Heaving the body over his shoulder, he steadied it with one hand, and carrying the spade in the other, made off down the track at the side of the mill which led into woodland and beyond that farmer’s fields bordered by hedgerows. Looking about him all the time and going as quickly as he could, he came out of the woodland after some few minutes and into a field of corn. He skirted this, still keeping his eyes peeled, and then walked through another field of crops and yet another. Puffing now, he saw ahead a further dense area of woodland beyond a field where cows were grazing. He was some distance from the mill now and, aware that all the time he was out in the open carrying the lad he was at risk of being seen, he made for the trees. By the time he reached the stone wall bordering the wood the sweat was running down his face in rivulets and the stink of cow pats on his boots was strong.

The drystone wall was chest high and he dropped the body and the spade into the grass on the other side before vaulting over himself. The only emotion he was feeling was panic. Once in the wood he walked for a minute or two along a natural trail made by animals, probably foxes and badgers, before coming to a halt in front of a grassy area in the midst of the trees. He lowered the body to the ground and, walking forward with the spade, prodded the undergrowth. There were clumps of bracken and brambles in parts as well as grass and wild flowers, and although they’d had no rain for weeks he thought he could dig a sufficiently deep hole and then cover it with natural vegetation again so it would be unnoticeable, not that anyone was likely to come here.

It took a long, long time. The roots of trees snaked into play now and again, and the sting of sweat in his eyes caused him to stop several times to spit on his handkerchief and wipe them. All the time he worked he was cursing Rose. This was her fault, all of it, damn her. If she had just fallen in with what he wanted rather than running away, he would have sorted Davey’s mam for her. He would never have let that old crone take Betsy, surely she must have realized that? But no, she’d had to do a vanishing act and make him scour the country for her and what was the result? He’d been forced to shut that lad’s stinking mouth.