up off the shelf, bringing it closer to her face with a hesitant hand. Carl and Veronica sat on the sofa in the living room, raising champagne glasses to the camera. They looked both young, and happy, faces split by smiles, teeth glinting in the flash. Bella looked at them for a long time, marvelling at what she knew. Was it possible that these two glowing creatures had buried someone? How was it possible?

“What’s wrong?”

Jake’s voice made her jump. She wondered how long he’d been standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching her.

“It’s this photo,” she said slowly, gesturing with it. “I just can’t believe – it seems impossible to believe – “

“What?” He came and took the frame from her hand.

“It just seems so hard to believe that – well – that they’re criminals.”

“We’re not criminals!” His suddenly raised voice made her flinch back. “We never murdered anyone. It was an accident, don’t you see? She just fell – “

Bella swallowed. “All right. I’m sorry.”

Jake turned away from her. He put the photograph back with a fussy little click, and straightened it so its edges were parallel with the edge of the shelf.

“She fell,” he muttered.

*

As the day lengthened, Bella could feel the tension begin to grow. She was conscious of it in her own clenched jaw, suddenly realising that for the last ten minutes, her teeth had been locked together. She would breath and relax and there, ten minutes later, her molars would be jammed against one another again. She could see it in the rigid set of Jake’s shoulders, the way he roamed from window to window in the front room, twitching at the curtains. She wondered what he was looking for. She could feel an ache in her own shoulders as she sat wedged into a corner of the sofa, attempting to read a week-old newspaper. At four o’clock, she opened a bottle of red wine, and they both gulped down the first glass as the light began to drain from the sky outside.

“Does it have to be dark?” she’d asked and at his grim nod, felt her nervous stomach begin to cramp and twist. She didn’t want it to be dark – but then, she asked herself, do you actually, truly think there’s going to be a body there? Her mind fluttered. She oscillated between absolute belief and desperate scepticism. Another glass of wine helped, calming the almost imperceptible trembling of her fingers.

At nine thirty, Jake stood up. Bella looked at him, standing tall by the ash-choked fireplace. They hadn’t spoken to each other in over an hour. She felt the tension in her body screw itself a notch tighter.

“Is it time?” she said, and her voice sounded rusty from disuse.

“Yeah.”

Jake looked distracted. She wondered whether he was thinking of the practicalities; of how to remove the boards of the shed floor without noise, of how to scrape away all the dirt. She felt a sudden pulse of nausea. Bella leaned back against the back of the sofa, weary already, and closed her eyes.

She opened them to find Jake standing over her and stifled a little shriek. He held a hand out to her.

“Come on, babe. It’s time.”

“No,” said Bella, involuntarily. She was suddenly very afraid, too afraid to move. I can’t go and look, she told herself, beginning to shake. I can’t.

“It’s alright,” said Jake, impatiently. He made a grabbing gesture with his outstretched hand and she flinched back, unable to help herself. Immediately, he was contrite. He sat beside her on the sofa and drew her rigid body against him, folding her into his arms.

“Oh Bella, my Bella, poor darling. Poor baby. I’m so sorry to put you through this, I’m so sorry. I’d do anything not to do it, to not make you go through this. But I can’t do it without you, darling. I can’t. Please help me.”

Bella sighed. She disentangled herself and pushed herself gently away.

“I’m here,” she said, looking down at the sofa. Her hair fell in front of her face, obscuring her vision. Jake brushed it aside and took hold of her chin, tilting her face up to his.

“You’re so wonderful,” he said softly. “You’re my saviour. Just a bit more time, my darling, and this will all be over. It’ll be fine.”