Hit and Run Page 8

Jack wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his football pyjamas. “This has been the worst day ever. I just want Daddy to come home.”

  “I know, sweetheart.” I cup his chin in my hand and kiss his forehead.

  “It’s my birthday next week. I don’t even care about it anymore.”

  “Daddy would still want you to try to enjoy it.” I think again of our wedding anniversary in a fortnight. Perhaps getting dressed up and going out together might have breathed some life into our marriage. Or perhaps not.

  “I thought you said Daddy would be always watching over me.” Jack leans back against his pillows.

  I smooth my hand over his hair. “He will. Always.”

  “So why can’t I see him?”

  “You can’t see people after they die, but they can still see you.” Here I go again. Talking twaddle which I can’t back up.

  His lip trembles. “You won’t die too, will you Mummy?”

  “I hope not.” I smile through my own tears. I hate seeing him like this. “Look Jack, I know it all feels terrible right now, but in time, if we look after each other, we will start to feel better.”

  “How long will it take to feel like we used to again?” He looks wrung out, staring at me in the gloom of his bedroom. The late summer evening light is fighting its way around the edge of the blackout blind. I pray that sleep will rescue him soon.

  “You must try to get some rest Jack. You’ll feel poorly at school tomorrow if you don’t.”

  He grips my arm. “Please don’t leave me Mummy.”

  I don’t feel as bad now for letting him stay at Sam’s last night. Jack’s such a sensitive soul, and this is going to take some coming back from. “I’ll only be downstairs with Grandad. If you need anything, all you have to do is give me a shout.”

  He sniffs and reaches for his bear, which normally he only bothers with when he’s exhausted, or ill. “Can Grandad come and tuck me in?”

  “Yes. I’ll send him up now.” Relieved that Jack’s feeling able to let me go, I kiss him on the forehead again, and rise from my perch on his bed. I could do with a few minutes to myself. I’m knackered.

  “He’s asleep.” Dad says, creeping into the lounge twenty minutes later. He ruffles the top of my head before dropping into the adjacent armchair. “The cat is stretched out on his bed as well.”

  “How on earth did you manage that? He wouldn’t let me leave him at one point.”

  “He dropped off whilst I was reading him a story. I think the cat helped too. Bless him – poor little chap.” Dad shakes his head and his eyes seem to moisten. “How anyone could kill the father of an innocent boy is beyond me. If I could get my hands on them.”

  “It’s only speculation that it was deliberate.” I stare at the TV. “Actually, it’s just been on the local news again. They’re not giving anything away yet – just appealing for witnesses and for people with dash cams or CCTV to come forward.”

  “Aren’t they doing house-to-house for that?” He rubs at his temples, looking as weary as I feel.

  “Yes. It sounds as though they’re doing as much as they can.”

  Dad plucks his phone from his top pocket in response to its ringing. I always laugh at his phone. Well, I did when things were normal. I can’t imagine laughing at anything for the foreseeable future. It’s one step up from the phones of the nineties, with their pull-up aerials. He takes about ten minutes to compose a text message.

  “Maggie.” Dad lifts the phone to his ear and rises from his chair. He walks towards the bay window. Whenever he’s on the phone, he always paces up and down. Even in the days of wired phones, he would go as far as the cord allowed. “Where are you?”

  Pause.

  “Why are you lying to me Maggie? I’m at Fiona’s right now. Which is where you’re supposed to be?”

  Shit. It’s all unravelling. She must have told him she was still here. He doesn’t look angry, more confused.

  “Lunchtime. And it’s a good job I did. She’d have been going through this on her own otherwise.”

  This is a dad I have heard little from before - standing up to Mum. Maybe it’s because he feels safer over the phone, whilst she’s miles away in Devon. Whatever it is, he needs to do more of it. He’s had enough years of being henpecked and under her control. I’m getting to where I don’t care if she cuts me off, as long as she doesn’t come between me and Dad like she has threatened to. She managed it when I was a teenager. Rob was right. I’m a grown woman now and she can’t hurt me anymore.

  “That still doesn’t answer why you’re saying you’re here, with our daughter and grandson, when really I know you’re in Devon.”

  Bloody hell. She will know that I’ve told him. There’s only me he could have found that out from. But I haven’t told him who she’s with. The proverbial is really going to hit the fan now. I don’t know how I will cope if Dad goes off the rails again.

  I’ve got a funeral to arrange, Jack to take care of and I haven’t even thought about finances yet, although the questions that DI Green asked have reinforced the need that I should see what I can find out about the money I invested. And the money Rob invested. There’s the other stuff that Denise has plagued me about too, the will, life insurance, what a nightmare.

  I do a mental reckoning of support I might call on. I wish I had siblings. Even friends. I’ve a couple of cousins from Mum’s side, but I’d most likely walk past them in the street, it’s been so many years since I saw them. Other than Dad, I’ve only really got Christina and the AA support group. I guess there’s a few of the other mothers who might take the load off with Jack, like Lynne. But I don’t enjoy asking for help. If you don’t rely on others, then no one can let you down.

  “I’m not stupid Maggie. I’ve suspected for a while that you’re carrying on with someone else again. Though why you had to drag Fiona into it makes no sense at all.”

  Even above the TV, I can hear the rise of Mum’s voice, though I can’t make out what she’s saying. It’s probably just as well. I was stupid thinking there was a possibility that she might have been on her way up the M1 last night. She’s the most selfish person I have ever known.

  “No, I’ve worked it out for myself.”

  I leave the room to get some water. When I return, Dad’s still pacing.

  “I don’t want to discuss this any further.” His voice is calm, considering. “I’m going to get back to looking after our daughter, whose husband has just been killed.”

  Pause.

  “Don’t bother. I’m here. You might as well stay where you are now.” He presses the end call button on his phone and looks at me. I think he looks more worn out than I do.

  “Your mother claims to have ended whatever relationship she’s been having.” He lets a long breath out.

  The chill of the water hitting my stomach is comforting. “What has she gone all the way to Devon for? Surely she could have ended things with him by telephone and saved herself a trip.”

  “You could have told me what was going on.” He sinks into the armchair next to the window.

  “I knew it would fizzle out.”

  “I had a right to know love.”

  I follow his gaze. He seems to be staring at the last of the daylight. “How could I tell you Dad? Look what happened last time.” My voice has risen without me realising. I lower it again. “I’m sorry to bring that up. I wanted to tell you – loads of times. But it worried me how you would take it? Or if you’d even believe me.”

  “Of course I would.”

  I swallow, once again feeling like a young girl, fearing my mother’s wrath just as much as I did then. “Mum threatened me. She said I’d lose her, and she’d ensure I’d hardly see you if I got involved.” For now, I’m consumed by all this. I realise that with what is going on between my parents, I’ve hardly thought about my predicament for the last quarter of an hour.

  “I can’t speak for your mother, but you will never lose me.” Dad reaches across and lays his hand on top of mine. “She c
ould never come between us love. You’re my daughter.” He sighs. “Look, I know things are horrendous right now, but somehow, we’ll get through this.”

  “But she’s your wife.” I can’t tell him of the real reason mum doesn’t want him to find out about her dodgy behaviour. Perhaps a small part is her concerned about his welfare. But knowing her as I do, it is more because she risks losing her entitlement to life insurance, and other financial compensations if he were to commit suicide.

  “You must try not to listen too much to your mother. I don’t think she really means it. Perhaps she makes such hurtful threats about cutting you off, and cutting us off, because she’s trying to bring you down to the level she’s at.” He pulls a sorry-looking hanky from his pocket. “Maggie feels so crap, that she wants others to feel the same way. It makes her feel better somehow.” He blows his nose, sounding like a trumpet. Normally that would be something I would laugh at too. “I’m proud of you, you know Fiona.”

  Dad never says things like this. For a moment I forget Mum. And Rob. And even Jack. I’m not on my own. For the first time since yesterday, I think perhaps I can get through this. Without Mum. And without brandy. Dad’s taken the finding out of Mum’s affair unbelievably well.

  My phone beeps. As if you have told him Fiona. After all we agreed. Just you wait.

  I show the text to Dad.

  “Delete it.”

  * * *

  Once the funeral is over,

  it will be like it never happened.

  The flowers will wilt,

  and everyone will return to their own lives.

  Chapter 15

  I switch the engine off and reach for Jack’s hand. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You can have a few days at home. Grandad’s sticking around.”

  “I want to see my friends.” All the sparkle from Jack’s eyes has faded. I must respect his decision to carry on going to school. It’s his way of dealing with things. Besides, it gives me a break as well. I seem to have retreated into a numbness.

  “I’ll come in with you Jack.” I press the release button on my seatbelt. “I want a quick word with your teacher.”

  “Why?” He looks nervous, possibly worried that my presence will attract more attention. He’s always been a reserved lad at school, and more interested in other kids than the limelight being on him - it’s probably one thing that makes him popular.

  “I just want to let her know what’s going on and ask her to keep an extra special eye on you.”

  “OK.”

  He lets go of my hand as soon as we enter the playground and runs towards a group of boys who are playing football. I stride towards the entrance and ring the bell, ignoring the sideways glances and mothers not-so-subtly nudging one another as I pass them. I’m so sick of being playground gossip fodder.

  “How are you doing Fiona?” I glance back. It’s Sam’s mum. I’ve forgotten her name again.

  “Erm, I’m OK.” I call back over my shoulder as I’m buzzed into the school. What does she expect me to say? I’m falling apart and would give anything just to drown my sorrows.

  It’s true. It comes in waves. Usually I’m fine, then suddenly a craving takes hold of me. When I return to the car, I ring my AA sponsor. This is, after all, what she’s there for.

  She gasps when I tell her about Rob. “I’ve seen the story in the news, but I didn’t know it was your husband! How on earth are you coping?”

  “It’s as though it’s happening to someone else, but I can’t lie… I keep feeling as though I need to drink. To take the edge off, and maybe to help me sleep. I keep waking up and what’s happened hits me again. Last night was terrible. My brain was going around and around all night.”

  “It’s natural you’ll feel like a drink.” The good thing about the AA sponsor arrangement is that she’s been exactly where I am. But she’s further along the path of sobriety. “But you do recognise, don’t you, that to give in, and to have a drink, even just one, will make the problem even worse than it already is. You’ve done so well up to now. You must keep reminding yourself of that.”

  I watch as the other mothers flood through the school gates, many clad in gym gear, others dressed to begin a day at the office. I look down at myself. Jeans which need a belt. Trainers. Baggy t-shirt. At least I’ve brushed my hair today. I washed it, so I had to. I’m losing weight after barely eating for two days. Dad keeps trying to force food down me, but I feel constantly sick.

  “I don’t see how my problems could get any worse than they are right now.”

  “Fiona, if you were to add alcohol to the equation, you’d have all the physical and psychological repercussions of drinking again thrown into the mix. Headache, guilt and regret, to name but a few.”

  Obviously, she’s right. I tell her about the situation between my parents and the crushing loneliness I’m feeling. Once upon a time, Rob was my best friend. It was never the bells and whistles sort of romance, but we got on well and had a laugh together. I’ve always got on better with men. This is probably a reflection of the bond I didn’t have with my mother. Somehow, I always feel threatened by other women. Apart from my wonderful grandmother.

  In the early years of getting together with Rob, I didn’t feel as though I needed anyone else anyway. I let a lot of my friendships slide. Most of them weren’t particularly deep ones, anyway. Then I failed to nurture the ones I had left. After Jack came along and Rob became more immersed in his work, the bottle became my closest friend again. And my greatest enemy, as my sponsor keeps reminding me.

  “I suggest you get along to the next meeting.” Her voice cuts into my miserable reminiscences. “It’s tomorrow evening.”

  “I will.” However, I struggle to think beyond the next five minutes. “If my dad is still here to look after my son, I’ll come.”

  “Have you got anyone else who can watch him if your dad can’t? I think it’s important that you come. Especially now. Let us look after you.”

  “My neighbour might help. I’ll do my best to get there. I do like the thought of being looked after.”

  “I’ll keep in touch with you Fiona. Is it alright if I ring you later?”

  “That’s fine.” When she rings me, I feel listened to, so I’ll welcome her call. It’s like she really cares about me.

  “Is there a time that’s best? When you’re on your own?”

  “That doesn’t matter. I don’t care who I talk in front of.” I don’t broadcast it but I’ve made no secret about the issues I’ve faced and overcome. In fact, from where I was, to where I am now, I’m proud of myself. Some people I was knocking about with in my late teens and early twenties are dead or pretty far gone on alcohol now, or worse.

  I knew I’d feel better after ringing my sponsor. I always come away feeling a new sense of motivation. Then reality returns to slap me around the face. Rob’s dead. And I probably will be when Mum gets her hands on me.

  As I go to slide my phone into my bag, it buzzes. Friend or foe, I think. There’s a new text message, and two earlier ones. I flop onto a wall. All around me life continues. A toddler trotting alongside her mother. A woman pushing a pram along as she laughs into her phone. A pair of teenagers hand-in-hand.

  This is the Co-Operative Funeral Service, the first message says. We have had notification that your husband is due for release later today or tomorrow. Please telephone at your earliest convenience to confirm arrangements. Bloody hell. That was quick. They must have nearly done everything they needed to.

  The next one is from Christina. Are you OK? You know where I am if you need anything.

  And lastly, the mortgage company. We have tried without success to contact you. Please get in touch as a matter of urgency quoting reference three seven one five. I don’t like the sound of this one. I can’t understand why they would ring me. I paid my half share of the house with one lump sum when we bought it. Although I had agreed to act as guarantor for Rob’s half as he was already financially over committed. I hope to God that
he’s been keeping up his payments. I’m realising now that I handed over far too much power to him. But it worked for us. I kept the house nice and cooked for him. He worked hard and handled the finances. We both took care of Jack.

  I can’t face ringing the mortgage company back yet.

  By the time I set off, the playground has emptied and most of the other mothers have driven away. There’s a couple left, leaning towards each other at the school gate. It’s now day three since I lost Rob and life around me is going on as though nothing has happened.

  The women glance towards my Jeep as the engine starts with a roar. I’m glad of the blacked-out windows so they can’t see me from the outside. That’s her. They’ll be saying. The one whose husband was a victim of a hit and run.

  That’s the headline now. Hit and run. Although it’s more a case of send a person hurtling into the air at sixty miles an hour, see how they fly, and drive off. If it hadn’t been for the farmer being nearby, Rob could have lain dead for hours in the field. The police are appealing for people to be on the lookout for a possibly damaged car. They’re saying that you can’t hit a cyclist at that speed without damage, even though they don’t seem to have recovered much from the scene. They’ve also expressed surprise that the driver could regain control so quickly after the impact and drive away.

  The farmer didn’t see the car. I watched this morning, as he gave a brief interview to a news reporter. The car, he said, was long gone by the time he’d got to where he could see the road. He only heard the noise which he said wasn’t even loud enough to raise too much alarm.

  Eventually, I’ll contact him. Thank him for ringing the ambulance and trying to resuscitate Rob. It’s comforting to know that in his final moments, Rob wasn’t alone.

  Without ever intending to, I find myself, once again, at the crash site. Not that there’s much evidence of it being a crash site; the wall is intact, and the only clue that someone has died here are the bunches of flowers that have been laid. I park up and walk towards them.