Hit and Run

by Maria Frankland

  “Why, Rob? Why did you tell me so many lies? Why did it have to end like this?” Tears are burning my eyes. I need a drink. No, a voice suddenly says inside me. Then I remember the Antabuse in my handbag. I must take it later. At least I might get some decent sleep. I’ll need it with the day I’ve got in front of me tomorrow.

  “I’ll take good care of Jack, I promise. Please watch over him – and me. I know things had gone wrong, but I was still your wife.” My voice is rising, so I lower it to a whisper. I reach for his hand. It’s cold and waxy, which is to be expected, but it still comes as a surprise.

  “Rob.” I feel stupid now, but the words tumble from me. “I’ve looked everywhere for your life insurance, and your will. Turner has disappeared and it feels as though someone is out to get me. There was someone in our house last night Rob and someone has just tried to run me off the road. If there is such a thing as an afterlife – if you can somehow hear me, please help us. Rob, I’ve got our son to look after.” Tears are streaming down my face. “I’ve got our son.” I really hope Emma isn’t listening.

  This is how desperate I am. I’m standing in a chapel of rest, asking my dead husband to pull some strings from beyond the grave. Rob was savvier than to not leave a will or any life insurance.

  It’s impossible to think that Rob would be so taken in by some charlatan, who had claimed to be able to multiply his investment ten fold. I thought he was more astute than to trust someone with nearly half a million pounds. Even if they went back a long way. But now, even more than the money, I am worried about my own safety.

  I stare at him as though trying to drink in every detail. “I’m going to leave you now Rob. I loved you so, so much, you know.” I touch his hand again. “Perhaps I’ll see you again one day.”

  * * *

  Nobody goes to a funeral unless they absolutely must.

  And today I must.

  Chapter 42

  Christina moves the curtain aside. “The car’s here. Are you ready for this Fiona?”

  “I haven’t got a lot of choice, have I?” I smooth down my ill-fitting dress. I’ve lost so much weight since I bought this last year, that it’s hanging from me. It’s a beautiful midsummer day, probably too warm for the black tights I’m wearing, but I can’t wear my black court shoes without tights. For the first time since Rob died, I’ve blow-dried and straightened my hair, and I’ve even got makeup on. I feel better for it.

  Christina jangles her car keys. “I’ll drive us. Try to relax.”

  I grab my bag and follow her from the house.

  “Don’t forget to lock up,” she says, as I walk away from the front door without doing so. God, there’s some maniac on the prowl, and I’m forgetting to lock up my house.

  The driver of the hearse doffs his hat as I walk towards it. I stare at the D-A-D arrangement. Jack asked about coming, but thankfully agreed that it would probably be too much. When I dropped him at school, his teacher promised to keep a close eye on him. A funeral is no place for an eight-year-old. Today will be hard enough for me to get through, without having to focus on Jack as well. Plus, I do not know who is going to turn up.

  “We’re going to follow you there,” I say to the driver as we turn towards Christina’s car.

  “Right you are.”

  “How come you didn’t get a family car to follow?” Christina glances at me as we set off, following at a snail’s pace. The other undertaker is walking in front of the hearse. At the end of the street, he stops, turns to face it, and bows his head. Several neighbours are out, watching our small procession. I hope some of them will come along. If only so I can say thank you for the bits and pieces that have been left on the doorstep over the last couple of weeks.

  “What would have been the point in getting a family car?” I reply. “Rob was an only child. Jack’s at school, and I wouldn’t have wanted to share a car with Denise and Simone.” We schedule the journey to pass their house so they can follow in their own car from there. I got a text message from Denise to say they were both coming, and she expected to speak to me at the wake about the financial situation. Like hell.

  “I’d have travelled with you.”

  “Would you really? To be honest Christina, I thought you weren’t speaking to me. I’ve not seen you since they arrested me.”

  “I thought you had enough on your plate without me turning up every five minutes. I decided I should leave you be.”

  “Turning up once would have been good. To start with, you were great.”

  “I’m sorry.” She’s quiet for a moment. “Have they let everything drop against you? I’ve not heard anything else in the news.”

  “I don’t know what’s happening.” We pass the local bike shop. The staff are out and bow their heads as our cortege passes them. Rob was probably one of their best customers. He was always in there, buying accessories or having his bike serviced or realigned. “I don’t want to think about all that today.”

  “Where are your parents?” She flicks her hair behind her shoulder. “Are they meeting you there?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from them. And my phone’s broken.”

  “I wondered why you weren’t replying to my texts. See, I tried to keep in touch with you.”

  “I’ll get a new one sorted this weekend.”

  “What’s up with your old one? Can’t it be fixed?”

  I don’t answer her. Hopefully, she’ll get the message that I absolutely don’t want to be having a trivial conversation about a mobile phone whilst following my husband’s coffin to the crematorium.

  I feel even more disoriented than normal this morning, probably in part with what I’m about to face, and it might also be the effects of my new medication. At least I hope the tablets have removed all temptation to have a drink at the wake. I fiddle with the bracelet Rob bought me whilst I was expecting Jack.

  People pause and even cross themselves in the street as we turn and embark on the final stretch of our journey. It’s a similar day, weather-wise, to the one on which he died. I feel the weather is taunting me somehow. It should be stormy and grey, with driving rain.

  The hearse turns into the crematorium driveway towards the throng of darkly dressed people awaiting its arrival. At the other side of the building, there’s a group of mourners emerging into the back courtyard. It’s one in, one out here – a conveyer belt of dead bodies and their mourners.

  I scan faces for Dad as we pull up beside the crowd. No sign of him, or Mum. Anxiety rises in me like bile. Surely, he wouldn’t leave me to face this without him. Simone’s face crumples as she sees the coffin. I don’t particularly like her, but the sight of her dad in a hearse is something no ten-year-old should have to witness. Denise draws her towards her.

  Bloody Bryony’s here. I must stay away from her. It’s part of my bail conditions. If anyone should have to leave the funeral, it’ll have to be her. DI Green and PC Robinson are standing close to her. What the hell are they doing here? It’s not as though they knew Rob.

  I think back to the crime dramas I’ve watched, where police attend funerals to watch how people interact with one another. This sometimes leads them to whodunnit. Who’d have ever thought that I would end up in the middle of my own crime drama? I wonder if Turner is here somewhere, perhaps they will collar him. I can’t see him turning up, somehow.

  Christina’s voice slices into my thoughts. “I’ll drop you off here Fiona and find somewhere to park.”

  I don’t want to be dropped off. I frantically look around for someone I can stand with. Where is bloody Dad? As I open the door, Lynne steps out of the crowd and wraps an arm around my shoulders. I’m grateful for it. Some of my neighbours are here too – I’ll get through this. People are rooting for me.

  They slide the coffin from the hearse onto a trolley. I stare at the lid, recalling it stood against the wall in the chapel of rest yesterday. I can visualise Rob’s face, now encased within the coffin. I wish I could have one more look. I bet everyone else
here is curious too. What a macabre thought.

  “Do we have any pallbearers? Mrs Matherson?”

  My head jerks up in response to the undertaker’s voice. “Erm, I’d not even thought about that.” I don’t think Joseph mentioned it in our meeting on Wednesday. Wednesday seems such a long time ago. Life is so strange. The days seem long, yet in retrospect, everything seems to be happening so fast.

  People are staring at me. I can’t breathe. I need to get in and out of there. If only I could hit that golf club and get wasted. I shouldn’t have started those Antabuse.

  “I’ll be one of the pallbearers. I’m Rob’s friend.” A man, who I don’t recognise, steps towards the coffin.

  Another man comes forward too. “Rob and I played a few rounds.” He beckons towards someone else. “Tom, we’re about the same height.”

  Three more men come forward and arrange themselves according to height as best they can to carry Rob in. I’m thankful to them. There’s no sign of anyone from Rob’s work, which is disgraceful, to say he worked there since his university days. No matter what he’s been investigated for, surely he had friends? Maybe Phillip Bracken has forbidden them to attend.

  As the pallbearers move along to the strains of the Coldplay song, we follow, me first, with Lynne linking my arm, through the foyer of the crematorium. The song has nearly finished by the time everyone is in.

  The D-A-D display has been placed at the foot of the coffin and the beautiful spray of roses, lilies and carnations is sat on the top. I absently wonder what happens to the flowers afterwards. Am I expected to take them home, or do they get binned? There’s nearly three hundred quid’s worth there.

  “I’m sorry we’re late love. Traffic.” I want to cry at the sound of my dad’s voice as he slides into the pew beside me. Lynne, on my inside, shuffles up.

  “Where’s Mum?”

  “She’s here. Just gone to find a loo. How are you doing?” He pulls me towards him, and I feel myself let go. I’m comforted by the scratch of his beard, the scent of his aftershave. He’ll catch me if need be.

  “I’m OK. Numb. Sad. But I’m glad you’ve come.”

  “Of course we have. We wouldn’t let you go through this on your own.”

  I notice an emphasis on the word we. I hate this sudden feeling of unity he has found with my mother. Especially as I know if she’d had her way, neither of them would be here.

  Lynne squeezes my arm as Joseph Alexander steps up to the lectern. After addressing us all, he delivers a wonderfully put together eulogy, which he’s written in record time. It’s got the lot, Rob’s childhood, his relationship with Jack, his friends, the ability he had both academically and in sport. Our marriage has been made to sound more robust than it turns out it was, but I didn’t want to contradict it. Joseph sent the eulogy to me yesterday for approval, and it made me cry, despite everything.

  I look over my shoulder in time to see Mum creep in and take a seat at the back. I wonder why she’s staying there. As I bring my gaze forwards again, I notice Bryony crying her eyes out, being comforted by the person sat next to her. Bitch. How dare she come to my husband’s funeral and act like the grieving widow. She can get lost if she thinks she’s coming to the wake.

  Simone’s sobs can be heard echoing through the room as well. She’s sat with her mother in the front row on the other side from me. Denise is consoling her. She must sense me watching them, for she looks straight at me with an expression that’s a cross between fury and pity. I’m close enough to notice that Denise’s eyes are dry. I stare at the photo on the screen of Rob and Jack. It was one of my favourites, though I don’t think I will be able to display it at home again after this.

  We say the Lord’s Prayer, or at least everyone else does, then it’s the committal. Crematorium services are always over in record time. They allocate only twenty minutes. This is the part I’ve been dreading. The piano introduction of Someone Like You reverberates around the chapel. Everyone’s eyes are on me again. I guess that as his wife, I’m expected to leave the room first. Dad links arms with me as I get to my feet. He steers me towards the coffin. If it were up to me, I would just run out of here.

  “Bye Rob,” I whisper at the coffin. I will not wait until the curtain draws around. I will not look on as Simone sobs over it. I will not watch as Bryony does whatever she will do. Hopefully, she will keep a grip on herself. He was married to me, not her. “I need some air.” I turn to Dad.

  “Come on then love.”

  Lynne follows us out. I look for Mum, but there’s no sign. The ground outside is partitioned into squares for the flowers to be brought out. The previous funeral, only twenty minutes before, has dispersed, leaving their flowers behind. I stare sadly at the letters spelling out G-R-A-N and M-U-M. The woman probably lived to a ripe old age. I try to imagine how I will feel when my Mum dies. Right now, I would not feel like shelling out three hundred and fifty pounds on flowered letters for her – in fact, I would not want to spend three pounds fifty. Still, she’s here, which I’m surprised about. Even if Dad forced her to get in the car.

  “Did Mum take much persuasion to come?” I can’t help myself. I have to know.

  His reply is drowned out by the sudden swarm emerging from the crematorium. One by one, people who I’ve never met hug me and shake my hand. They tell me how sorry they are for my loss and say, if there’s anything I can do… I nod repeatedly and thank them, noticing how Bryony, Simone and Denise keep their distance. But Bryony barely takes her eyes off me.

  “Can I come in the car with you Dad? We’re only going to the golf club.”

  “There’s no room in the back.” Mum sidles up to Dad’s side. The back seat is full of our cases and other stuff.”

  “So you’re staying then?” Despite my mixed feelings towards Mum, I want them to come back after the wake. I don’t want to be on my own tonight. Especially with the intruder from two nights ago. Thankfully, there was no sign of anyone last night.

  “I can move your cases into my car if you like,” Lynne offers. “Then you can all go together.”

  “No. Don’t worry. It’s too much hassle.” Mum waves her hand. “We’ll see you at the club Fiona.”

  I start to respond, but DI Green and PC Robinson look as though they’re waiting to speak to me.

  “How are you doing Fiona?” DI Green asks.

  “You know.”

  “We’ll be in touch tomorrow. We need to talk.”

  “What about? Have you located Turner yet?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Can’t you give me some idea of what you want to talk about? I’ll be worrying if you don’t tell me.”

  “It’s possibly positive, depending on which way you look at it. Now that we’ve spoken to Turner’s wife, and got some information on his car, we’ve had some CCTV sightings of one like it in Ilkley. Two of them were on the day Robert was killed.”

  “Really? I told you it was him.”

  “The same car has been checked in the vicinity on the night you had an intruder and the next morning when someone was trying to run into you as well.”

  “Well at least I know who it probably was.”

  “We’ll talk more tomorrow,” PC Robinson says. Even though he is dressed head to foot in black, he stands out from everyone else here. It’s obvious he’s with the police. “It was a good turnout, wasn’t it?”

  “A nice service too,” DI Green adds. Her too. They’ve got an air about them that shows they’re watching, rather than taking part.

  Good turnout. Nice Service. Stock funeral talk. James bloody Turner. He has ruined my life. And now it seems he is out to finish me off, or at the very least, to to everything in his power to frighten me as much as possible.

  I want to know who Mum is on the phone to. She’s walked to the edge of the car park and seems to be having a heated conversation. Dad’s watching too. He and I look at each other. We are probably thinking the same thing. Is it him?

  The funeral guests, mou
rners, or whatever you call them, are disbanding into the car park. All probably ready for a stiff drink. I don’t know whether to envy or pity them. Joseph comes out and presses an envelope into my hand. “The collection,” he says. “You held up really well. Robert’s wedding ring is in there too.”

  “Thank you.” I clutch the envelope towards my chest. “The eulogy was perfect. You got everything in that we talked about.”

  “You’re welcome. We’ll be in touch when your husband’s ashes are ready for collection.” He makes it sound like the dry cleaning.

  * * *

  I had no respect for Robert Matherson,

  so what will I pay instead?

  Chapter 43

  Lynne chatters away on the short journey, like we’re going on a shopping trip. “Your mum’s not what I expected,” she says. “Doesn’t she look good for her age?”

  Mum looks great, far younger than she is. I probably look older than her at the moment. I’d hate to be the person she is inside though. There’s absolutely no love in her. As far as looks are concerned, I would hate to have eyes as cold as hers or the mouth that’s permanently set in a firm, hard line. If it wasn’t for Dad, I don’t think I would have anything to do with her.

  Before Lynne had started talking about Mum, I had asked her to take her time getting to the wake. This was to avoid having to greet everyone, so we have gone the long way around.

  When we arrive, there’s already a huddle of smokers at the entrance of the golf club. “Thanks for the lift Lynne.” As we pull up I see Christina’s car parked at the back too. I noticed she integrated herself amongst our other neighbours as soon as we’d arrived at the crematorium.