DI Green from West Yorkshire Police is leading the investigation and gave the following statement: “Someone knows what happened yesterday. The life of an innocent man has been snatched away. A husband and a father. Whoever is responsible must answer for what they have done. If you were the driver of the vehicle, please come forward. It will be far better for you if you come to us.
If you think you saw something, no matter how seemingly insignificant, in or around the area of Denton Road, before or after ten thirty yesterday morning, please get in touch immediately. Whoever is responsible made no effort to slow down and to have hit Mr Matherson with the impact they have, quite possibly, sped up as they approached him. It is imperative that we speak to this person as soon as possible.”
A phone notification slides over the top of the news report. It’s Sam’s mum again. Jack is at school now. Seemed OK when I left him. Do you need me to collect him this afternoon as well?
No, I type back straight away. But thank you. I really appreciate your help and support. I’ll pick him up later. He needs to hear what has happened from me.
* * *
I’m glad the wall shielded me from watching him land.
That would really haunt me.
I can’t bear the sight of blood.
Or bones.
Or twisted limbs.
A damaged tyre was bad enough.
Chapter 11
Seeing a phone number I don’t recognise, I answer it straight away, in case it’s the mortuary or some other official calling.
“It’s Denise,” announces a clipped voice without saying hello.
Rob’s ex-wife has always been hostile towards me. Probably because he didn’t wait a year after their split, before getting together with me.
“I’ve just seen the news.” She pauses as though waiting for me to say something. Her voice ramps up a notch. “How dare you not tell me what’s happened to Rob? Do you not think I had the right to know yesterday?”
I can imagine her angry face, shrivelled and red. She loves drama and will hate being the last to know.
“I haven’t even told my son yet.” I walk into the lounge, realising I didn’t come into this room yesterday. All is as it was, from when things were normal. “I only found out myself late yesterday afternoon. And forgive me for being so blunt Denise, but calling my husband’s ex-wife wasn’t the first thing that entered my mind.”
“He and I have a daughter together. She had a right to know.”
Don’t I know it? “Yes, I am aware you and he have a daughter. Well, you know now what’s happened, don’t you?”
“I shouldn’t have had to find out through the news. What if Simone had seen it before me? How could you have been so bloody heartless?”
“Do you not think I’m going through enough right now?” I slump into the armchair, staring out of the window. It’s another beautiful day. Christina is watering her hanging baskets and her adjoining neighbour is on her knees, weeding the flower beds. It’s as though the sunshine is taunting me.
“Alright. I will let it go.” Denise’s voice loses its edge. “Luckily, Simone knows nothing yet, at least, I hope not. I’m just about to drive around to her school to make sure it’s me she hears the news about her dad from.”
I don’t know why she thinks I would care about this. I say nothing, so she continues.
“Have you been told any more about what happened yet? They’re saying someone has done it deliberately, aren’t they?”
“You know as much as I do Denise. I should hear more today. They’re carrying out tests and investigations.” I’ve not even been awake for an hour and I’m worn out already. I’ll make a coffee when I get this stupid woman off the phone.
“I want to know the minute you hear anything. Do you understand?”
Who the hell does she think she is? “With respect Denise. I’ve got a lot on my plate. I’ll give you the number of the person dealing with the case so you can liaise directly.” I fish around in my bag for DI Green’s business card.
“What about the will?”
“The will?” I feel like I’m hearing things. The callous cow.
“Yes. I want to know what provision he’s made for my daughter. He’s probably better off dead than alive anyway.”
I’m speechless. She’s talking about inheritance for her bloody daughter while Rob’s barely cold on the slab.
And she continues. “He will certainly be a better father to Simone now that he’s dead. At least he can’t let her down anymore. He will be forced to provide for her.”
“I’ll get back to you on that Denise.” If I’d still been drinking, I’d have shot her down for her selfishness, but at this moment, I’m calmness personified. Nowadays, I seem to take things more in my stride. Denise and I have never exactly seen eye to eye, but then what ex-wives and new wives do? Luckily, I’ve never had to have a great deal to do with her.
But for her to say, are you OK? or How are you? is surely a basic kindness when someone’s husband has just died. I give her DI Green’s number and she rings off. I save her number into my phone, knowing I won’t be answering my phone again if I know it is her.
I have no idea about Rob’s will. And I don’t want to think about it yet. However, I’m going to have to deal with some practicalities. Beginning with formally letting Rob’s work know. They could have heard something through the media, but I should speak to them. He might be owed some money, which is a consideration. I don’t know what is going to happen on that front. All I know is that my own funds are seriously depleted after my recent investment. Which is another matter I need to get onto.
“Good morning, Bracken Furniture, Yorkshire, Katie speaking.”
“Can I speak to Mr Bracken please?”
“Who’s calling?” she asks in her sing-song voice.
“It’s Robert Matherson’s wife, Fiona.” I won’t be able to say this for much longer. Not now he’s gone.
Her voice changes. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs Matherson. I know there’s been problems here but, even so…” Her voice trails off.
“What do you mean, problems?” God, how much more can I cope with today?
“I’m not sure. I’m sorry. I’ll pass you through to Mr Bracken. One moment, please.”
I stand and pace the length of the lounge, catching sight of myself in the large mirror above the fireplace. My hair looks like I haven’t brushed it for days and the roots badly need doing. I’ve got a hair appointment booked later today but I can hardly go getting my hair done. It’s not exactly the behaviour of a grieving widow. I don’t think I could sit still for that long, anyway.
“Phil Bracken speaking.” His voice is even more curt than Denise’s was. What is wrong with everyone? Am I so goddam awful that no one can be half decent towards me? Maybe Mum is right about me.
“Erm, Mr Bracken. This is Fiona, Robert Matherson’s wife. We’ve met a few times.”
“Yes, I recall.” His voice is stone cold. With free bars on offer, I’ve occasionally indulged in too much seasonal cheer when I’ve accompanied Rob to his works’ Christmas parties. But this is not the time to recall that.
“Have you heard what’s happened to Rob?” I’m taken aback at having to be the first one to mention it. If the receptionist knows, so must he.
“Yes.” He still sounds guarded. “What a shock it must have been for you.”
“I know you were expecting him in yesterday afternoon so thought I should get in touch.”
“Yesterday afternoon?”
“Yes. Obviously, his accident was in the morning, but I know he’d planned to be in the office in the afternoon.”
There’s a pause. “Actually, we weren’t expecting him.”
“Oh. Well, this morning then.” Bryony enters my head again. Perhaps he had intended to meet her, and that’s why he told me he was going to work. My heart is thumping.
“Mrs Matherson,” Phil Bracken begins. “Robert hasn’t worked here for the last month.”<
br />
“What? No. There must be some mistake.” I think of him, showering, dressing, shaving, grabbing his wallet and coffee, and setting off at twenty past eight. Every morning without fail. “For the last month? Why? He hasn’t said anything to me.”
“I can’t go into it with you,” he replies. “There’s an investigation in progress.”
“What do you mean – an investigation? Into what?”
“I’m sorry Mrs Matherson. I’m not prepared to discuss this with you.”
“But I’m his wife. And Rob is dead. I don’t see why you can’t tell me why he hasn’t been in work for a month.” If he hasn’t been going to work, where has he been going. It must involve Bryony. I remember the brandy in the cupboard.
“I’m going to have to go. Katie is trying to put another call through to me.”
“Mr Bracken. My husband was Director of Finance within your company. He worked damn hard for you for many years. If you won’t tell me what’s happened, then I’ll have to let the police know about your investigation. You’ll have to tell them what’s been going on if you won’t tell me.”
The line goes dead.
All the calm I professed to feel whilst speaking to Denise has evaporated. My breath is coming fast. Investigation?
Just as I’m looking for DI Green’s card in my handbag again, the doorbell goes. Not wanting to speak to anyone, I feel like ignoring it. Then I notice Dad peering through the bay window. Shit.
I slide the latch to the door, and he strides in. “My poor girl. I’ve just heard. An hour ago. I got straight in the car.” He steps towards me and envelops me in a hug, his beard tickling my forehead. His smell, a cross between Imperial Leather soap and musk comforts me. Suddenly I’m ten again and he’s trying to make it all better. “Why the hell didn’t you let me know?”
I sob into his shoulder. “I was going to. But I’ve been trying to get my head around things myself.” I step back and look at him, assessing his possible fragility. Any minute now, he is going to ask me where Mum is. I can’t think straight enough to come up with a plausible reason for her not being here.
It’s as though he reads my mind. “Where’s your mother? Her car’s not here.”
“She had to go, Dad.”
“Go? Go where?”
“I’ll put the kettle on.” I turn from him and head for the kitchen.
He follows me, the heels of his shoes clip-clopping across the tiles. “I want to know where your mother is, Fiona. How on earth could she leave you at a time like this?”
“She set off before it all happened.” I flick the kettle on and take two cups from the cupboard. “She needed to see a friend in Devon.”
“A friend? Devon?”
Apart from parroting me, he seems to take this in his stride, better than I could have expected. “I don’t know who the friend is,” I tell him. “And right now, I don’t care.”
“It’s OK. You’re right. I shouldn’t be quizzing you about your mother.” He puts his arm around my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m right here for you and I’m going nowhere. Is Jack upstairs?”
“No. He’s at school. I haven’t told him what’s happened to Rob yet.”
My phone, which I’ve placed next to the cups, bursts into life. “Speak of the devil. It’s his school. Just a second Dad. I need to take this. Hello?”
“Is that Mrs Matherson?”
“Yes.” Part of me is screaming what now, but another part of me has calmed down now that Dad is here.
“Mrs Matherson. It’s Kay, I’m one of the lunchtime supervisors. I’m afraid I need to ask you to come and collect Jack.”
“Why?” I’d rather he stayed at school, but I don’t tell her that. I hope he’s not ill. I don’t feel as though I can cope with anything else. Not even Jack. Plus, he’s better off being in blissful ignorance for as long as he can be. When I tell him, the poor lad’s world is going to change forever.
“It’s the situation with his father,” she says, her voice oozing with sympathy. “Clearly he knew nothing about his death, and one of the year six boys has said something to him.”
“Oh God. It only broke on the news this morning.” I feel terrible now for thinking I could send him to school and get away with him not finding out. It’s only got to lunchtime. “I’m really sorry.” What was I thinking?
“No, I’m really sorry. It’s absolutely dreadful for you both. If you can come for him, I’ll look after him in the library until you get here.”
“Thank you. Tell him I’ve got his grandad with me. That should settle him down a little until we get there.”
Dad slides a mug along the work surface to me. “Is he OK? Silly question. Of course he’s not. The poor little man.”
I feel better having Dad here. Unless he goes to pieces about Mum. “We haven’t got time to drink this Dad. We’re going to have to get to the school. I let Jack stay at his friend’s last night.” I take a slurp of the tea, then pour the rest down the sink. “I had to identify Rob at the mortuary. I wanted to keep Jack away from it all.”
Dad runs his hand over his thinning hairline. “For God’s sake Fiona. Why didn’t you ring me? Why do you always insist on coping with things on your own?”
“I know.” Tears slide down my face. “I could have happily reached for the brandy last night. I had to go to bed to stop myself.”
“I thought you were over all that.”
“So did I, but it’s not every day your husband dies.”
“Have you got some in the house?”
I nod and point towards the cupboard in the far corner. Dad strides towards it and in one swoop has seized it and pours it down the sink. I watch as it mingles with the tea. It smells terrible. I don’t know how it could have tempted me.
He rinses it away. “Come on.” He reaches an arm out. “I’ll drive. Let’s get that grandson of mine.”
* * *
It’s out. His name.
There’s the usual outpouring of sympathy.
Flowers laid at the scene.
Condolences on social media.
It will pass.
Chapter 12
Dad and I stride across the playground. Over twenty-four hours have passed since Rob died. Somehow, I’m putting one foot in front of the other, unsure how I’m keeping going.
DI Green says after the impact, Rob shouldn’t have felt much, he will have been out of it immediately. He was dead before the ambulance arrived. I’m glad he didn’t die alone. The farmer who had been rounding up his sheep at the other end of the field had been with him as he passed away. He saw nothing other than Rob flying through the air and the top of a car roof driving away. In the bright sunlight, he had said, he couldn’t even make out what colour or shape the car was.
Children hurtle around us as we approach the main entrance. I wonder how long it will be until Jack is running around again, shrieking like the others.
As we get to the door, Dad, as though reading my thoughts, puts his hand on my arm and says, “Jack’ll bounce back. Kids are amazingly resilient – you’ll see.”
The receptionist lets us in and walks us up to the library in silence. She doesn’t refer to what has happened, which surprises me. I suppose many people do not know what to say in such circumstances. Kay, the lunchtime supervisor, is reading a book with Jack. My heart breaks as I observe his red-rimmed eyes and trembling lip. As soon as he sees me, his tears well up. As do mine.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
He gets up and runs towards me. I pick him up and lower onto the tiny chair with him on my lap. This is one occasion where I can’t make it better.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” I sob into his hair. It smells of shampoo that isn’t ours. He’s wearing socks that aren’t his either. Guilt creeps over me like a rash.
Some older children are trying to look in. Kay strides to the window and closes the blinds. Then she comes to sit with us.
“Daniel in year six heard the news on the radio on his wa
y into school this morning,” she explains. “To be honest, it was the first I’d heard of it. You know what kids are like. It quickly spread around the playground.”
I want her to stop wittering so I can talk to Jack.
“You must be Jack’s grandad.” She smiles at Dad. “Jack was pleased when I told him you were coming. He said he was expecting his Granny Maggie though.”
“Can you give us a minute?” I look at her through my tears. “I’d like a word with Jack.”
“Yes – sure. I’ll be outside.” She rises from the chair. It’s so small that it is a long way up for her. “Give me a shout if you need anything.”
“Jack.” I tilt his face towards mine. “What have you been told?”
His face crumples again. “That Daddy got knocked off his bike by a fast car. And that he was bleeding, and that he has been killed, and I’ll never be able to see him, ever again.”
I pull him closer. “The ambulance people tried everything to make him better Jack. But Daddy was too badly hurt.”
Dad crouches next to us, his eyes full of tears too. He places his hand on Jack’s back.
“But where is Daddy now? Can’t I just see him?”
“He’s in heaven sweetheart. And he’ll always be able to watch you from there.”
“Where’s heaven?”
“We’ve talked about this before. Can you remember when Monty died. Your rabbit?”
He nods, though I doubt he can remember. He was only three.
“Well, Monty went up to heaven.” I point upwards, hoping my words bear a conviction that I’m not feeling. “It’s where good people and animals go. Up there, in the clouds.” I’ve drifted in and out of religion in my time, but remain unconvinced. If there really was a God, then why have I experienced such utter crap in life? Or perhaps it’s because I’m inherently bad like Mum keeps suggesting.
Dad squeezes my shoulder. “You’re doing great love.”
“How can Daddy watch me, from in the clouds?”
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