‘No,’ Cathy says. ‘Not now.’

‘And if I do call one – what’s going to happen to me?’ Frannie’s hands are twisting together. Her shoulders are hunched. Cathy is aware of some dim notion that she will remember this conversation for the rest of her life. ‘What’s going to happen to Paul?’ she says.

Cathy stares at the car. At the body. Thinks of the policeman who witnessed Frannie arguing with this man earlier today. Thinks of Joe’s encounter. The police will think they’re trouble, the Plant family.

‘I don’t know,’ Cathy says. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I can’t call one. I can’t.’

‘We could say it was me,’ Cathy says desperately. Tears start to clog her throat.

‘But you were at the market too. They’d infer … that it wasn’t an accident.’

Cathy drops her head into her hands, massaging her forehead. She can’t think in these circumstances. Her brain isn’t working. ‘We could say we found him,’ she mumbles. ‘By the roadside?’

‘It’s too late,’ Frannie says. ‘It’s too fucking late. It’s been too long. Our car – the hire car’s dented. And it’s hired. We can’t just get rid of it. I’m fucked. I’m fucked.’ She looks at Cathy and then at Joe, who has his red hands over his face. ‘I’m so fucked. Please do something. Please help me. Please help Paul.’

Cathy’s mind races. A few feet away, Joe is finally sick. A fountain of vino rosso adding to the blood, to the mess, on the dirt road. The smell drifts over to her – acidic, tart – and Cathy thinks she might throw up too.

‘Paul’s got only me,’ Frannie says. ‘I mean – we have to … to cover it up.’

They sit in silence for a few minutes.

‘This is fucked,’ Joe says eventually, wiping his mouth on his t-shirt. ‘You cannot seriously be asking us to – to what? What’re you saying, Fran?’ His eyes swivel towards hers.

‘I’m not saying anything,’ Frannie cries. ‘I’m saying if I – or you – call anyone now, I’m going to go to prison and leave Paul alone for a decade. Probably more.’

Cathy looks again at the body. Their fingerprints are all over it. On his skin. On his clothes. And inside the wound on his side. Their DNA mingling, binding them to this injury, this accident, forever. This man in front of her isn’t only a body. He is a body of evidence too. Cathy’s shoulders come out in goosebumps.

She begins to shake, despite the hot night. She meets Frannie’s eyes. They’re wide, like a panther’s, only the whites visible in the dark night. ‘What are you saying?’ Cathy whispers.

A sad expression arranges itself across Frannie’s brows.

‘I can’t do this,’ Joe says. ‘I can’t do it.’ He stands up and turns away from them. ‘Not even for you,’ he throws over his shoulder at Frannie.

‘Oh, walk off, why don’t you,’ Frannie says. ‘Go punch something? Will that help?’ She glances back at Cathy, who avoids her gaze. It’s not the right time to bring up Joe’s temper.