“It would appear I had good reason not to.” We fall silent for a few moments. She knows more than she’s letting on. “Since he’s spent so much time confiding in you,” I say, “I want to know what you know about his money troubles?”
“I’ve told the police everything I know.”
“I’ve got a right to hear it too.”
“You haven’t got a right to anything from me. Ask the police to tell you if you’re so interested. I’m sure they’ll be in touch anyway.”
“Have you got an alibi for the other morning?”
She laughs now, a tinkly sound which makes my fist ball in my jeans pocket.
“They will not be looking at me when they look into you. And his ex-wife.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re the ones with the history. The form. The reason. Anyway, I’m looking after my niece. I’d like you to leave. And if you come back, I’ll have you done for harassment.”
I stare at her. “Why are you being so awful? What on earth has Rob said to you about me?”
“Enough. You’ve put him through the mill over the years, haven’t you? He should have stayed with me.”
“Well, he didn’t, did he? He married me.”
“Ask yourself why.” She rubs her index finger against her thumb in a gesture that says money, then jerks her head towards the gate. “Please leave. Now.”
I open my mouth to respond, but tears sting my eyes. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry, so I do as I’m told and lurch away from her house, back onto the street. She’s lucky I haven’t got a drink inside me. I’d have punched her if I had.
I can’t face going home yet. I walk around aimlessly for a while. My face is burning in the heat of the sun. It’s typical. The weather has been shocking so far this year, then as soon as I’m going through this shit, we get given a heatwave. Mum barely sees Jack, so I’ve no qualms about taking advantage of her presence. I can’t imagine her being around for long before she hot foots it back to patch things up with lover boy.
Without planning to, I find myself in the town centre and sit outside a café, too hot to carry on walking. I slide the menu from its holder. I’ve eaten an apple and a piece of toast today. It’s no wonder I feel sick all the time.
“Can I take your order, madam?” I hate being called madam. It makes me feel much older than my thirty-six years. “It’s last orders now. We’re closing up at five.”
Last orders. It’s like being in the Black Bull. I wish. No, I don’t. “I’ll have a toasted teacake and a chamomile tea please.” It might calm me down.
“Will that be all, madam?” I want to shout at him. Don’t call me madam. He thrusts the payment machine in front of me and I present the card for our joint account.
“I’m afraid to tell you that it has declined the transaction.” His voice is loud enough for a couple walking past to look at me, and three people at the next table. He rips the receipt from the machine. “Would you like to try an alternative method of payment madam?”
“There should be money in that account.” I flush to the roots of my hair as I fish around in my purse and pull out the card for my current account, which normally doesn’t contain more than pocket money. Most of what I had left should be in the joint account. I was happy with our financial arrangement. With my drinking being as it has been, Rob liked to keep hold of the purse strings and monitor what I was spending.
Luckily, my personal account payment works, and the waiter leaves me alone.
I feel lost without my mobile phone and wonder how long the police will have it for. Surely not for long. Luckily, I’ve still got my Kindle Fire, which I slide from my handbag. At least I can get onto the internet and check our joint account. But it’s so long since I was on it I can’t remember the login details. I flick through to Facebook and try to ignore the thirty plus notifications that are there. At first glance they are the condolences everyone feels compelled to leave, most saying the same thing and I can’t bear to read them right now. There’ll be time when we get to the funeral to face all that.
For now, I’ve got to hold it together. And not give into drink. I click onto Rob’s profile page to see if he’s friends with this James Turner. He is. I click to the page, disappointed to find it inaccessible apart from when he’s changed his profile or cover photo. I need to find some contact details for him.
All his pictures relate to cars or football matches. He’s about the same age as Rob. There’s some information on his about me page. Lives in Manchester. Self Employed. Supports Manchester United. James Turner doesn’t sound interesting. I think again of the huge transaction in the bank statement I found in Rob’s office – I hope to God my money is safe.
The words if you don’t have my money by 6pm, there will be consequences, swim back into my mind. I must do some more digging around in Rob’s office. I’ve got a bad feeling in my gut about this. And the mortgage company. And our joint account.
* * *
I’m devouring every news report and every bit of social media.
When his body has been released to the undertakers,
I will know I’m in the clear.
Chapter 21
Mum raises her eyes from her phone. Her face is pinched with fury as I walk towards the garden table. “Where the hell have you been?”
“I told you. I needed some time to myself.”
“You’ve had all bloody day whilst Jack’s been in school.” She looks awful. I’m not used to seeing Mum without a face full of make-up. Even her hair is a sweaty mess.
“Where’s Jack? Is he OK?”
“I sent him to his room. His noise was driving me to distraction.”
I feel guilty now for leaving him. She’s hardly granny of the year. I turn back towards the house. I need to keep busy and out of Mum’s way. “I’ll put some dinner on. Chicken and salad if that’s OK?”
“Don’t take advantage of me again Fiona. I’ve done my time. With you. If I wanted to look after children, I’d open a nursery.”
Ignoring her, I walk across the patio.
As I chop salad, I hear her through the open window. “Please Shane.” She’s crying. In my garden. I hope the neighbours aren’t in their gardens, listening to her. “We’re wonderful together. She can never give you what I can.”
Pause.
“But they’re getting older,” she wails. “And before long, they’ll leave home, and what will you be left with? Her?”
Pause.
“No, you don’t love her. If you did, you would have come nowhere near me. Happily married men don’t have affairs.”
Pause.
“I wish I’d never told you now. I can’t believe you’re making threats like that.”
I wonder what he’s threatening her with. It definitely sounds as though she’s better off without him. And not just for Dad’s sake.
“Do you know how that makes me feel? After everything we’ve shared. I can’t believe you’re treating me like this. You bastard!”
“Mum, enough!” I stride through the conservatory doors towards her. “You’re not using that kind of language in my garden.” Her phone is still lit up on the table. She reaches into a bag and pulls out a bottle of wine.
“Get us a glass, will you? The plan now is to get drunk.”
“I’d rather you didn’t. Not here. You know what I’ve been through Mum. I find it really hard to be around people who are drinking. Especially when they’re drinking to get drunk.”
She twists towards me, squinting in the early evening sunlight. “Well, tough. Don’t you stand there, judging me. Just because you’re an old soak. If I want to drown my sorrows, no one, especially not you, will stop me.”
I march towards the house before I blow up with her. “You OK Jack?” I call up the stairs, trying to steady my voice. I should have sent her away this morning, whilst I had the chance.
“Yes, Mummy. I’m playing with my train set.”
My heart sags. That’s
something he and Rob always did together. They’d be at it for hours. “Dinner won’t be long, sweetheart.”
I pause as I hear Mum clattering around in the kitchen, presumably finding herself a glass, and wait until I hear her footsteps fade back towards the conservatory. I know every nuance and creak of this house. It will be too big for Jack and me. Particularly when I get around to clearing it of all Rob’s stuff. That’s a daunting thought.
I can hardly believe how much life has changed in less than three days. It’s Wednesday evening, and it’s totally unrecognisable from the start of the week. I glance out of the window. Mum’s drinking wine from a tumbler. This is going to be a fun evening. She’s typing into her phone – probably another begging message to Shane. I wonder again what threat he was making. Possibly to tell Dad.
I used to crave Mum’s time and attention, no matter what. This probably went on until Jack was about a year old. But now I wish she would leave. My husband has just died. I’m a recovering alcoholic, and she’s sat in my garden, crying, and getting sloshed. Rob, if he were still here, would probably throw her out on her ear.
“Dinner’s ready, Jack.”
He bounds down the stairs. I hand him a plate of bread to carry into the garden whilst I balance chicken, salad bowls, and the dinner plates. He seems less burdened than he did yesterday. The normality he will have felt from his usual routine must have helped him.
When I was still drinking, eating would take the edge off the desire to drink. Rob would have to coax me to eat. Which I now find myself doing with Mum.
“I’m not hungry,” she snaps. “I’m too upset to eat, can’t you see?”
“Is it because of Daddy?” Jack bites into some bread. “Because he’s gone to heaven?”
I bite my lip. “We’re all sad, love.” I reach for his hand. “What do you want to do after dinner?”
“Can I watch TV?” He looks at me hopefully. He’s easily pleased.
I know I should spend some proper time with him but haven’t got the energy. “Yes. Just for a while and then I’ll run you a bath.”
“Will you bath me Granny Maggie? And read me a story?”
“Another time,” she says. I watch Jack’s face fall. I know how he feels.
Mum’s onto her second glass of wine as Jack races back into the house, the lure of the TV stronger than anything else.
“What am I going to do Fiona?” She looks at me from teary eyes and takes a large drink.
“About what?”
“Shane. I need him to come back to me. I can’t believe he’s gone back to his wife.”
“You can’t control the behaviour or decisions of someone else Mum.” Gosh, I sound like Bryony now. “Why don’t you let him go - make a go of things with Dad?”
“Your Dad? You must be joking.”
“Why?” I want to tell her she doesn’t deserve him, but I would never dare. “If it’s that bad, why don’t you go to Relate?”
“It’s like I said to you the other night. You’ve got no idea.”
The next thirty minutes pass with me letting her rant and wail. I watch her become more incoherent as she empties the bottle. I’m relieved I don’t drink anymore and am possibly coping with Rob’s death better because of this. She’ll probably wind herself into more of a knot, then she will go to bed. However, I watch in dismay as she pulls a second bottle from her bag.
“I’m off to run Jack a bath and get him settled.” I rise from my spot opposite her, pitying this now aging and pathetic excuse for a wife, mother, and grandmother. She thinks about nobody but herself.
I hear her on the phone to Shane again, as Jack splashes around in the bath. She’s louder now that she’s drunk. I hope my neighbours don’t think it’s me. Dad once said our voices are similar when on the phone. Jack decides he no longer wants to play, reality seemingly dawning that Daddy won’t be tucking him in again tonight.
He’s tearful when I take him to his room. I wish my dad was still here to help me. I lay at Jack’s side until he falls asleep, dropping off myself for a while. When I wake with a jolt, the light is fading.
I slide from the bed, and glance out of Jack’s window to see Mum slumped where I left her. I can’t face returning to her, so wander into the room I’ve shared with Rob for the last nine years.
I haven’t opened the blinds all week. Clothes, mine and Rob’s, litter the floor. I walk into the en-suite, trying to ignore Rob’s shower gel, toothbrush, and comb, and wash my face, grateful for the warmth of the water against my tired skin.
Tomorrow I’m going to find out as much as I can about his dodgy dealings and try to put things right. But tonight, I’m going to grieve for my husband, and all we once shared. I open his side of the wardrobe and touch one of the shirts which hangs there. It’s the one he always used to wear when we went out. Not that we’ve been out together much lately. I pull it towards me and inhale the scent of his aftershave.
Then I feel something rustle in the top pocket and pull out a receipt. It’s textbook affair stuff. Rummaging through my husband’s pockets. A receipt from the Queen’s Hotel in Leeds. The Thursday before last. When he said he was at a conference in the Midlands. I now know they had suspended him from his job. It’s for a meal. A hundred and nine pounds. Wine. A king room. I stare at it. It must be Bryony.
* * *
I’m doing what I can to get through it.
The guilt is seeping in occasionally,
but when I focus on the bigger picture,
I know it will be worth it.
Chapter 22
Jack spoons rice crispies from his bowl to his mouth. “I don’t want to go to school today Mummy. I only want my daddy.” He’s reverted to referring to us as mummy and daddy again. He’d started calling us mum and dad before all this, like his friends do, he had said. At the time, I had felt a pang that he was growing up.
“I know, love. But I think you should go to school. It will do you good to be around your friends. Keeping busy will help you feel better – I promise. I’ll take you today.”
I need him to go to school if the truth be known. I’ve planned to spend the day tearing Rob’s office to bits. The police have taken his laptop and phone, where I reckon a lot of the information will be, but there’s plenty of paperwork to go through and some phone calls I can make.
I also plan to get rid of Mum. I can’t cope with her here. Thankfully, she’s sleeping the wine off. I’ve moved the empty bottles from the garden table. It feels strange, dumping drink bottles in the recycling after a year of not doing so. I’m going to ask Dad if he will swap places with her. The police investigation is ongoing, and I’ve got a funeral to plan. I’m much better with him around.
I don’t owe my mother a thing. And if she thinks she can pour all her bloody boyfriend woes out to me whilst getting slaughtered, she’s very much mistaken.
“How are you doing Fiona? Lynne appears at my car window as I pull up at the side of the school gates. “Are you coping OK?”
“As one does when their husband has been killed in a hit and run.”
She pulls what can only be described as a sympathetic face. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through. But as I’ve said before, if I can help with Jack at all?”
Everyone trots out the same lines to me. But Lynne’s getting on my nerves, constantly asking to take Jack. I’m sure she means well, but it’s the fourth time in as many days. Does she think I can’t cope with him?
“Thank you. But his place is with me right now, where I can help him come to terms with things.”
“Well, the offer is always there. As you know, Sam loves having him around. We can keep his mind off things.”
“Thanks, but right now, he probably needs to face the fact that he’s lost his dad. In his own surroundings.” I try to muster a smile. “Honestly, I really appreciate the offer. I must go, anyway. I’ve got loads to do.”
I should be grateful really. She’s one of the few mothers that speaks to me, but I can’t
understand what she wants from me. It’s not as if she’s short of a friend, or a chat. She probably goes back to them with the gossip from my sad life.
I’m glad that Mum is still sleeping when I arrive back at home. I head straight for the phone in the lounge.
“Dad. It’s me.” He always recites his full telephone number when he answers. York, seven, six, three, one, eight, two. He’s so old-school. He even drives a Ford Sierra. It’s a relic now, but he says it’s economical and still goes. Apart from recently, when the petrol tank fell onto the forecourt when he was filling up. That was hilarious. I wonder what car Shane drives. Whatever it is, it’s turned Mum’s head.
“How are you doing, love? Is it all sinking in?”
“Yes. I guess so. I still feel really out of it though.”
“How’s Jack?”
“Up and down. It’s his reaction that’s getting to me the most. I can kind of keep going, but supporting him is hard.”
“It’ll all take time. You’ve had a massive shock. What about, dare I ask – your mother?”
My hesitation probably says it all. Eventually I say, “I could really do with her going home, to be honest Dad.”
“Is it that bad? Have you told her?”
“She’s still sleeping. She drank two bottles of wine last night.”
“You’re kidding.” There’s a slight pause before he says, “I’m coming over.”
“No. Dad. It’s…” She’s going to kill me for this.
“I’m on my way.” He rings off. I am pleased really. After all, this is
what I wanted.
There’s still no sound from upstairs. I don’t want Mum to wake until Dad gets here. Hopefully, he’ll stay then, and send her home. At least he’ll help me out with Jack, without telling me he’s already done his time, bringing me up.
I make myself a coffee and take it up to the office, closing the door softly behind me. The letter from Bracken Furniture is as I left it on Rob’s desk, with the bank statement beside it. I wonder whether the police know anything about this yet. I guess if there is anything relevant to discover, they’ll find it.
Hit and Run Page 11
