“They’re saying I took my car in for a tyre repair after my husband was killed. But I didn’t. I was at home.”
“Right OK. Because I didn’t get to your initial interview, they’ve agreed to provide a space where we can go through the allegation before they interview you again. They’re suggesting tomorrow?”
“But it’s Sunday tomorrow.”
“Like I said, the sooner the better. We must go through some paperwork as well. Formalise the fact that I’m acting for you.”
I raise a hand to my aching head. “Have you been told about the other charge yet?”
“Yes. DI Green mentioned it. We can talk more about that tomorrow as well. They can see us any time until two o’clock. Does eleven am sound OK?”
“Just a second.” I lower the phone. “Dad. I’ve got to go back to the police station in the morning and meet the solicitor. Are you still going to be here? Will you look after Jack?”
He nods.
“I’ll see you there.” Dread pools in the pit of my stomach at the thought of another police interview. “I must go. I’ve got another call coming through.”
“Great. It’s the funeral director,” I say to Dad, closing my eyes as I raise the phone back to my ear. “What a fun-filled few days it’s been. Hello?”
“Mrs Matherson. We’re just ringing to rearrange yesterday’s appointment. We were expecting you at 4pm?”
I won’t tell them I was too busy getting slaughtered, before going off to threaten Rob’s ex, or whatever relationship he and Bryony classed themselves as having. Instead, I apologise and make an appointment to go in on Monday morning, after I’ve taken Jack to school, assuming the police let me go again tomorrow. At least I’ve got a solicitor this time.
It’s probably best to send Dad back to Mum after I’ve been to the station. Whether she will agree to helping with the funeral fees, I don’t know. I can’t believe I am having to go cap in hand. Hopefully, Mum won’t come back here before the funeral. I really can’t cope with her.
She must be telepathic. As I hang up from the funeral director, Dad’s phone rings. It’s obvious from his face that it’s her. I can read Dad like a book. “Don’t tell her anything yet,” I hiss, walking to the kitchen door. Not wanting to overhear their conversation, I distract myself from my hangover and other woes, by keeping my promise of playing a game with Jack.
* * *
As he awaits his funeral,
accusations continue to fly
Speculation is rife.
Who knows what really happened?
I do.
Chapter 29
Jack’s voice rings through the house. “Mu-um! Simone and her mum are here.” I sit up in bed, surprised that I have slept the entire night without waking and glance at the clock. It is nine o’clock so I should be grateful that they have woken me as my appointment at the police station is in two hours.
Though what Rob’s ex-wife is doing here, first thing on a Sunday morning is anyone’s guess, and I could do without it. I can’t find a belt for my skinny jeans, so slide a long cotton top from its hanger. It will hopefully stop the gaping waistband from being visible. The weight is tumbling from me. I managed to eat a little of the stir-fry Dad cooked last night – his signature dish, but even now, the after-effects of Friday’s binge haven’t left me. It feels like I poisoned myself.
Before I have to deal with Denise, I should try to be more groomed, but can’t be bothered. Who cares what she thinks of me, anyway? I pass the spare room. Dad’s having a shower in the en-suite. I head down the stairs to where Denise waits at the bottom. Her expression is one of utter revulsion.
“I still can’t believe you ended up living in a house like this. Whilst we got what we did.”
“What! Oh, I’m not getting into this with you Denise.” I stand in front of her. “Where are the kids?”
“Jack’s taken Simone into the lounge to draw.”
I hate the thought of them spending time together, but it’s probably for the best that they’re not around to overhear any discussion we’re about to have. No conversation between Denise and me has ever been over friendly.
“I’m here about Rob’s will and life insurance.” Denise’s eyes are cold, her voice accusatory. In contrast with me, she’s piled weight on lately. She must be a comfort eater when the going gets tough.
“At nine o’clock on a Sunday morning. You’re kidding?” I fold my arms.
“I’ve had no money out of him for months. You owe me.” She points at me.
If anything is guaranteed to make my heckles rise, it is someone pointing at me. “I owe you absolutely nothing Denise. Your daughter is not my responsibility.” I resist the urge to add thank God.
I took a step back from Simone a couple of years ago, after becoming exhausted from trying to get on with her. I got sick of her whining possessiveness of Rob whenever we were all together. She wouldn’t even allow him to sit with me. It became easier to leave them to it. I guess we didn’t stand a chance as stepmother and stepdaughter, not with her mother dripping poison into every orifice.
“She’s your husband’s responsibility though.” She spits the word husband out, like a fishbone. “And I don’t care if you have to put your posh house on the market. As long as my daughter gets what she is entitled to.”
“You’ve always hated me, haven’t you? I can’t believe you’ve turned up like this. Rob’s not even cold on the slab yet.” I’m going to have to make her leave. I’ve no control over my temper right now. I’ll end up thumping her and to assault someone else less than two hours before I’m due at the police station, wouldn’t be a wise move.
“I want what my daughter is owed Fiona.” Her usually ruddy face is pinched white. “It’s disgraceful how you and that selfish sod of an ex of mine have treated us. You will not get away with it, you know.”
“I’d like you to leave. Now.” I turn towards the closed lounge door where I can hear Simone and Jack laughing together. They get on well – it’s me she doesn’t get on with. “Simone - your mum is leaving. Come on, please. Now.”
“What about our money? I mean it. I’m not letting this go.”
Every line and crease is visible on her face. She’s only a few years older than me, but looks more late than early forties. Time has not been kind to her. “When I find Rob’s will and life insurance, if either of them even exist, I’ll let you know if she’s entitled to anything. But let me get past the funeral first if you don’t mind.”
She points at the lounge door this time. “She has got a name. And I want to know about the money now, not after the funeral.”
“Tough.” I reach past her and open the door. I need to get ready for this police interview. I want her gone.
She steps towards me. “You stole my life you know. This,” she sweeps her arm in a circular motion as her eyes scan the hallway. “This should have all been ours.”
“Out. Now.”
Simone emerges from the lounge. She looks just like Rob. Long, wiry limbs, pointed features and the same slant to her eyes. I can’t bear to look at her.
“Why do we have to go Mum? I want to see Jack. He’s my brother.”
“Half-brother.” The words leave me before I plan to say them.
“You’re such a bitch,” Denise snaps.
“I hate you,” Simone says as she passes me. “You should be dead, not my dad.”
“Simone, get in the car. She’s not worth getting upset with.” She points her key fob towards the door. Her car is parked across my driveway. I watch as Simone stamps through the open door toward it and notice there is no nearside wing mirror. It has been snapped off. Not only that, there is some considerable damage around the headlight. It’s dented right in.
“Before you go Denise, I want to know why you were sending texts to my husband on the day he died?”
“Who do you think you are, the Gestapo?” She laughs and folds her arms. I once read about body language. Folding arms is defensive. “I was tex
ting him because he wasn’t fulfilling his obligations as a father.”
“Did you see him on Monday morning?”
“I don’t answer to you. I’ve already given a statement to the police.”
“So what happened to your car?”
Her gaze follows mine. “I had a bump.” Her tone suddenly softens. “A while ago. I haven’t been able to afford to get it fixed. It’s hard, you know, bringing a child up on your own.” A smirk crosses her face. “You’re about to find that out for yourself.”
“Just get lost, will you? And don’t turn up like this, at my home again.”
“I’ve got every right…”
“Look, I’ve got to get ready to go out. I’ll be in touch when I’ve got something to tell you. After my husband’s funeral.”
I don’t catch her reply as I turn away. I don’t want to hear any more. Shit – I need to get a photo of her car before she drives off. I shoot upstairs to find my phone. By the time I’ve found it and got to the window, she’s already gone. I’ll certainly mention the damage when I go into the station. If that doesn’t take the focus off me, nothing will.
* * *
Everyone harbours a darkness of some sort within them.
Some can suppress it.
I couldn’t.
Chapter 30
The solicitor, not dissimilar in looks to my dad, stands from behind the desk and shakes my hand. “Fiona Matherson? I’m Alan Wright. It’s nice to meet you.”
I’m not going to return the sentiment as to meet a solicitor, in this sort of situation, is far from nice. I can’t believe I’m back in this wretched interview room for the fourth time in less than a week.
“Have a seat.” He gestures to a chair as though it’s his office or something. “DI Green would like us to get started within the hour, but we’ve got plenty of time to discuss everything.”
“Has she told you anything else? About their evidence, I mean?”
“We need to get this paperwork signed first. In order that I can act for you. Without that, I get told very little.” He slides a sheet of paper towards me.
“How will I pay for your services?”
He peers at me, as though silently assessing my socio-economic status. “Because this is a criminal matter, my costs can be partially covered on a sliding scale, depending on your income by Legal Aid.”
I shrivel under his gaze, knowing how unkempt I am right now.
“Do you feel as though you may qualify for Legal Aid?”
I laugh, though it’s an empty sound. “Since my husband seems to have squandered all our savings somewhere, yes I think I might.”
He slides another form towards me. “This can be completed at home, as facts and figures will be required. try to get it back to me the next time I see you.”
I sign the first form, which he slips into his briefcase, and folds the other one into quarters. I notice again that my solicitor looks like Dad, apart from the beard. I feel it will help me to trust him. “It was my Dad who organised you to act for me. Do you know him?”
“Not on a personal level. He’s done some work at my house though. A pleasant man, as I remember. Anyway, we must get on with this. The clock’s ticking.” He glances at his watch whilst I consider he is probably being paid a tenner a minute.” We’ll start with the clear cut part,” he says. “The aggravated assault. You’ve been bailed for this.” He says aggravated assault like it’s an item on a shopping list.
I can’t meet his eyes. “Yes. I got drunk. I don’t normally drink. Not anymore. And I got myself into a situation with my husband’s ex. They’d been seeing each other again. Plus, I think she knows something about my money which has gone missing.”
“We’ll come back to the money side of things in a moment.” He clasps his hands together on the table. “Bryony Rose wants to proceed with pressing charges. So that charge will probably end up in court. Were there any witnesses?”
“Some of her neighbours overheard us arguing and pulled me off her.” I’m surprised I remember that moment so clearly, the mess I was in.
“That’s pretty straightforward then. But from the little I know of the situation from your father, the strain you have been under may go in your favour. We can argue diminished responsibility. However, the court will take a dim view of you visiting her house.”
“I know.”
“What happened whilst you were there?”
“We argued. I pushed her into a wall. Then I smashed a bottle and threatened her with it.” I stare at the graffiti-etched table. Let me out is scratched into where my hands rest. I’m glad it’s not as hot in here as it was last week. Nor do I feel as sick. I ate some fruit on my drive over. I’ve got to start looking after myself. “How did you threaten her with it?”
“I held it towards her throat.” I keep my gaze cast down and lower my voice. This isn’t one of my finer moments. “What will I get?”
“I take it you’ll plead guilty? Especially with there being witnesses?”
“I can’t really do anything else, can I?”
He shakes his head. “Have you been in trouble before?”
“A bit of scrapping when I was young. I was drunk then too. I’ve had a problem with it. Drink, I mean.”
He writes something on his notepad. “A lot will depend on the magistrate when we get to court. I think it will be sent to magistrates. However, if you end up having to account for the other charges, we could be looking at crown.”
The enormity of what I’m facing creeps over me like a fever. Crown court. The promises I made to myself that I’m going to be the best mother possible for Jack, and put what I can right, have turned to dust. “Will I get sent to prison?” My voice is smaller now. It’s the first time I’ve seriously contemplated it, since getting arrested two days ago.
“You could. However, if it’s the assault charge, and you show remorse, which you evidently feel, they’ll be more lenient with you.”
“I’m thinking of starting Antabuse tablets to combat the drink addiction, once and for all. AA hasn’t worked.”
“That will go in your favour.” He writes something again. “The best-case scenario will be a suspended sentence. They might make alcohol rehabilitation part of the conditions. There could be some victim awareness and community service as well.”
“It’s better than going to prison. Now that my husband’s dead, I’m a single mum.”
“I know, and that too will be in your favour. Like I mentioned, I took some information from your dad when I spoke to him the other day.” He slaps his pen on top of his notepad. “Right, that’s that. They probably won’t say too much about the assault today. You’ve already been interviewed and charged. Though, you should have been in touch with me to attend that interview with you.”
“I know.” We both glance towards the door of the interview room in response to an altercation going on in the custody suite.
“Get the fuck off me, you fucking pervert,” a male voice yells. There’s a load of banging and further raised voices. God, I can’t believe I’m in this place. I glance around the putrid green walls and once again, long to turn the clock back. Just one week. Things could be so different.
Alan clears his throat. “Anyway, we are where we are. If you get charged with the other matter, all the charges will probably get brought and dealt with together.”
We are where we are. He makes it sound as though we are in it together. I pick at the fragments of polish on a mis-shaped fingernail. I look a right state at the moment. It feels as though there is no point in anything anymore. There wasn’t that much point before either. Rob never noticed me anyway. How could I ever compete with Bryony Rose?
“I understand from your dad that you don’t have an alibi for the morning your husband died? Last Monday at ten thirty?”
As he says last Monday out loud, I can hardly believe that nearly a week has passed. “That’s right. I haven’t. I was just at home, ironing. I always do it on a Monday.”
“Is there anyone who knows this is your normal routine, even if they can’t vouch for that day?”
“No, not really. I’ve only got one real friend on the street. I only really know the neighbours to say hello to. I prefer to keep myself to myself.”
“OK. At this stage, I’m unsure what evidence they have on you in relation to your husband’s death. I guess we will get the full picture during the interview.”
“DI Green was accusing me of having taken my Jeep into a garage in Ilkley. It was at eleven o’clock that morning, to replace a tyre. Apparently the mechanic took my details for the service invoice. But is wasn’t me who gave them.”
Alan frowns. “I see. Do you think someone could be setting you up?”
“I’ve absolutely no idea. All I know is my Jeep was parked up outside my house and I was busy at home.”
“Do you have any CCTV at home, or a dashcam perhaps?”
I shake my head. Rob, who always liked gadgets, had been on about getting both.
“What about your neighbours? If we can prove your car was outside your home at the times in question, you’ve nothing to answer.”
“I doubt it.”
“Well, it’s worth asking them. You never know. We’ll see exactly what evidence the police have got when they come in. Until we know that, you are at liberty to make no comment responses, if they are making accusations without evidence, particularly if you cannot defend them.”
“Won’t that go against me, saying no comment?” I feel calm, despite the circumstances. “I thought I could only say that without a solicitor.” I should be a nervous wreck. I still feel anaesthetised.
“Not at all. It’s better than blurting something which you later regret. These police interviews can be highly pressured. Of course, if you want to discuss a question prior to answering, you can request time to talk to me alone. The police will have to pause the tape and leave the room.”
Hit and Run Page 16
