Saturday, March 28, 1953
The sky was purplish black, the moon all but hidden by smoggy clouds, the only sounds spades crunching into the ground and the heavy breathing of physical labor.
“Boys, let me and Honor have a go,” said George. “You’ve earned a break.”
She looked at Honor, who nodded her assent. George did look charming, she thought, in her headscarf and fisherman’s sweater. Like a land girl.
The women continued digging by flashlight, and a serviceable grave began to take shape. “How emasculating,” said Robbie, still slightly out of breath. “You’re making considerably faster progress than Saul and I were.”
Saul patted his shoulder consolingly. Honor, wiping her brow with the back of her hand, said, “You had the hard work of the frozen topsoil. Now we’re down to the softer silty layer.”
“I do wish you’d let me help,” said Mina. “I feel so useless just standing here!”
“Nonsense,” said Saul. “You’re holding the flashlight, which is the most important job of all.”
Then it was time to do the process in reverse, and replace the soil. Thank goodness for George’s idea to roll the body in the rug. It was almost possible to forget that, contained in the disappearing coil of Persian wool, was the man they’d called Jimmy.