Hit and Run

by Maria Frankland

  She’s never really forgiven him for not taking me to court and contesting my grandmother’s will, calling him spineless and every other name under the sun. He was genuinely happy with his fifty grand and insistent that I had what his mother had wanted me to have. This was all wrapped up inside the guilt he felt at their estrangement.

  I’ll never forget what Mum said to me after I received my settlement - your diligence paid off in the end, didn’t it Fiona? Like I’d only looked after my grandmother for what I might get out of it. To be honest, Grandma lived a frugal life, and I had no idea she had that sort of money.

  Grandma and Mum despised each other with a vengeance. They had apparently never got along, and there was always an atmosphere at family occasions. If Grandma had known about Mum’s affair and Dad’s subsequent overdose, she’d have been spinning in her grave.

  My dear mother paid Dad’s spinelessness back by embarking on her first affair – at least it was her first, as far as I knew. She didn’t leave him until the third affair. And by then, the hole of depression was too deep for me to drag him out of.

  I put my book to one side. I can’t concentrate. I want to stop my monkey-mind from jumping around its familiar territory, but the harder I try, the more my thoughts scramble over one another.

  I spent my childhood vowing that I would never turn out like Mum, as a mother, a wife, or as a person full stop. She was so inconsistent. If we were around others, she would act like mother of the year, but when we were alone, she would not speak to me at best, or be cruel at worst. And when I say cruel…

  She once told me she could feel my presence if I was in the house. I had asked her what she meant, and she replied that my being around gave her a bad feeling. Dad once explained that Mum had suffered with postnatal depression after my birth and claimed to have no recollection of me being born. This, he said, had damaged any potential bond she could have had with me.

  Yet for all her indifference towards me, she was also controlling. I had buck teeth as a child, yet she wouldn’t allow me to wear a brace. The other thing that still bugs me, is how she always made me wear my hair like a boy. I was never allowed to grow it long; she said it was too messy.

  She threw me out of the house at sixteen, whilst dad was at work. She had caught me drinking her vodka from her cabinet. She had slapped my face and screamed at me, saying I was a total disgrace. I took refuge at Grandma’s to start with, but was at an age when I was resentful and hormonal. Before long, Grandma gave me some money for a deposit on a flat. I was obviously too much for her.

  One of the first things I did after Mum kicked me out was to get a brace for my teeth. I could finally wear things other than charity shop cast-offs and grow my hair long. She was a strange and cold woman, my mother. And still is. We’ve had a difficult relationship ever since we made up when I was older, and normally keep one another at arms’ length. However, something inside me still yearns for her to apologise for treating me as she has and become a proper mother to me.

  I spent my late teens and much of my twenties trying to fill this mother-shaped void. Alcohol became my biggest friend and greatest enemy. Rob has stopped reminding me of the fact that he saved me from myself. We met when I was twenty-seven.

  This last year is the longest I’ve gone without a drink. When I first kicked the booze, I envied all the lucky, normal drinkers who could control their intake and their behaviour. Which is why I used to keep going back to it, thinking that perhaps after a time of abstinence, I could control it too. I saw it as relaxation after a stressful day. I turned to it when I was miserable or bored. I poured it in copious amounts. I would control it for so long, then I would be right back where I started. I never found the answers I needed in the bottom of my wine glass. Nor could I numb any of my pain. It would come back, larger than life the next morning, each time worse than the time before. I’m never going back to it now. Jack deserves better. I do too.

  I stare into the cloudless sky. Once upon a time, I would plan a sunshine tipple on my return from picking Jack up. That’s if I got to school time without one. That’s the thing with the booze – it’s used on sunny days, rainy days, and anything in between days, to celebrate and to commiserate.

  A loud knocking at the front door, then the doorbell cuts into my thoughts. By the time I’ve hoisted myself from the sun lounger, I hear a voice and what sounds like a radio coming down the drive.

  “Hello,” calls a female voice. “Is anyone there?”

  “Can I help you?” I call back, my stomach lurching as I notice a policewoman at the gate. Then through the climbing flowers, I see a policeman towering behind her. Police in one’s driveway on a Monday afternoon are hardly likely to yield any good news.

  “Detective Inspector Diane Green,” she announces, showing a card through the clematis, “and this is my colleague PC John Robinson.” He also holds his ID badge up. “Are you Mrs Fiona Matherson?”

  “Yes. What is it?” Thoughts of Dad having done something stupid again flood my brain. He sounded down this morning, but he’d perked up by the time we had finished speaking, I’m sure he had. Or maybe Mum has had an accident. Monkey mind again.

  “Can we come in?” she continues. Her face is unsmiling, troubled. She looks around the same age as me. God knows what she is going to tell me.

  “Yes, sure. But I’ve got to collect my son from school shortly. It won’t take long, will it?”

  Without answering, they come through the gate and follow me to the patio where I gesture for them to sit. I face them at the table, the parasol casting shadows onto our faces.

  “I’m afraid there’s been an accident,” the woman says.

  * * *

  There was no guarantee of death, even at speed.

  There was the possibility of survival,

  yet this would be unlikely without some lifelong impairment.

  And this was nothing less than what was deserved.

  Chapter 5

  I stare at her. An accident. It can’t be my dad having done something again. They wouldn’t describe it as an accident if he had. He didn’t sound that bad on the phone this morning, anyway. It must be my mother. Despite our differences, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. What the hell will I tell Jack? How will Dad cope?

  “Involving a car and a cyclist,” the policeman says.

  “My mum.” My voice sounds loud amongst the birdsong. “She had a long drive. Is she alright?”

  “It happened on the Denton Road between Otley and Ilkley.”

  “But she left hours ago. She was on her way to Devon. Why are you only coming around now?”

  “It’s taken a while for us to conduct the investigations at the crash scene. And to get an ID back from the cycle shop.”

  “Cycle shop?” There’s a saying about ‘blood running cold.’ I think I’m experiencing it.

  “There was a sticker on the bike to inform us that the cycle involved had originated from Chevin Cycles in Otley.”

  I feel sick. It’s not Mum they’re here about. “You mean…?”

  “We’ve checked the serial numbers and a bike purchased by Mr Robert Matherson in July 2018 has been involved in an accident this morning.”

  I try to make mental calculations about when and where Rob bought his bike, like it even matters. I can’t think straight. I rub at my temples.

  “What time did your husband leave the house this morning?”

  They could ask me my name right now, and I don’t think I could answer them straight. Then I remember he left before Jack and Mum. “Just after nine o’ clock, I think. He was going for a bike ride.”

  “Do you know where he was heading?”

  I shake my head. Rob never tells me much about himself anymore. He rarely even mentions work. I was going to book us a table for an anniversary in a couple of weeks in the hope we could reconnect as a couple, instead of continuing as merely Jack’s parents and housemates. I’d even planned what dress I was going to buy. “He was going for a bike ri
de before work. Is he OK?”

  They look at each other. “I’m afraid not.” The woman looks into my eyes, her eyes watery and her voice gentle. “A male cyclist, who we believe is your husband, has unfortunately been involved in a fatal road traffic accident at about ten-thirty this morning.”

  I stare back at her. “You must be mistaken. He’d have got further in an hour and a half than Denton Road. Like I said, he left here just after nine.”

  “We’ve double checked everything before coming here. The bike itself, the debit card he had on him…”

  “Hang on - did you say fatal?” It’s as though I’m watching this unfold from elsewhere. It’s a strange feeling, like I’m not in my body.

  “I’m so sorry Mrs Matherson. Subject to an identification, which we’ll need you to do as soon as you feel able, it appears that the victim of the road traffic accident was your husband.”

  I choke on a sob. I don’t know if I can face having to identify him. I stare into the sky. How can news about death occur on such a beautiful day? I tremble in the heat, feeling cold, wondering if there’s any brandy left in the house.

  DI Green must read my mind. “Can I get you anything?” she asks. “Or let someone know?”

  “Are you really sure it’s him? I mean, he’s such a safe cyclist. And by half past ten he’d have been well beyond Skipton.”

  “We’re as sure as we can be,” the PC says gently. “Is there anyone who can be with you? You shouldn’t be on your own.”

  “Can you ring my mother?” I slide the phone across the table. I don’t want to take Mum’s rejection first-hand, if that’s what comes. “She’s away, but I’m sure she’ll come.” Surely at a time like this, she’ll put Jack and me before her married lover. Besides, Dad thinks she’s here, and he’s going to have to know what’s happened soon. He’ll be straight over, so she needs to get back.

  DI Green holds the phone towards me so I can unlock it with my thumbprint. “I take it she’s listed in your phone as Mum?”

  I nod. I’m totally numb. Rob’s not really dead. Until I see him with my own eyes, I won’t believe it’s true. I listen as DI Green is connected to my mother. Apart from the birds and a rustle through the trees, the garden is so quiet that I can hear what my mother is saying.

  “Fiona – what is it? Has your dad been ringing already?”

  “Sorry this isn’t Fiona. My name is Detective Inspector Diane Green from Weetwood Police Station.” She tucks a stray hair that’s fallen from her ponytail behind her ear.

  “Oh, I see. Is Fiona alright?”

  It’s the first time my mother has shown any concern towards me. Even in my benumbed state, something inside me warms.

  “Yes, she’s fine. But she’s too shaken to ring you herself and has asked me to do it for her. I believe you’re away right now?”

  “That’s right. I’m in Devon for a fortnight.”

  “Is there any way you can make your way to your daughter’s? She really needs you here. I’m afraid we’ve had to give her some terrible news.”

  “What news?”

  “Am I alright to tell her over the phone?” DI Green looks at me, her eyes still watery. It must be hard for the police, having to impart this sort of thing. I guess it’s what they’re trained for though.

  I hold my hand out for the phone. It will be better coming from me, not a stranger. Not that it’s sunk in yet.

  “Mum,” I say, my voice wobbling, and the phone shaking within my grip.

  “What is it Fiona? Is it Jack? Is everything alright?”

  “It’s Rob,” I begin, knowing as soon as I say the words, it makes them real. An image of him floods my mind. My six-foot-two handsome husband. Yes, things have gone awry, but we were deliriously happy once. Maybe we could have been again. Now I will never know.

  “He’s. He’s…” I can’t say it.

  DI Green takes the phone back from me. “Am I OK to tell her?”

  I nod.

  She takes a deep breath. “It’s DI Green again. I’m really sorry to be the one to tell you this – have you got anyone with you?”

  Mum is made of steel, I think to myself – she doesn’t need someone with her.

  DI Green continues. “Your son-in-law was involved in a fatal road traffic accident this morning.” She looks at me again. “If there is any way you can get here to be with your daughter, then…”

  “I can’t,” I hear my mother say, curtly. “I’ve got plans over the next few days.”

  I take the phone back and raise it to my ear. “Please Mum. I need you here.” And I really do. It suddenly dawns on me I don’t want to be alone and there are not many friends I can call on. My former friends were merely drunken acquaintances. I’ve become somewhat a loner over the last year.

  “You know the score Fiona. I’ll be arriving in Devon shortly. You must have a friend who can come and babysit you. Or get the brandy out.”

  Momentarily, all thoughts of Rob are swept aside. Bitch. She knows of the problems I’ve had with drink and she recommends brandy. “It’s OK,” I say with a mock sweetness to my voice. “You enjoy your holiday. I’m sure Dad will drop everything to come and help me.”

  “You wouldn’t…”

  I don’t hang around to hear what she’s got to say. I cut her off.

  “Is she not able to come?” DI Green reaches across the table and squeezes my arm. “Is there someone else I can call for you?”

  “I’ll ring my Dad shortly.”

  “Can I get you a cup of tea?”

  I nod. “The kitchen’s through there.” That’s it. Yorkshire’s answer to it all. A cup of bloody tea.

  * * *

  I have rarely driven a vehicle at such speed.

  My feet shook against the pedals as I neared my target

  Right before impact, our eyes locked.

  What could I see?

  Confusion?

  Fear?

  It was all over so quickly.

  Chapter 6

  I am too lost in my swirling thoughts to bother about PC Robinson’s presence, or the silence between us. He shuffles awkwardly on the garden bench. Normally I witter away to mask the quiet when I’m in the company of someone I don’t know well. He looks young, only mid-twenties, probably unaccustomed to breaking news of this type.

  “Fiona, are you there?”

  My head jerks towards the gate where my neighbour, Christina is wrestling with the handle.

  “Come in. I’m over here.” I’ve never felt more relieved to see a familiar face. I get up and stumble towards her, finally allowing my pent-up self to fall apart in her arms. She’s one of the few friends I’ve got. And I’ve never needed a hug like I do right now.

  “The police - I’ve just seen them looking around both of your cars - what on earth’s happened?” She strokes my hair, which makes me cry harder. It’s something my mum should be here doing. But she doesn’t want to know.

  “Rob’s been in an accident. They’re saying he’s dead.”

  “Dead. No. He can’t be. I only saw him this morning.”

  “It happened at half ten.”

  “Oh my God!”

  DI Green comes to the door of the conservatory and looks at Christine who lets me go. “I’ll get another cup. Start taking some details please, John.”

  PC Robinson’s head jerks up. I notice he’s got a look of Rob. A younger Rob. Same sort of build and it’s the hair too. “Will do.” He pulls a dog-eared notebook from his pocket and looks grateful to have something to do. “OK. I’m sorry to have to do this now, but I’m sure you can appreciate that it’s a necessary part of the process.” His gaze shifts from me to Christina. “You say you saw him this morning? What time was this?”

  “I’m not sure.” Christina sits at the side of me. “Around nine-ish. Maybe half past. He was on his bike and waved at me.”

  “Leaving here?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he was on his own?”

  “I think so. I didn�
��t take that much notice to be honest. I was just wheeling the bin back in.”

  DI Green returns and places a cup in front of Christina. The irony of what we are doing suddenly hits me.

  “My husband is lying dead in some mortuary and we’re sitting here, drinking afternoon tea,” I snap. “All we need is a plate of biscuits. What are we playing at?” Then I remember Jack. “Shit. I forgot about my son. He’ll be waiting for me at school.”

  “Can anyone collect him for you?” DI Green asks. “Whilst we ask you a few questions?” She glances at Christina as she speaks.

  “I’d prefer Christina to stay here.” It’s true. I don’t know what good she can do, but I need someone with me. I’m shaking. I grab hold of my left wrist with my right hand to still it. If I’m left on my own, I’m likely to down that brandy. I shouldn’t have it in the house. I’m out of options in terms of Jack. Mum won’t come back. I can’t let Dad know about what’s happened, and Rob, the only other person who could collect Jack, well, he’s… Fresh tears slide down my face.

  “Isn’t there an after-school club at The Whartons?” Christina puts an arm around me. “There was when my two were younger.”

  “Could you ring them for me?” I sniff. “I don’t think I could get my words out.”

  “Do you want me to tell them what’s happened?”

  “No. Not until I know for definite. Tell them there’s been a family emergency. It might not even be Rob yet.”

  The two police officers look at each other with a look that says poor cow. There’s a moment of silence as Christina waits for the call to connect.

  “Are you OK for us to continue with our questions?” DI Green slides a mug towards me. “I’ve put lots of sugar in yours. It’s good for shock.”

  I wrap my fingers around it, allowing the warmth to comfort my trembling hands. As I take a sip, I nearly spit it out. She must have put five sugars in it!

  “I’m ringing regarding Jack, erm Matherson” Christina stands and walks towards the edge of the garden.