by Tim ORourke
Chapter Eleven
I spent the rest of the afternoon curled up on the sofa reading. It would have been nice to have some Adele playing in the background, but I was still unable to find my iPod anywhere and my mini iPad was too big for the dock in the corner of my room. I tried to clear my mind of the accident, my father, and Michael.
About 4 p. m. , I received a call from my friend, Lisa. She didn't live in town, but some miles away in Penzance, which I was glad of today. Breathlessly she told me she had read in a local paper that Officer Sydney Hart had been involved in a car accident which had resulted in four deaths.
"Why didn't you call to let me know what had happened?" Lisa asked, sounding confused, hurt and worried on the other end of the phone. "I've been trying to get you on your mobile, but the thing is switched off. "
"I'm okay," I tried to assure her.
"Are you hurt?" she gasped, ignoring my attempts to calm her.
"I'm okay," I told her again. "Just a small cut on my forehead and that's about it.
"You poor thing," she sighed. "I'm going to come over. "
"No, don't," I put in. "I'm okay, honestly. "
"I'll bring some wine and some. . . " she started.
"No," I said again. "I just want to be on my own for a few days. I need to figure some things out. "
"Well, if you're sure?" Lisa said, sounding hurt again.
"I'm sure," I said softly. "I'm still a bit shook up about what happened. It's nothing personal, Lisa. Just give me a few days and I'll come over to Penzance for the day. "
"Well, you know where I am if you need me or want to chat about anything," she said.
"I know," I whispered, wondering if I was doing the right thing by shutting people out. I knew what would happen. Lisa would come over. We'd sink a couple of bottles of wine, I would get all upset about what had happened, then probably tell her everything. I couldn't' risk that - not yet - probably not ever. The secret of what my father had done - how he had covered for me - would have to stay our secret forever - and Michael's. "I promise I'll call you, just give me a few days. "
"Okay," Lisa whispered, that note of concern still in her voice.
I hung up the phone. I got up from off the sofa and started to pace the room. Lisa had said that she'd read about the accident in the local newspaper. How had the accident been reported? I wondered. How much had been written? Was it a big story, or just a few lines on page four or five? Needing to know what had been reported about the accident I pulled on my trainers, threw on a coat, and left my apartment.
With the collar up about my throat, and head bent forward, I made my way through the small town towards the local supermarket. The streets were quiet and what few people did pass by, I wondered if they were looking at me. Most of them knew me to be Sergeant Richard Hart's daughter. Most knew me as the pisshead who had come good with the help and support of her loving father. Who could blame the young girl for getting into trouble, what, with her mother running off with a man half her age and all? I knew that's what they thought. I had heard the gossip and the rumours. I was the problem child who had been saved by my loving father. I had just been putting those things behind me - proving my worth in town by becoming a cop, when the accident happens. And now that it was in the local paper, new rumours, new lines of gossip would be created - true or untrue. What the people of the town didn't know, they simply made up. That was the problem of living in such a small place - everyone knew you and your business.
I reached the supermarket, and as quickly as I could, I took a copy of the local newspaper, placed the money on the counter, and left the store without as much as a 'Hello' or 'Goodbye'. Feeling like a criminal, and with the paper tucked under my arm, I walked as quickly as I could back to my apartment. It was now dusk, the sky turning dark overhead, making the waves that rushed the shore look more like ripples of black tar than seawater.
I turned into my street and with my head still hung low, and the collar of my coat brushing against my cheeks, I hurried towards my apartment. I was no more than a few yards away, and fishing my keys from my pocket, when I looked up to discover someone bent over against my front door. Stopping dead in my tracks, I watched from a safe distance as whoever it was opened the letterbox and peered into my apartment. In the dim light of dusk, it was hard to tell who the figure was or even if they were male or female. With their back to me, all I could see for sure was that they were dressed all in black.
