Hit and Run Read online

  I take a sideways glance at Mum. She suddenly seems genuinely interested in my awful situation. Perhaps I even detect a glimmer of sympathy in her expression. We’re having a normal, adult conversation about me for a change – not about her. It feels like a miracle.

  “There’s a couple of lines of enquiry they’re following up.” I sip my coffee. “Sorry I didn’t make you a cuppa – you were busy with Dad. Obviously, the police won’t say too much to me with things being ongoing, but there seems to be suspicion around one of Rob’s business associates. There was something untoward with his former employers as well.”

  “His former employers? What do you mean? I thought he’d been with Bracken since he left university?”

  I wonder for a moment whether I can trust her, but decide to give her the benefit of the doubt. “He’s been pretending to go to work, but it sounds like he was sacked a month ago.” I hope she doesn’t use this information to fire back at me. “His boss won’t tell me what it’s all about. I’m hoping the police might turn something up.”

  “And you have a go at me for being dishonest! I’ve always said there was something shifty about your husband.”

  “I haven’t had a go at you about anything, Mum. I just didn’t want dragging into your bloody affair. I felt bad about Dad as well.”

  “Well, it’s all over, anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

  “What is?”

  “The thing with Shane. It feels as though my life is as over as Rob’s. Shane has decided to go back to his wife and kids. I couldn’t talk him round.”

  So that’s why she’s back up here so quick. He has dumped her. No wonder she had a face like a bag of spanners when she arrived.

  But I don’t want to talk about her relationship woes. No chance. Maybe she might want to make a go of things with Dad now. That’s if he can forgive her. Again. I decide to change the subject. “So when did the police get in touch with you?”

  “Last night. I was in a state after Shane had gone, so I didn’t talk to them for long. They offered to let me do the statement in Devon, but when they rang me this morning to arrange a time, I told them I was driving back up to you. There’s not exactly a lot I can tell them though.”

  “Do you want a sandwich before you go?” We’ve always been like this. Me looking after her. As though I’m the mother. She looks rough though.

  “No thanks. I’d better be off. Get it over with. I’ll see you when I get back.”

  I need to take control of things. Rob’s office is a good place to start. I generally keep the door shut on the room, as it’s always an absolute tip.

  Once upon a time, this, our spare room, might have been where we had put a second child. Somehow, we lost our way with that plan.

  I don’t think it’s hit me fully yet that Rob’s not coming back. And the only time I’ve really cried has been when I was first told, and in response to Jack’s pain. When I was a drinker, I would cry at the drop of a hat. Now, it’s as though my emotions are injected with anaesthetic.

  “How do you find anything in this mess?” I had said to him at the weekend when I took him a coffee. Only now can I recall him jumping as I entered the room. He had slipped whatever document he was looking at into one of his file trays. I feel sure that whatever he had in his hand is going to lead me to more information about what’s gone on with his job, or who this James Turner is.

  “Organised chaos,” he had grinned at me, accepting the coffee. “I’ll be downstairs shortly. I’ve got a couple more things to sort out.” In times gone by, he’d have drawn me onto his knee and invited me to distract him.

  In the end, it had been a further two hours before Rob had joined Jack and me in the garden. By the time he surfaced, I was feeling annoyed and resentful. He had been out at work all week, or so I thought. It was the first day of lovely sunshine on Saturday – we should have been going out somewhere as a family. Instead, I was left to occupy Jack, whilst Rob did whatever was so important in his office. And now I’m determined to find out what it was. I start by sifting through the papers in his middle tray. The same one I watched him slide a sheet of paper into on Saturday.

  All that seems to be in here are bank statements. But a closer look shows they are not from our joint account, or from Rob’s own current account. I didn’t even know he had an account with Nat West. The transactions are uniform, except for a huge payment which was made to James Turner. I gasp as I realise it’s three hundred and seventy-five thousand pounds. The statement is from six weeks ago, around the time when I gave Rob thirty grand towards supposedly his cast iron investments. Where has he got the rest of the money from? Other than what I gave him, as far as I know, we only had around forty grand in our ISA. I need to check whether that’s still there.

  Rob has always worked hard, and with my inheritance, we’ve been comfortable, but monies were depleting. I was toying with the idea of getting an office job or setting something up myself where I could work from home. I didn’t realise we still had that sort of money between us. ‘Had’ being the key word. However, this James Turner seems to be the one who will provide some answers.

  I rifle through one of the other trays. It’s a pile of bills, all addressed to Rob. Council tax, gas, electric, water, internet. He always dealt with the money side of things – occasionally thrusting a piece of paper under my nose to sign. I never questioned it. As far as money went, I trusted him, and have always had what I need in my own personal account.

  The sunlight illuminates the surface of a notepad. Though it’s a clean page, there’s the imprint of something that’s been written on the torn off page above it.

  * * *

  This is the worst bit.

  I’ve got to hold my nerve

  until they release his body

  Chapter 19

  I go into the next room and pluck one of Jack’s fat crayons from the art box on his desk. I make his bed and open his window before returning to Rob’s office. As I rub the crayon over the imprint, the words reveal themselves to me. If you don’t have my money by 6pm, there will be consequences.

  It doesn’t look like Rob’s handwriting, but then Rob’s is fairly standard. His half lower case, half upper case scrawl is replicated by men half the world over. But two things are clear. I need to find out who would have been on the receiving end of these consequences, and I need to find out who James Turner is. I wonder if he’s anything to do with the loss of Rob’s job.

  Evidently, I didn’t know my husband as well as I thought I did. And it’s not just the financial side of things. There’s the situation with his ex-wife and daughter, not to mention the rekindled relationship with Bryony.

  The landline rings, startling me.

  “Where are you?” It’s Mum. She’s never one for social niceties, like the word hello.

  “I’m at home. Where else would I be?” I look up at the smiling photograph of Jack at two years old, hanging on the wall above Rob’s desk. We were happy then.

  “Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

  “I just have.”

  “Your mobile?”

  “The police are looking at it.”

  “Why?”

  “For evidence, I suppose.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Upstairs. In Rob’s office.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Gosh Mum. It’s like being on Question Time. I’m sorting a few things out. Bills and stuff.”

  “You should leave that for now. You’ve enough to be dealing with.”

  “It’s OK.” I’m amazed by her sudden concern. “It’s good to keep busy.”

  “I thought I’d see if you wanted me to pick Jack up from school whilst I’m out. What time does he finish?”

  That she wants to help me out provides a momentary lift. I glance at the clock, my eyes falling on a letter from Bracken Furniture. My gaze returns to the desk. “In twenty minutes,” I tell her. “He’ll be pleased to see you.”

  “Right. I’ll hang aro
und for him then.”

  “How did you get on at the station?”

  “In and out. It was procedure, they said. Though you might want to know that they were asking questions about your relationship with Rob.”

  “Like what?”

  “You know. Were there any problems? That sort of thing.”

  “What did you say?”

  “The truth. That it seemed alright to me. That you’d had your ups and downs, but who doesn’t? I didn’t say that I don’t know what you ever did to deserve such a secure life with a half-decent husband.” That’s Mum all over. She builds me up slightly, then tears me back down. Probably to make sure that I fall from a greater height.

  I end the call, then ring school to allow for her to collect Jack. The receptionist asks if I’m OK.

  I’m grateful for the extra time I’ve now got to poke around in here. I don’t know if it will give me any clues as to where our money has gone, or what Rob has been up to, but it’s worth a look.

  I turn my attention back to the letter, signed by Phillip Bracken.

  Without prejudice

  I refer to our meeting of last Friday 4th June at 3pm, attended by myself, David Myers, Deputy CEO and yourself.

  As you know, you are under investigation for the disappearance of monies totalling £122,000, which were found to have been paid into your personal bank account. You are also being investigated for fraudulent documents found in the drawer of your desk.

  Following your failure to explain the situation, or return the funds, I am left with no alternative than to bring formal proceedings against you.

  I am writing to inform you that these will be instigated immediately.

  You were suspended without pay on Wednesday 6 May and must continue not to enter the premises of Bracken Furniture, nor must you contact any employee or customer of the company, directly or indirectly.

  You can, and are advised to, seek legal counsel as we look to be compensated for our losses. We request, in the meantime, that the sum of £122,000 is repaid to us.

  Sincerely, Phillip Bracken, Managing Director

  I pick the phone up again. “Good afternoon. Can I speak to Mr Bracken please?”

  “Certainly. Who’s calling, please?”

  “It’s Fiona Matherson.”

  “Erm. I’m sorry. He’s not available.”

  “I really need to talk to him. Can you tell him it’s urgent?”

  “I’ll pass a message on. That’s the best I can do, I’m afraid.”

  I have no choice other than to accept the best she can do. However, I know for a fact that she was about to put the call through, until she discovered it was me.

  “Mummy.” Jack’s voice echoes through the house.

  I decide to leave all this for the time being and head down the stairs to see him. I still need to speak to James Turner, but I want to see what else I can find first.

  “Granny Maggie picked me up from school.” He is smiling, and it’s good to see. “Everyone was looking at her. I had to tell them she is my Grandma.”

  “You know I don’t like being called that.”

  I glance at her as she slides her feet into mules, expecting her to be smiling, but she’s not. “Have your friends taken care of you today?” I ask. I’m still not sure that he should have been at school, but it does appear to have done him some good. He looks brighter than this morning.

  “Yes. Sam could sit with me all day. Sometimes he has to sit on a different table for literacy and numeracy, but today, he didn’t have to. His mum came to talk to me at the end of school too to see if I wanted a sleepover again soon.”

  “She seems really nice,” Mum adds. “Plenty of money too, looking at her. What does she do?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “More than you do, I would expect.”

  I resist the temptation to laugh. Mum has lived off Dad’s hard work for the whole of their married life. She lets the bun out of her dark hair, and it swings above her shoulders. Her grey roots are coming through; it won’t be long before she’s at the hairdressers. It’s the length I’d like mine cutting to, but I think I would fear looking too much like her. I used to be pleased when I was told we were alike. However, since I’ve become a mother myself, I recoil at the chill that exists within her and am scared of being anything like her, looks or otherwise. I cannot understand the indifference she has always shown towards me.

  “Someone called Bryony said hello to Jack as well.” Mum smiles.

  The hairs stand up on the back of my neck. “Bryony. What was she doing at school?”

  “She’s Ella Partridge’s auntie,” Jack explains. “But I’ve been to her house with Dad before.”

  “You have?” I feel a crawling sensation over my skin. Rob has taken Jack to her house?

  “I saw her at the station earlier as well. Pretty, isn’t she?”

  “At the police station?”

  “Yes. I was in the waiting room when she arrived. I got called in then though.”

  “So you didn’t find out why she was there?”

  “No.”

  “Would you mind looking after Jack for an hour? I could do with a walk. I need to clear my head.”

  “I suppose so. As long as you’re not long. I’ve got some calls to make.”

  I slide my feet into flip-flops. I’ve got to get out of here.

  “Where are you going, anyway?”

  “I need to find out what she was doing at the police station.”

  “Let it all go,” Mum calls after me as I open the first door onto the porch. “There’s no point acting on anything. With Bryony, I mean. Not now.”

  I look back at them. Jack looks puzzled but seems happy to be left with Mum.

  “I’ll be back shortly,” I say, grateful to exchange the cool hallway air for some warm sunshine. Even so, I shiver. I must look a right sight. Shapeless jumper, baggy jeans, and flip-flops. I rake my fingers through my hair. I should have probably tidied myself up. Particularly in view of the person I’m about to face. But maybe I’m past caring.

  * * *

  The police will accept they’re not going to find out who hit him.

  Two and a half days have passed.

  If they suspected me, I’d have been arrested by now.

  Chapter 20

  There’s no answer when I ring the bell. I can hear voices so tiptoe up the driveway and push the gate into the back garden. A girl is running in and out of a sprinkler. I recognise her as being a couple of years above Jack at school.

  “What are you doing here?” Bryony jumps to her feet as I close the gate after me. “You can’t just barge into my garden like this.”

  “You wouldn’t take my calls or reply to my messages.” I step towards her. “What was I supposed to do? I want answers.”

  “Ella, go inside,” she says to the girl. “Put the TV on for a few minutes.”

  “But Auntie Bry, I want to play in the water.”

  “Just for a few minutes. Until this lady goes.”

  “I want her to go now.” Ella scowls at me as she flounces past us into the house.

  “I want to know what was going on between you and my husband.” I’m stood right in front of her now. Mum’s right. Bryony is very pretty. She looks cool and elegant in a long sundress and blonde hair which effortlessly cascades down her back. Without meaning to, I tuck mine behind my ears, feeling ugly and unkempt in front of her.

  “Nothing was going on. Just yoga and meditation.”

  “Is that what it’s called nowadays?”

  “Rob and I were friends Fiona.” She looks straight at me with the green eyes which I imagine have stared into Rob’s. “It is allowed, you know.”

  I hate her. And I hate him as well. Since I spotted them in a coffee shop a couple of weeks ago, it’s been hounding me. Now that he’s gone, I should let it go. But I can’t.

  “You were together once. You and him. You shouldn’t still have been seeing each other. He was married to me. I though
t all that had stopped, anyway.”

  “All what?”

  “Meditation.” I spit the word out like a fishbone. I know meditation was part of their connection to one another. Something spiritual. Something they couldn’t turn their backs on. I never had that with Rob.

  Once, when Rob and I were having a heart-to-heart, he described Bryony as having too much of a bohemian attitude towards money. I really think that is why he married me – the huge inheritance from my grandmother would have attracted him. I’d only just received it when we met in the park, back in 2011. Though now it sounds as though Rob has been having the best of both worlds. Me and her.

  “Look,” Bryony glances towards her patio doors. “Rob and I were close, I don’t deny that. But we weren’t having an affair. He was having trouble and confided in me, that’s all. And the yoga and meditation were helping him.”

  “What sort of trouble?” He’s confided in her. I should have known.

  She seems totally unruffled with the situation. I bet she doesn’t have to find her calm in the bottom of a snifter of brandy or glass of wine. “Have you been in touch with his work?”

  “Yes. They won’t tell me anything.”

  “That’s where you’ll find your answers. And with that friend of his.”

  “Do you mean James Turner? What do you know about him?”

  “Nothing really. Rob only came to me to find some peace. I’m only sorry that it obviously didn’t work.”

  “Why didn’t he talk to me? I’m his wife.”

  “And I was his friend. He should have been able to be friends with whoever he chose.” Her expression darkens. “Without worrying about repercussions from you. Do you know how scared he was that you’d find out he was here? Love is not a possession, you know.”

  “Don’t start with your psychobabble. I wasn’t possessive. I just wouldn’t have wanted him hanging around with his ex. Who would?”

  “You didn’t trust him at all, did you?”