Maria Frankland
Hit and Run
He was dead before she really knew him
First published by Autonomy Press 2021
Copyright © 2021 by Maria Frankland
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Maria Frankland asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
First edition
Cover art by Darran Holmes
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For John Stephenson (1955-2019)
A dad who was as supportive, present and wonderful
as the dad in this story
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Prologue
All couples have issues, don’t they? Everyone has their ups and downs. That’s life. I’ll get through this. But how?
A bike ride usually calms me down. As I ride out of Otley towards Ilkley, I don’t feel the hill that normally challenges me. Today I’m at the top before I notice that my breathing is laboured.
On any other day, I would enjoy the freewheel down the other side, the summer air whooshing in my ears, impressive scenery as far as the eye can see.
I’m always grateful that I live around here. But today I don’t feel grateful for anything. The demons that have been chasing me have finally caught up.
I pedal faster, as though trying to escape them, glancing over my shoulder to see how far away the approaching vehicle is. I’ve got time to get around the narrow bend onto a straight and wider run. Give it room to get past me. I know this stretch well and enjoy getting my speed up. My tracker normally clocks me at forty miles an hour here. As I take the corner, I glance around again to the roar of the engine, now right behind me, the sound feeling as though it’s vibrating through my chest. The driver is not slowing and is not going around me.
I don’t know whether the sickening crunch is caused at the point of impact or as my body lands. Agonising pain shoots through me, and the world turns black.
Chapter 1
Mum rams her make-up bag into the side of her suitcase. “It’s not like I ever ask much of you Fiona.” She glares at me. “I never have.”
“You’re asking me to lie for you. Again. It’s not fair Mum.”
She swings around to face me. “I’ll tell you what’s not fair, Mrs Know-It-All.” Her face bears the expression that scares me as much as it did when I was seven years old. “What’s not fair is being trapped in a marriage with a boring man, whose idea of living is work, dinner, TV and bed, day after day after day.” Her angry voice echoes around our sparsely furnished guest room, steam still curling through the door of the en-suite after Mum’s recent shower. “You think you’ve got it all sussed, don’t you? You’re happy settling for your crap and mediocre life. I can do so much better.”
“Dad’s a good man. He loves you.” Not wanting Rob to hear me arguing with Mum, I battle to keep my voice low, hoping she’ll follow suit. I hate it when she slags Dad off. It’s him who could do so much better.
“I’m only with him because of what he might do if I leave. You know that.” She pulls a comb through her damp hair. “It’s emotional bloody blackmail. And I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this.” She slams herself onto the bed, her bracelets rattling with the force. “If you tell him the truth, on your head be it, do you hear me?”
“What do you mean?” I walk to the window and twist the blind to let the early June sunshine in. I can’t bear to look at her cold eyes and tight mouth. Really, I know exactly what she means, and it runs much deeper than the danger Dad might pose to himself.
“It would be a shame for you and me to sever our ties again. Jack certainly enjoys his Granny Maggie being here.” Her voice softens. It always does for anything to do with Jack.
“You’ve only been here for one night.”
“We’re making up for lost time though, aren’t we? At least that’s what you’d better be saying to your father.”
Deep down, I wish we were making up for lost time. That she could be the mother she never has been. “You don’t need to convince yourself of that – you’ve already got Dad fooled. One night is hardly making up for anything really, is it?”
“Don’t get all high and mighty with me, lady.” Mum’s eyes narrow. “You’re never too old for a slap across the face.”
“You can’t hit me anymore Mother. Have you not noticed I’m a grown woman now.” I’ve got to stand up to her, though I’m quaking as I do.
“So stop giving me grief. As far as your father knows, I’m here for two weeks. I might even spend another night here on my return journey from Devon.” She squirts some perfume onto her neck. I remember when she would squirt it on me when I was a girl. When she was in a ‘good mood’ with me. When she was in a ‘bad mood,’ I got ignored. She continues. “At least I can get another live video with Jack to put on Facebook.”
“I can’t keep lying to Dad. I feel lousy about it.” I lower onto the side of the bed, beside Mum, staring at the pattern on her blouse. She’s got some nice clothes. Better than what I have. She’s a good-looking woman. It’s a shame she’s not the same on the inside.
“It’s a white lie Fiona. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him? You’re saving him in the long run. And yours and Jack’s relationship with me.” She zips up her suitcase. “Because you realise, that if you betray my trust, I will cut you off again. Forever this time. From your father as well. You know from experience that he will always stand by me.” She pauses and looks momentarily thoughtful. “If he was to succeed next time with the suicide thing, I would more than likely get nothing. No life insurance, no mortgage pay-off, not even his pension. Nothing. If he’s going to find anything out, it will be when I’m ready to tell him, and when he’s ready to know.”
“I can’t believe that you’re referring to what happened as the suicide thing. Nor can I believe you’re so reliant on any money Dad could generate. Do you know Mum, you could always get a job and live your own life? Make your own money. I’d look after Dad. You’ve at least a dozen years of working life left.” I sound like a snob, but I don’t care. I’m sick of her threatening me.
“Like you do, you mean? It’s alright for you, isn’t it?” She points her hairbrush towards my face. For a moment I think she’s going to hit me with it, but instead she stands, towering over me. “With your grandmother’s money that should have been mine, and with your big house and your executive husband. You don’t deserve any of it.”
I will not let her intimidate me. I also stand. “At least I have worked and earned my own money.” I load a confidence into my voice, which I’m not feeling. “Not just what Grandma gave me.”
She grabs me by the scruff of my t-shirt, twisting the neckline around her fist. I can smell the sourness of her breath. “What, you mean at poxy jobs in offices and shops, where you haven’t lasted five minutes?”
“Get your hands off me.”
She lets me go, pushing me backwards. Something within me shifts as I re
alise she really can’t hurt me anymore. She just thinks she can. I continue staring into her eyeballs. I can’t quite believe she has just grabbed me.
“What have you ever done with your life Fiona?” She’s almost snarling at me now.
“Rob likes me being at home. At least I can look after the house and Jack.”
She leans forward and looks at me as though I am diseased. “If Rob knew what you were really like, he would drop you like a ton of bricks.”
“What do you mean, what I’m really like?” Anger rises in me. She’s always done this. Made me feel like there’s something inwardly awful about me. Ever since I was little. The only thing she’s ever approved of about me is that I brought Jack into the world. Even then, she was grimacing about becoming a grandparent. About appearing old to others. Jack’s always had to call her Granny Maggie, rather than Grandma. Personally, I think Granny sounds older than Grandma anyway. And she didn’t broadcast her new role, like most new grandmothers would. Dad was over the moon. Until the depression got hold of him. He’s done amazingly well coming back from where he was. I can’t let her destroy him again.
At every turn, Mum throws my inheritance in my face. She hated Grandma, her mother-in-law. Even Dad stopped visiting her because Mum gave him such a hard time, calling him a mummy’s boy and accusing him of being tied to Grandma’s apron strings. I was always close to her though. Through my childhood, it was Grandma who came to school plays and sports days. I remember her staying up half the night to sew my costume for a fancy dress day. Throughout my teens, it was Grandma I ran to when I had a problem or wanted some adult company. She was the one who would tell me it was ‘his loss’ when I got dumped, and would be proud of me if I got good grades.
“Mum. Where’s my book bag? I need to learn my spellings before school.” Jack’s voice hollers from the landing. “What’s up?” He looks at me with concern as I swing the door open.
Even at seven, he can always read when there is something amiss with me. I thank my lucky stars every day that Jack and I have such a strong bond. Now that I’m a mother myself, I can’t understand my mother’s lifelong rejection and contempt for me. Occasionally she can be OK, it all depends on what sort of mood she’s in. Whenever she is having an affair, she’s usually nicer than this.
“You should have learned them last night Jack.” I try to inject a sternness into my voice. “It’s a good job you’re up early, isn’t it? It’s under your PE bag in the hallway.” I point towards the stairs. “Look at them whilst you finish your breakfast.” It’s my fault really that he hasn’t learned them yet. I let him spend time with his gran last night, given that her visit is so fleeting, and he doesn’t see much of her.
“Will do Mum. Morning Granny Maggie.” He hurtles downstairs without waiting for a response.
“Look Fiona.” Mum slides her feet into her shoes. God knows how she drives wearing heels like that. “I don’t want to leave things on a bad note. I’ll try to get back here on my way home.”
“When?”
“In a couple of weeks.”
I close the bedroom door. “But what am I supposed to say to Dad when he rings here?”
“The usual. Tell him I’m in the bath, or that I’ve gone for a walk. You’ll think of something. You always do.”
“Thanks for putting me in this position Mum. As long as you know I’m doing this for him, not you, if he wasn’t still on those anti-depressants…” When I think about it, I’m definitely braver than I used to be when I’m dealing with her. “I can’t believe you’re carrying on behind his back again.”
“It really isn’t any of your business.” She applies lipstick onto stretched lips, sliding each lip back and forth over one another. I used to love watching her apply make-up. In fact, the only job I have known her to have was as an Avon lady.
“I don’t want it to be. But you’re making it my business!”
“Look I don’t want to talk about this any further. If your dad gets in touch, text me straightaway. I’ll get away from Shane and call him back.”
“I don’t know why you don’t just answer your phone yourself when he rings you. Keep me out of things.”
She sighs. “We’ve been through all this Fiona. Don’t you ever listen to me? I don’t want to speak to your father in front of Shane – for the same reason I don’t like him speaking to his wife in front of me. Shane and I keep our phones on silent when we’ve got our precious time together. Besides, we’re too busy doing other things, if you know what I mean.” She smiles to herself.
Ugh. “On that note, I’ll leave you to get sorted. I’ll put the kettle on.”
“Not a word to Rob, eh? He was quizzing me last night about my plans. My love life is none of his business either.” She pulls a brush through her hair. At fifty-six, she easily looks ten years younger than she is. Not like Dad, who, at the opposite end of the spectrum, looks ten years older than his fifty-eight years. It’s the decades of being Mum’s puppet on a string. But he’s old school and believes marriage is for life. He might moan about Mum, but it would break his heart if he found out she was having an affair. Again.
“Trust me. Rob wouldn’t want it to be his business.”
The last time Mum left Dad, Jack had been three. She went off to Corfu with some married man she’d been carrying on with for months. Luckily, I found Dad in time to get him to hospital. He had to have his stomach pumped and months of therapy. He was extremely sorry afterwards, saying it had been a moment of madness and desperation. But he’s been on anti-depressants ever since. He daren’t come off them.
“Shame you found him,” Mum had said when I rang to tell her what had happened. “I don’t know why you’re even telling me. I’ve got a new life now. If you want to take your father’s mental problems on, that’s up to you.”
I had put the phone down on her and it was over eighteen months before I spoke to her again after her callous attitude. I couldn’t bring myself to. I helped Dad put himself back together, but then Mum’s boyfriend left her in Corfu to return to his wife, daughter and sons in the UK. Mum returned to Dad, her tail between her legs. Of course, he naively believed her apologies and promises that she wanted to make a go of things with him. Neither of them had started divorce proceedings, so they just picked up where they had left off. But I was worried when I discovered Dad had increased his life insurance, and let Mum talk him into re-mortgaging the house so they could have more holidays. Rob ordered me to keep out of it.
I’ve kept my distance from them since, not really going over to visit, and only ringing Dad when I knew Mum wouldn’t be around. But a year ago, she started approaching me again and making a big fuss of Jack. Then within a couple of months, it emerged what she really wanted from me. An alibi. For her latest affair with another married man. Maybe the re-mortgage money was running low, and she wanted excitement.
Chapter 2
At the sound of Rob’s voice, I pause outside the kitchen door. “Ring me back the minute you get this message. I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days.” There’s an angry edge to his voice, one I don’t hear often. He’s normally easy going.
He jumps as I walk in, slopping the protein shake he’s making. He looks as though he’s got the woes of the universe on his shoulders. His phone is still lit up on the counter beside him.
“Who were you on the phone to?”
“Just something to do with work.”
“No prizes for guessing what you’re up to today.” I look at his lycra-clad body and notice his cycle helmet on the breakfast bar. “Are you not at work?”
“Not until this afternoon. I booked a half day.” He flicks the switch on the kettle. “A bike ride will blow away a few cobwebs.”
“Are you OK? I noticed you were up half the night.” He’s in the same league as Dad at the moment, looking ten years older than his thirty-eight years. “It’s not like you to suddenly book a half day either.”
“Yeah. I’m fine. I’ll have a brew with you before I set
off. Let the traffic die down, especially on that back road.”
“I take it I’m dropping Jack off at school then?” I rummage through the letter rack for his school trip letter.
“I assumed your mother would want to go with you to drop him off. It’s been months since she’s seen him.” The sarcasm in his voice is not lost on me.
The thundering of footsteps through the hallway stops our conversation. Jack bursts into the kitchen. “Granny Maggie’s going to take me to school,” he announces.
“Where is she?”
“On the phone in the lounge.” He takes a loud slurp from his cup. “She said I had to leave her alone for a minute, then we will set off. She’s closed the door.”
No prizes for guessing who she’s on the phone to. I drop some bread into the toaster.
“Back in a minute. I need to find my watch.” Rob strides past me. He’s got the morning off and he’s going out on his bloody bike. We could have done something together. Of course, he probably thinks my mother is still going to be here. He might think he’s doing us a good turn by giving us some time together.
“Can Granny Maggie pick me up from school as well?” Jack’s expression is a cross between pleading and excited.
“We’ll see.”
“You’ll have to show me where your school is,” Mum breezes into the kitchen and swipes a slice of toast from my plate.
“I’ll come with you,” I say. “Maybe we could go for a coffee afterwards.” I’m feeling a renewed sense of strength. She can’t keep doing what she’s doing to Dad, and I don’t want to keep covering for her. The worry makes me feel ill but I’m going to tell her straight before she sets off. It’s better discussed on neutral ground. She can’t kick off as much in a coffee shop.
Hit and Run Page 1
