Andy McNab - Dark winter

I pulled down the visor to shade me from the glare. 'I didn't abandon her, she knows that. She knows we thought it was the best thing for her to come live with you.' I knew I was sounding defensive.

'You gotta take a look at it from where she stands. No matter how much love our home is giving her, it's gotta be tough.' He leant forward over the wheel to stretch his back. 'She alienates people, you know she does. It's her way of coping, Nick. She withdraws from us before we have a chance to do it to her. She's insulating herself. We've got to make sure she learns how to cope another way. A good way.'

'You've been watching too much Dr Phil, mate.'

He ignored me again. 'We all have ways of handling stuff, OK? Me, I've got a devout belief in the Lord, I know that He loves me. You would, too, if only you'd let Him in. Let anybody in, come to think of it.' He pointed a finger while trying not to cut up a truck. 'You, you're Mr Distractive – when things get a little too hot for you, you try to head off somewhere different, get busy, get funny, anything to get away. That Dr Phil gag, you're still doing it – what you call it, cutting away? Yeah, you're still cutting away, huh?' He turned towards me and I took over looking out of the windscreen. 'You know why you never look me in the eye, you never look at my face? It's because you feel guilty, so you just do your little thing, you cut away.'

I wasn't cutting away, I was completely blanking out. 'Load of bollocks.'

His head shook slowly from side to side. A road sign announced we were entering Virginia. 'The way it looks to me, she's doing exactly what you do, cutting away, keeping a lid on things. She just can't bear to let her feelings out – she's scared of what might happen. She's scared it might be like leaving the gate open in the zoo, so the lions and the elephants escape, know what I'm saying?'

I shrugged a 'maybe'.

'Man, I know you were doing your best for her, I know there were outrageous circumstances, but what goes through her head at night? What does she dream about? It may be too late for you, but we gotta help her take the lid off. But, like, real slow.' We came off the highway, taking the ramp right and following signs for Tyson's Corner. 'It's going to take a long time, know what I'm saying? But we'll get there with her in the end.'

'You reckon?' Sometimes I admired his unshakeable Christian certainty, but just as often it tipped me over the edge. 'You had a word with God then, have you?'

It was a cheap shot, and we both knew it. His face looked very sad all of a sudden. I must have been a constant disappointment to him. 'No, Nick, I've told God we are going to sort this one out for Him. Or, rather, that you're going to sort it out. I'm taking the kids to Baptist college for my module tomorrow. Kelly was only coming under sufferance anyway. We'll be back Saturday p.m. Spend some time with her, man.'

The moment we left the freeway we could have been in leafy suburban Surrey. Large detached houses lined the road, and just about every one seemed to have a seven-seater people-carrier in the drive and, of course, a basketball hoop. I remembered only too well the route we were taking to the estate – or community, as it liked to be known – where Kev and Marsha had lived with Kelly and her younger sister, Aida.

We turned on to Hunting Bear Path and carried on for about a quarter of a mile until we reached a small, one-level parade of shops arranged in an open square with parking spaces, mainly little delis and boutiques specializing in candles and soap. That was where I'd stopped that day to buy sweets for Aida and Kelly that I knew Marsha wouldn't let them have, and a couple of other equally unwelcome gifts.

Far up on the right-hand side among the large detached houses I could just about make out the rear of Kev and Marsha's 'de luxe colonial'. The Century 21 for-sale sign had been up for five years now, and had become faded and weatherbeaten. As co-executor with Josh of their will, I knew not to get too hopeful when anyone came to view it. They never stuck around long once they discovered its history.

'Mrs Billman's back.' Josh nodded at the blue Explorer in a driveway fifty metres ahead. The houses round here were quite a distance apart. He stopped, blocking in the other wagon, and arched his back to reach into his cargoes. 'I'll go check with them, you go look around the house. Here.' He threw a bunch of keys at me on a Homer Simpson ring. 'I won't come looking, OK? I'll stay in the truck to give you kids some time. Know what I'm saying?'

We both climbed out of the Dodge, and as he went up the Billmans' drive I stood looking up the road at the light-brown brick and white weatherboarded house. I hadn't seen it for a year or two, but not much had changed: it just looked older and a bit more tired. At least the 'community' cut the lawns and trimmed the hedges so it didn't make their world look untidy.

I began to walk up the driveway. I was kidding myself – everything had changed. In the old days, I'd have been ambushed by now. The kids would have jumped out at me, with Marsha and Kev close behind.

I'd known the Browns a long time by that spring of 1997. I was there when Kev first met Marsha, I was best man at their wedding, and was even godfather to Aida, their second child. I took the job seriously, even though I didn't really know what I was supposed to do.

I knew I'd never have any kids of my own; I'd always be too busy running around doing shit jobs for people like George. Kev and Marsha knew that too, and really tried to make me feel part of their set-up. As a kid on a run-down estate in south London I'd grown up with this fantasy of the perfect family, and as far as I was concerned Kev was living the dream.

I went straight to the up-and-over garage door, but it was locked, and none of Homer's keys fitted. I skirted round the left side of the house and headed for the backyard. No sign of her. Just the big, wood-framed swing, a little the worse for wear, but still there after all this time.

I slotted a Yale in the front door and gave it a turn. Six years ago, as I remembered only too well, I'd found it ajar.

Kev's job with the DEA [Drug Enforcement Administration] had been mostly deskbound in Washington for the previous few months. He'd made enemies in the drug-dealing community when he was an undercover operator, and after five attempts on his life, Marsha had decided enough was enough.

He loved his new, safer life. 'More time with the kids,' he'd say.

'Yeah, so you can carry on being one!' was my standard reply.

Luckily Marsha was the mature and sensible partner; when it came to the family, they complemented each other well. Their house was a healthy, loving environment, but by the end of three or four days I'd have to move on. I'd joke about it and complain about the house smelling of scented candles, but they knew the real reason: I just couldn't handle people showing this much affection.

The stale, musty, unlived-in smell hit me the moment Homer did his stuff and I stepped inside. The corridor opened up into a large rectangular hallway with doors leading off to the downstairs rooms. Kitchen to my right. Lounge to the left. All the doors were closed. I stood just the other side of the threshold, spinning the key-ring slowly on my finger, wanting badly to smell those candles again.

All the carpets and furniture had been taken away a long time ago. It was the first thing the realtor had got us to do when we put it up for sale. Prospective buyers didn't go a bundle on bloodstained shag pile and three-piece suites. Kelly hadn't minded anything going, but insisted we hung on to the swing. Next, we'd got every trace of blood steamed away. The smell was still there, though, I was convinced of it: the haunting metallic tang was starting to hit my nostrils and catch in the back of my throat. Shoving Homer in a pocket of my bomber, I ventured deeper into the house.