Hit and Run

by Maria Frankland

  “Let’s just allow the investigation to be carried out. I promise you that every relevant lead will be thoroughly investigated. DI Green is an experienced detective. If we charge you, then you will have every opportunity to build a defence and will get a fair hearing.”

  “I have to say, though,” says the other one. “You’ve done yourself no favours with what you did last night.”

  “I know.”

  * * *

  I’ve always recognised the anger and vengeance

  that exists inside me.

  I knew one day there was a risk I might act on it.

  Chapter 28

  I hurry along my street, hoping none of the neighbours are watching. They’ve all rallied around since Rob died – I’ll be so embarrassed if I’m seen. I’ve never looked, felt, or indeed smelt worse.

  They gave me police bail. I’ve to return later with my passport and report to the station each week until my court appearance. I’ve got to sleep at home every night, though it’s not like I’m going to go anywhere else anyway. I’ve not to contact Bryony directly, or indirectly.

  “Mummy! Where have you been?” Jack pokes his head around the lounge door as I step into the hallway.

  “Just let me have a shower, honey, then I’ll come and see you.”

  Dad emerges from the kitchen, disappointment all over his face.

  “I’m sorry Dad.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know what to say to you. Get yourself cleaned up. Then we’ll talk.” The look on his face is far worse than anything he could say to me.

  “Did anyone let you know where I was?”

  “Yes. Go in there, Jack. Grandad will be there in a minute.” When Jack has gone, he looks me up and down with an expression that makes me want to shrink down to nothing. “Thank God I was here, to look after your son, that’s all I can say. What would have happened to him otherwise?”

  “I’ll be down shortly.” Fighting back tears, I take to the stairs, desperate to get away from Dad’s scrutiny.

  A shower makes me feel more human and at least I don’t stink anymore. The clothes I was wearing can go in the bin. I never want to see them again. Reaching into the bedside cabinet, I swallow a migraine tablet, followed by an anti-emetic. Whilst being a non-drinker, I haven’t needed either of these. But today, I feel lousy, with no one to blame but myself. I fill a pint glass with water in the en-suite and down it, feeling slightly better straight away. I must have been dehydrated.

  Even though it’s a warm June day, I feel cold, so pull on clean jeans and a jumper. I slide a pair of Rob’s socks over my feet and head downstairs to face Dad.

  He’s clattering about in the kitchen and the strains of Phineas and Ferb, which Jack is hooked on, echo from the lounge. Dad glances over his glasses at me, as I sit at the breakfast bar and pluck an apple from the bowl.

  “Tea?” he says. He can’t be that mad if he’s offering me a brew.

  “Please.” The tablets I’ve taken are starting to have an effect, thank God. I can say, hand on heart, that I would rather die than touch an alcoholic drink at this moment. I’m going to ask the doctor for some Antabuse tablets to ensure I keep completely away from it. For good.

  “So why, Fiona? Aren’t things bad enough?”

  “I was drunk. And I’d had enough of everything. I couldn’t cope anymore.”

  “I get that. I really do. But to get so drunk that you have pushed and threatened another woman. My daughter doesn’t normally carry on like that. Why didn’t you come and talk to me?”

  “Please Dad. Stop going on at me. You do not know how much I regret it.”

  “I don’t understand why you would lose it like that. Who is this woman anyway?”

  “Bryony. Don’t you remember the police mentioned her the other day. It looks like Rob had been having an affair with her behind my back.”

  “I really don’t think he would have done that to you. Or Jack.”

  “I know you got on with him Dad, but you don’t know the half of it. I think they’ve been putting their heads together to take all my money. It’s gone Dad, all of it. Everything that Grandma left me. After I have paid for the funeral, there’ll be nothing left.”

  “What are you talking about? Nothing left?”

  “The bank accounts have been emptied. Before Rob died. Plus, he’s forged my signature to re-mortgage the house and taken a loan out. That’s all gone as well.”

  “On top of the fraud thing that’s come out with his work?” Dad’s expression changed to one of concern. “Bloody hell. There’s a hundred grand there, isn’t there?”

  “And the rest.”

  “We’ll come back to the money stuff love. What I want to know is, how did you think that getting drunk was going to help you?” He turns his back to me, to butter some bread. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

  “I wasn’t thinking anything. I didn’t plan to get so drunk. I just wanted to take the edge off the stress. Like I said, I wasn’t coping.”

  “Yes. I can see that. But you still haven’t answered my question. Why didn’t you come to me?”

  “I just wanted to be on my own after I got bailed yesterday. And I got myself wound up. I was in that much of a state, I don’t even remember getting from the pub to where Bryony lives. You’d have killed me if I’d turned up here like that.” I stare at the photograph of Rob, Jack and me, pinned to the fridge. A fresh wave of misery washes over me. “Especially in front of Jack. Besides, you’ve got enough on with Mum right now.”

  “Let me be the judge of that. I would have done anything to stop you hitting the self-destruct button yesterday.” He looks around at me.

  “Look Dad. I know you mean well, but what’s done, is done. They have charged me with aggravated assault. There’s nothing you can do to change anything.” Tears jab at my eyes. I can’t bear how he looks at me. It’s a cross between pity and shame.

  “Here. Get that down you.” He lifts a sandwich onto a plate and slides it towards me. “You look bloody awful.”

  “I feel it. My head is banging, even though I’ve had a migraine tablet.” I squint against the sun that’s streaming into the kitchen. One reason we fell for this house was because of the sunny kitchen. That feels like another life now.

  “Get that eaten, then have a lie down.” Dad nudges the plate closer to me. “We’ll talk more about this when you get up.”

  “What about Jack?” Guilt seeps into me. “I’ve not seen him properly since Thursday.”

  “What are grandads for? Anyway, it’s hardly been a normal set of circumstances these last few days, has it?” He reaches across the breakfast bar and pats my hand. “The time will come when you’ll be able to make it up to him.”

  “Why are you being nice to me?” Fresh tears spring to my eyes. They’re part grief, part self-pity. “I don’t deserve it.”

  “No matter what happens, or what you’ve done, you’ll always be my daughter. Somehow, we’ll get through this.” He sits on the stool opposite me, and pauses for a moment, as though gathering his thoughts. “I’m not sure how your mother will react when she hears of your latest escapade though.”

  Over a year ago, I got drunk and let rip at Mum, big time. In front of all her neighbours. She warned she would disown me if I behaved like that again. “Why does Mum have to know anything? You won’t tell her, will you?”

  “She’ll find out soon enough.” A darkness crosses his face. “You’ll be in court soon, for God’s sake. They’ve charged you, haven’t they?”

  “Yes, but what…”

  “Just go to bed Fiona.”

  His abrupt tone stuns me. It’s as though the thought of Mum has changed his mood. No way can I face Jack in this state, even though I should acknowledge him. No, I’ll go upstairs, pull myself back together, then spend some time with him. It’s like I’m ten again, being sent to bed by my father. And it has a while since he has used the word escapades to describe my behaviour. I can’t remember how long it’s been since
I’ve received threats of wait until your mother finds out, either.

  The bedroom is cool and inviting, the curtains still drawn. As I crawl under the duvet, I make a mental note to change the sheets later. The bed still smells of Rob’s shower gel and aftershave. Part of me wants to nuzzle into it, the other part feels like ripping the sheets to shreds.

  I wake up feeling groggy. I always feel rubbish when I sleep in the daytime. A reminder of current events steamrolls over me. I got rip-roaring drunk last night. After a year of sobriety, I went and got blasted. I hate myself and deserve to feel like I do. At least the feeling that I’m going to throw up has gone. So has the migraine. I just feel hollowed out. And so ashamed.

  The house is in silence. Either Dad and Jack are asleep, or they’ve gone out. Probably the latter. There is only so long a seven-year-old can be cooped up inside. Especially Jack. He will need to let off some steam.

  I slide the Apple Mac from the bedside table, and balance it on my stomach. The police missed taking this to examine. It’s mine, mainly, though Rob was always after it. He would tell me I had no need for a laptop of this quality, as all I did with it was mooch about on the internet. He ended up using it a lot of the time.

  I log into my personal bank account. £4529. That will not get me far. Not with a funeral to pay out of it. I need to find Rob’s will. Hopefully, he will have kept up his life insurance payments. There will be something. I feel slightly more optimistic at this thought. However, guilt and depression soon chase the positivity away and I’m swiftly reminded that he’s dead, and it’s me who is suspected of killing him.

  Dad was right. There was more than enough to deal with, without me getting wrecked and turning up at Bryony’s last night. Maybe if I apologise, she will drop the charges. There was no real harm done. It’s not as though I whacked her over the head with the bottle, or slit her throat, however much I felt like it. In hindsight, I’m not sure what stopped me. My temper had totally gone. A younger me might be on a murder charge.

  An ad flashes on my screen for an unsecured loan. I swear there’s computer intelligence that has somehow sniffed out my desperation for money. It’s not like we’re going to starve, but I’m not used to living this near the knuckle. Not anymore.

  I click on the ad. It’s only seven and a half percent APR. I’ll go for ten grand. At least the funeral costs won’t completely wipe me out then, and I’ll have breathing space until I get hold of my money from James Turner. I go through the application process, pausing at the status section. Eventually, I select widowed. There’s nothing I can enter for employment as it’s years since I last worked. I haven’t needed to. It dawns on me I might have to address that. Perhaps that is what I need. But it’s a decision for when all this is over with.

  I hit submit. Within two minutes, I’ve received an email notification from the loan company. Thank you for your recent application. We’re sorry to inform you…

  Shit. I can’t believe they have knocked me back. Rob’s dodgy dealings must have affected my credit rating too - by financial association. Or maybe I should have chosen married and put Rob’s former income down. But that’s fraud. It puts me in the same league as him. Another email drops into my inbox. Like I said, they can smell desperation. Apply for a credit card today. Pre-application check. I might as well look at that. I’ve not had a credit card since my twenties, so I’m bound to get accepted. I type in the information, then quick as a flash I receive an acceptance and an invitation to complete the whole thing. They will only give me an initial credit limit of £1200 though. Shit. Shit. Shit. That’s not going to scratch the surface.

  Lying back on my pillows, I turn it all around in my mind. However, I am struggling to think clearly. If I don’t find out what Rob did with my money, then I’m done for. James Turner is the one I need to find. I can’t believe the situation I’ve found myself in. I was having more fun as a twenty-something lush. The bang of the front door jolts me out of my miserable thoughts.

  I swing my legs over the side of the bed and rake a brush through my hair. I’m sweating, a combination of alcohol withdrawal and having slept in my jeans and a jumper, so I change into denim shorts and a floral t-shirt. That, in itself, makes me feel better. As I descend the stairs, Jack’s sat on the bottom step, untying his shoes.

  “Why didn’t you come to the park with us Mummy? We’ve fed the ducks, had an ice-cream, and everything.”

  “It sounds as though you’ve had a lovely time, you and Grandad. I’ll come next time.” And I will. I’ve been a pile of crap as a mother this week. I just can’t get it together.

  He drops one trainer and looks down. “We kind of had a lovely time. But I can’t have a properly lovely time anymore. Not now that Daddy is in heaven. I feel sad all the time. I want to play trains with him.”

  “I know.” I step towards him and ruffle the top of his head, making a promise to myself in that instant that I’m going to fight, tooth and nail to make him happy again. Apart from Dad, because Mum can’t really be included, I’m all Jack’s got. I’ve got to make sure I get our money back, get free of these police charges, and hang onto the house – even if it’s by the skin of my teeth. “I’m going to have a word with Grandad, then I’ll come and play a game with you.”

  He brightens slightly. “Promise?”

  “Pinky promise.” I wiggle my little finger.

  “OK. While I’m waiting, I’ll draw a picture for you.” He walks towards the lounge.

  He’s such a good kid. What I ever did to deserve him, I don’t know. With the all-too-familiar tears stabbing at the backs of my eyes again, I head off to find Dad.

  He’s coming through the conservatory with the kitchen bin. The expression he wore before I went to bed is still etched across his face as he notices me.

  “I know you’re not happy Dad, but I promise, I’m going to sort myself out. Starting with getting some tablets to make sure I can’t drink. Antabuse, they’re called.”

  “Never heard of them.” He lowers the bin to the floor and sinks onto one of the wicker chairs.

  “If I’m on Antabuse tablets and go anywhere near, even a drop of alcohol, it will make me violently sick.” I sit on the sofa opposite him. “People at AA have tried them, so I know they work.”

  “Right. Well, if you think they will help you.”

  “Look, I’ve had a blowout. And now I need to focus Dad. I’ve so much to sort out.” I look at him, relieved that the sharpness in his face has softened. “I’ve just been knocked back for a loan and only approved for a £1200 limit on a credit card. I don’t know how I’m going to pay for Rob’s funeral.”

  “Did he not leave any provision for it? When I depart this mortal coil, there’s a funeral plan to cover it.”

  “I don’t think so. He was too busy fleecing me to be bothered about any sort of provision. Besides, I don’t suppose he was expecting to die just yet.”

  Dad sits back in his seat and moves the bin to one side with his foot. “If he was having some sort of relationship with this Bryony one, and if he has manipulated funds by forging your signature, then I don’t see why the responsibility of his funeral should fall solely to you.”

  “Well, who else is going to be responsible? People are hardly lining up. Rob was an only child and his parents are dead. He might have done me over, but I’m still his next of kin. And the mother of his son.”

  “I get all that. And I also get the impression that you’re asking me for help?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I just don’t know what to do Dad.” God, the bin reeks. I pick it up and put it outside the conservatory door. My sense of smell is always heightened after a migraine.

  “I. erm, it’s your mother… She’s got hold of the purse strings, as you know, and I’m not sure what’s happening with me and her yet.”

  “I know.” I also know Mum’s as tight as a duck’s bum, and in all honesty, I don’t want her knowing anything about my financial situation. She will use it as another stick to beat me w
ith.

  “How come you’ve been knocked back for a loan? You won’t have any bad credit, will you?”

  “Probably because I don’t work. I don’t know. But I definitely need to find out it there’s anything else that Rob’s been financially implicating me in.”

  “Are you absolutely sure you’ve known nothing about it.”

  “I hate that you don’t trust me Dad.”

  “I do. It’s just… what does your solicitor say?”

  “He never came the other day. He was held up at court. He left a message with the officers who interviewed me.”

  “You never said. Why on earth didn’t you wait for him?” He leans towards me. “You were being questioned for causing death by dangerous driving, and you let them interview you without a solicitor. Are you mad?”

  “I think he’s been trying to ring me” I can’t argue with Dad. “ I just wanted to get out of there. You should see the inside of those places.”

  “Surely you got in touch for help with the assault charge? Don’t tell me you faced that one on your own as well?”

  “I felt too ashamed Dad. Besides, there’s no solicitor that can get me out of that one, is there?”

  “Oh, Fiona.”

  “Look, I’ll give him a ring now.” I walk into the dining room, where I’ve left my phone, scroll to the messages he’s left, and hit call as I walk back into the conservatory.

  “Well, thank God for that.”

  “It’s Fiona Matherson,” I say. “Is that Alan Wright?”

  “Ah, I’m glad you’ve got back to me Fiona. I had DI Green on the phone a short time ago, wanting to make an appointment for us all to meet at the station.” His voice is warm. Trustworthy. “She wants to go through the allegation of causing death by dangerous driving in more depth. The sooner we find out what we’re dealing with, the better.”