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‘Get out,’ she said, quietly, as if she’d never seen a creature more disgusting than me.
Outside, by the car, Woodley said, ‘They’ve found a boy. In the woods. And they’ve found the site
where he was held.’
‘Woodley,’ I said, but then I didn’t know what else to say.
I puked onto the thorny stems of one of Nicky Forbes’s neatly pruned rose bushes. Bile and bits of
unidentifiable spew spattered around its base, leaving a pattern that can’t be mistaken for anything
other than the hot disgorging of somebody’s guts.
I wiped my mouth, straightened up and felt pain ripple across my abdomen.
‘I’ll drive,’ I said, and Woodley handed me the keys.