Free Road of the Dead by Kevin Brooks Page B

dark.
    Vince rolled the Land Rover across the yard and parked outside the house.
    “Here we are,” he said, cutting the engine and looking at Cole. “You must be hungry.”
    Cole shrugged.
    Vince looked at me.
    I smiled at him. “We don’t want to put you to any trouble—”
    “No trouble,” he said. “I’ll get Abbie to fix you something.”
    We got out of the Land Rover, grabbed our bags from the back, and followed Vince into the house.
    I’d never been in a farmhouse before, so I didn’t know if it was a typical farmhouse or not, but I guessed it probably was. Wooden beams, wooden floors, logs crackling on an open fire. An Aga stove in the kitchen. A larder out the back.
    Abbie took us upstairs and showed us into the smaller of two large bedrooms. It had a double bed and a folding sofa bed and lots of pine furniture.
    “The bathroom’s just along the landing,” she explained. “There’s plenty of hot water if you want a shower or anything. The food’ll be ready in about ten minutes.”
    “Thanks,” I told her.
    As she stood in the doorway, looking slightly uncomfortable, I could feel a sadness weighing her down. I could feel other stuff, too, but I wasn’t quite sure what it was. Some kind of longing, maybe…a desire to be somewhere else. I thought I could sense a hopelessness, too. Whatever it was she was longing for, she didn’t think she was going to get it.
    “Is this the room where Rachel stayed?” I asked her.
    She nodded. “She left a few things behind—a couple of T-shirts, some hair clips…I was going to send them down to you, but the police wouldn’t let me.”
    I looked at the double bed. “Is that where she slept?”
    Abbie nodded again. I looked at the bed for a while, trying to think of something to say—but there wasn’t anything. It wasn’t a moment for words. I looked over at Cole. He was just standing there, like he does—letting things be what they are.
    I smiled at Abbie.
    She smiled back. “Well,” she said, “I’ll see you downstairs, then…” And she turned around and walked out.
    We listened to her footsteps clonking down thewooden stairs, then Cole shut the door and dumped his bag on the sofa bed and went over to the window.
    “Are you all right?” I asked him.
    “Yeah.”
    “Do you think we can do this?”
    “What?”
    “I don’t know…whatever it is we’re doing.”
    He turned from the window and looked at me. “We’re already doing it. We’re here, aren’t we? We’re right in the middle of it. You probably know that better than I do.”
    “Yeah, I suppose…”
    “So why are you asking?”
    “I’m insecure,” I said, smiling at him. “I need to know what you’re thinking sometimes.”
    “You know what I’m thinking.”
    “I need to hear it.”
    He looked at me, his head perfectly still. His eyes were as dark as the night.
    “You want to know what I’m thinking?” he said softly.
    “Yeah.”
    He paused for a moment, then moved off toward the door. “I need to go to the bathroom,” he said. “ That’s what I’m thinking.”
    “I knew that,” I told him.
    “I thought you might.”
    “I knew that, too.”
    He opened the door and went out without looking at me.
    While he was gone I went over and lay facedown on the bed. It was freshly made—the sheets and duvet recently washed, the pillows firm and plump. There was no physical trace of Rachel left, but I could still feel her presence. As I closed my eyes and buried my face in the pillow, I could smell her sleeping skin. I could smell her dreams. I could see her face in the darkness. Her eyes were closed. Her breath was sweet. Her shining black hair lay soft on the white of the pillow.
    Her lips fluttered.
    Go home, Ruben , she said. Let the dead bury the dead. Go home.
    When we went downstairs, the food was ready on the kitchen table. There was ham, chicken, salad, bread. Bottled water, beer, wine. Abbie opened the wine and started to pour some for Cole.
    “Not for me,