Dead Simple

Chinese takeaway in here.’
    Cowan jerked his head up at the whiteboard beside him, headed ‘OPERATION LISBON’. ‘Yup, well, you can take my Chinese problem away from me any time you feel like. I’ve given up a hot date to be here.’
    ‘I’ll trade with you gladly,’ Grace said.
    Michael Cowan looked at him inquisitively. ‘Tell me?’
    ‘You don’t want to know, believe me.’
    ‘It’s that bad?’
    ‘Worse.’

54
    In the beam of the headlamps, Mark could see a whole cluster of wreaths at the roadside, on the apex of a right-hand curve. Some lay on the grass verge, some were propped against a tree and the rest against a hedge. There were several more than the last time he had passed here.
    Taking his foot off the accelerator, he slowed to a crawl, a shiver rippling through him, deep inside him, deep inside his soul. He continued to watch them as they receded in the glow of his tail lights, until they vanished into the darkness, into the night, vanished, were gone, had never been there. Josh, Pete, Luke, Robbo.
    Himself , too, if the plane had not been delayed.
    Then of course the problem would have been different. Covered in goose pimples, he floored the accelerator, wanting to get away from here; it was giving him the creeps. His mobile beeped, then began to ring. Ashley’s number on caller display appeared on the panel on the dash.
    He answered it on the hands-free, glad to hear her, badly in need of human company. ‘Hi.’
    ‘Well?’ She sounded as frosty as when she had left his apartment.
    ‘I’m on my way.’
    ‘Only now?’
    ‘I had to wait for it to get dark. I don’t think we should talk on mobiles – shall I come and see you when I get back?’
    ‘That would be really stupid, Mark.’
    ‘’Yes. I – I – how is Gill?’
    ‘Upset. How do you expect her to be?’
    ‘Yup.’
    ‘ Yup? Are you OK?’
    ‘Sort of.’
    ‘Are you sober now?’
    ‘Of course,’ he said, tetchily.
    ‘You don’t sound good.’
    ‘I don’t feel good, OK?’
    ‘OK. But you’re going to do it?’
    ‘That’s what we agreed.’
    ‘Will you call me after?’
    ‘Sure.’
    He hung up. It was misty ahead, and a film of moisture covered the windscreen. The wipers arced twice, the rubber blades were shrieking. He switched them off. The shrubbery at the edge of the forest was looking familiar, and he slowed down, not wanting to overshoot the turn-off.
    Moments later he rattled over the first cattle grid then the second, the headlight beams stretching out ahead through the mist like twin lasers, the car lurching on the potholed track as he accelerated, driving too fast, scared of the trees that seemed to be pressing threateningly in on either side, and glancing in his mirror, just in case…
    Just in case what, exactly?
    He was getting close now. A low murmur of chatter from the radio distracted him, and he switched it off, dimly aware that his breathing was getting faster, that perspiration kept pouring down his temples, his back. The nose dipped steeply as the front wheels plunged into a puddle, and water, sounding as hard as pebbles, spattered the windscreen. Switching the wipers on again, he slowed right down. Jesus, it was deep; he hadn’t realized how much rain there’d been since he was last here. And then – shit, oh shit, no!
    The wheels had lost traction in the mire.
    Pressing the accelerator harder made the BMW vibrate, slide a few feet sideways, then slip back again.
    Oh, Christ, no!
    He could not get stuck, could not, could not. How the hell could he explain this, half-ten at night, out here?
    Breathe deeply …
    He breathed in, peering out fearfully at the darkness, at every shadow in front of him, to the side of him, behind him, then pressed the central locking, heard the clunk , but felt no better. Then he switched on the dome light and looked down at the controls. There were settings for off-road conditions, a lower gear ratio, a differential lock; he’d seen them a hundred times and never bothered to read up about them.
    Reaching over, he pulled the handbook out of the glove compartment, frantically scrambled through the index, then turned to the relevant pages. He pushed a lever, pressed a button, put the book down beside him, and tentatively tried the accelerator. The car lurched, then, to his relief, powered forwards.
    He kept going at a steady ten miles per hour, the car much more surefooted now, moving forward through more puddles as if it was on a conveyor belt. Then he