Fred ‘Millsy’ Mills sculled out to where he’d buried Ade, and sat on the marshland, looking down at the grave that was now covered in dead shells, tide and nature removing all traces of what lay beneath. Flicking off the bottle cap, Millsy raised his beer.
“Cheers, Ade.”
He took a long swig, and then smiled, raising his face to the winter sun.
#
One Year Earlier
It was cold, the grey sky plunging into the sea, stirring the waves. A light drizzle peppered their faces, water dripping off the hoods of their jackets.
Millsy could see that Eva was trying to strangle her emotions.
“Eva,” he said. “What happened the night your Dad went missing?”
She took a long drag on her cigarette, and then told him everything.
“I couldn’t sleep. Mum had passed out from her pills. I could see the garage door was open, so I went out there. I found Dad, bottle of vodka in one hand, staring at a huge stack of cocaine. For the first time in my life he started talking to me, telling me what had happened like I was his fucking counsellor or something.
“He’d got lucky in a poker match, won big for once. So the idiot does a deal there and then, buying a shipment of coke that he’d sell on for a profit. Some guys had turned up that night and made the delivery.
“When he realised how much he’d bought, he panicked. He wasn’t a dealer. He had no fucking clue how to get rid of it all. So I told him that he needed to hide it, then figure things out.
“The plan was simple. We go to the harbour, row out to one of the unused moorings, wrap and weight the bags down until he needed them. Said I’d help him for a cut of the profits.
“You should have seen him, Millsy. All giving it like: ‘I’m so proud of you, what would I do without you,’ All his bullshit. Anyway, I knew your dinghy would be tied up, so we used that. He was babbling on in the stern, his usual drunk and pathetic self.
“The whole time I knew what I was going to do. Felt so calm about it. It was weird.”
Eva looked down.
“And you killed him,” Millsy said, the words strange on his tongue.
She nodded, staring at the boat deck. It was then that she started to cry. Millsy walked over and hugged her. Her anguish swirled between them as the boat rocked up and down, the patter of rain on their backs. Millsy held her, reassuring her that everything was going to be okay.
#
Millsy flicked his cigarette over the side of the boat and pulled the lever for the winch, raising the oyster dredge. White clouds of laboured breath followed him around the boat as he worked, his lined face red in the winter morning. He’d been out here for hours, circling where Eva had
told him she’d dumped Ade’s body.
When his sister, Cat, had given birth to Eva, Millsy hadn’t paid much attention, aside from the obligatory babygrow and bunch of flowers. But, his uninterest in tiny, puking humans that cry all the time, had masked his real reason for not seeing Eva more often; his hatred for a large, drunk, puking human that cried all the time, namely his brother-in-law, Ade.
Millsy had no idea how often Ade hit Cat. He knew she hid a lot from him. Feeling helpless and angry about it, he’d decided one day that the least he could do was be a decent uncle to Eva. They’d ended up growing real close over the years, and she’d also become a really good hand on the boat, working weekends and holidays when she wasn’t at school.
The winch groaned, the smell of burning rubber making Millsy shut the winch down and put the boat’s engine into neutral. Looking over the sorting table attached to the stern of the boat, Millsy couldn’t see anything. Lowering the dredge, then raising it again, it came free. His brother-in-law’s dead eyes stared up from a bloated pale face, black water draining out from a large wound in his neck.
#
Taking it slow, so as to not lose his prize catch, he brought the boat to a mooring far out in the creeks where he worked. The day was now bright and calm, the tide ebbing out, exposing mud flats and marshland, with a variety of birds—avocet, oystercatcher, godwit, teal—feeding on the nutrients the low tide had left behind.
Climbing into his tied off dinghy, Millsy sculled it round to the dredger’s stern where Ade’s body still lifelessly dangled. His feet and hands were bound with wire that held 20kg weights. Ade’s black jumper hid the deluge of blood that had inevitable flowed, whilst his blue jeans had red patches all over them. He lifted the body down, grunting with strain at the weight. After a few minutes Ade’s body lay in the bottom of the dinghy, the skin slack, mouth and eyes locked in an expression of surprise.
“What a waste,” Millsy said, knowing his words reflected Ade’s life, not death.
Untying the dinghy, Millsy sculled down the creek, the salt air strong, a grey seal popping her head out from under the gentle waves, before diving down again. The winter sun was comforting on Millsy’s back as the dinghy gently rocked up and down.
#
Having left the dinghy with Ade’s body down at low tide, Millsy had walked up the mudflats to where the marshland grew, and set about digging his hole. These mudflats belonged to him, but was land he never used. In an ideal world he would’ve grown oysters on them, but the ground needed a lot of shingle and shell laid on it first, a job he hadn’t the time nor energy to commit to. The mud was soft, easy to move. By the time he had finished, the rising tide had brought his dinghy near to the impromptu grave. Millsy dragged the body out from the boat, then used the easy traction of the mud to slide Ade in. The corpse collapsed to the bottom, the neck at an awkward angle, legs and arms twisted and folded. It was no open casket event.
Millsy filled the grave as fast as possible whilst the tide lapped close to his feet. Once finished, he grabbed the anchor and walked up to the marshland, sitting down to catch his breath, watching the tide cover his tracks.
#
“It’s been a month now,” Cat said. “No-one’s seen or heard from him.”
“Listen, Cat. The police haven’t found any evidence that something bad has happened. You know what I think? He’s got into some sort of trouble, and legged it.” Millsy sipped his coffee, leaning slightly back on the kitchen chair.
“Eva hasn’t once asked about him.” Cat picked at a hole in the table cloth, pulling at the frayed edges.
“I’m not surprised,” Millsy said. “He never gave a shit about her.”
“You’re talking about him like he’s dead.” Cat looked up. Millsy held her stare and wondered if something flashed between them. She opened her mouth to say something, before a knock on the door interrupted her. Getting up, she went to see who it was whilst Millsy put the kettle on. Raised voices echoed out from the hallway.
“I’m sorry, but right now there’s nothing more we can do.” The police officer looked over at Millsy, before turning his attention back to Cat.
“So you’re telling me that’s it? I just have to accept it? Get on with my life?” Cat was on the verge of tears, visibly shaking as blue lights flashed behind the two officers standing in the doorway.
“What’s going on?” Millsy said.
Cat wiped her nose. “The police can’t do any more to help.”
“How’s that?” Millsy said, a wave of relief suddenly washing over him.
“We will keep his file open,” the officer said. “But right now, we’ve got nothing else to go on. We’ve looked into every lead we currently have, and, at this moment, it seems your husband has completely vanished.”
“Haven’t you any idea where he might be?” Millsy asked.
“Who are you, sir?” the officer asked.
“He’s my brother,” Cat said.
The officer looked at Cat again. “If any new leads emerge, we’ll be in touch. Or if you hear anything, then call us.”
“Your number still 999?” Millsy grinned. The officer didn’t.
Cat shut the door and walked back into the kitchen. “I don’t understand any of this, Fred.”
“Was he mixed up in something, got in over his head? Did he tell you anything?”
Cat hesitated.
“What?” Millsy pressed.
“Ade and I got into a fight the night he went missing. Turned ugly, like it always does.” She trailed off, looking at her hands that were clasped tightly together.
“Go on,” Millsy said.
Cat continued. “So I told him I was leaving, that it was over. Said that Eva and I would come and live with you. He starts yelling again, then crying. You should’ve seen him, Fred. He looked pathetic, standing there in his underwear and socks.” At this she laughed a little, shaking her head. “Anyway, there’s a knock on the door. It’s late, nearly midnight. His shuts up, just like that, the colour draining from him. I ask him who it is at this time, but he ignores me. He keeps running his hands through his hair like a maniac.
“I ask him what the hell is happening, and then he suddenly runs outside. I can hear muffled voices. Then car doors slam, and whoever it is drives off.
“After a few moments Ade comes back in, scratching his head and arms like he’s got the DTs. He mumbles that he needs to get something from the garage, and goes back outside. I heard the garage door open, and left him to it. That’s the last time I saw him. I went out to the garage the next day, but there was nothing strange in there.”
“Didn’t he come to bed?”
“No. Well, I don’t think so. Dr put me on some new antidepressants about the same time this all happened. They knock me out for the night. You could blow a horn in my ear and I wouldn’t have a clue, Fred.”
“Did Eva hear anything?”
“She’s barely said anything about it at all. But she’s a teenager, Fred. She thinks I’m an idiot for staying with her dad. I found a letter she had written to herself. Said what a coward I was for staying, how she’d never let anyone treat her the way Ade treated me.”
Cat started to cry. Millsy got up and put his arms around her.
“You’re not a coward, Cat. It’s bloody hard. Listen, I’ll have a chat with Eva, see if she heard or saw anything. I’ll take her out on the boat tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Fred. You’re probably the only person she’d speak to.”
Cat wiped her nose and went and made them both a cup of tea.
#
“I’m glad he’s gone,” Eva said, cigarette smoke trailing off behind her as the boat glided through the morning’s tide.
“C’mon, Eva, he was your Dad.”
Eva looked at Millsy, eyes as cold as he’d ever seen them. “No, he wasn’t. He was a prick who only gave a shit about himself.”
Millsy nodded, then turned around and pulled the lever, raising the dredge which was bursting full of oysters.
. . .
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rev Joe Haward is an author, poet, and heretic. Born into an Indian family, Joe was adopted with his identical twin brother and grew up transracial.
Alongside two published nonfiction books, he works as a freelance journalist challenging political, societal, and religious corruption, with articles regularly featured in the national news site, Byline Times.
His work can be found in various publications, such as A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Outcast Press, and Cinnabar Moth Publishing, where he writes horror, noir, and transgressive fiction. His poetry has also been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. His debut novel, Burning the Folded Page (Cinnabar Moth Publishing) will be released in 2023.
Find him on Twitter @RevJoeHaward