In the middle distance, they heard something crash in the undergrowth and they both instinctively ducked. There was no further sound, and Tony guessed Duggan must have dropped some of the stones he was carrying. If they could hear him, he could hear them. He took another shovel load, deliberately clinking the metal edge against the side of a stone wedged about two foot down, the ringing carrying clear across the woodland floor. He deposited the spoil on the graveside, then hoisted himself up out of the hollow and scrabbled across to where Kelly and Karen were.

‘Martin, you need to get up,’ he said, shaking the man’s shoulders. His skin was clammy, sticky to the touch. Closer to him now, Tony could tell that he had soiled himself at some stage, though Karen had not mentioned it. The wounds on his arms and shoulders were vivid, despite the relative murkiness of the woods, their eyes having long since adjusted to the dark in which they worked.

‘Get up, Martin,’ he repeated, putting his hand in under Kelly’s trunk to try to help lift him. Kelly seemed to realize what he was doing, for Tony felt his weight shift as the injured man began using his legs to try to raise himself.

‘You need to go, Martin,’ Tony said. ‘We’ll say you ran when we weren’t looking. You need to go.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Kelly rasped. ‘I’m so sorry.’

They heard another crash, closer this time, and the hissed cursing of Duggan.

‘You need to go,’ Tony said, pushing him, encouraging him to leave. ‘Please, run.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Kelly repeated. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Please, run,’ Karen said. ‘Please, Martin.’

For a moment, Tony thought he was going to do so. His legs tensed, as if in preparation to sprint, but as he moved his foot, his weight seemed to drop under him and he stumbled, forcing Tony to have to grip him tighter to hold him. Kelly winced in pain as Tony’s grip encircled the bruises on his trunk.

‘Sorry, Martin,’ Tony said, hugging against the man to help him remain upright. He felt the weakness of Kelly’s pulse, the shallow rising of his chest with each quick breath. ‘Jesus,’ he said, the realization of what was happening made concrete with the smell of blood, sweat and piss, which emanated from Kelly’s skin. ‘Jesus, I’m sorry, Martin. I’m sorry. It shouldn’t be you, it should–’

‘He’s here,’ Karen cried, and Tony could not be sure whether she had heard what he was saying.

Duggan appeared into the weak light the torch he’d left at the edge of the clearing. He bore a number of rocks, cradled in his two arms, like children. He came across to the grave and, opening his arms, dropped them at the side.

‘You got him up,’ he acknowledged. ‘Good. Let’s go.’