The Darkness Within

by Cathy Glass

  A car came towards him from the opposite direction. It was going slowly, the driver proceeding with caution, just as one should on this narrow slippery road. It came to a halt and he went over. The woman driving peered at him through her window and then lowered it a little.

  ‘Have you broken down?’ she asked.

  ‘No. I’ve been involved in an accident. Just now,’ he said anxiously, nodding down the road to where it had happened.

  ‘Are you OK?’.

  ‘A bit shaken,’ he admitted. ‘He was driving like a maniac.’

  ‘Not that small Fiat?’

  ‘It might have been.’

  ‘It overtook me back there. Blaring its horn, flashing its lights. I’m not surprised it’s been involved in an accident. He nearly killed me.’

  The lorry driver began to feel a little better knowing that someone else had been subjected to the driver’s dangerous manoeuvres. ‘I’ve no idea where the car is now,’ he said, frowning. ‘There’s some damage to my lorry but I can’t see the car. I’m going to fetch my torch from the cab and take a look.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s driven off?’ the woman suggested, opening her car door.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said. But he doubted it, not from the strength of the impact. And if he wasn’t mistaken he thought he might have caught sight of the car in his wing mirror just after it had hit him, spiralling towards the edge of the road. He couldn’t be sure though, since it had all happened so quickly and in the dark and the rain.

  Without being asked, the woman got out and offered to help him look. He thanked her and she switched on her hazard warning lights, pulled up the hood on her coat, and went with him to his lorry. He took his torch and anorak from the cab and slipped on his jacket. With the torch held in front he led the way past the lorry in the direction the car had been going. Further up the road they came across a pile of broken glass and a piece of chrome almost certainly from a car’s bumper. But there was no sign of the car. He swept the torch around, scanning as far as the beam fell, left, right and in front. A car came from the direction of the hypermarket, slowed and pulled over. Lowering his window, the driver asked. ‘What’s up? You OK, mate?’

  ‘There’s been an accident,’ he said. ‘Did you pass a small car just now? Possibly a Fiat?’

  ‘No,’ the man said, and glanced at the woman seated beside him. She shook her head.

  ‘I think it could be in the ditch,’ the lorry driver said.

  The man immediately got out and joined in their search, while his wife stayed in the car. The torch beam shone brightly into the dark, sweeping through the drizzle to the bare trees and grassy banks which flanked the ditches either side of the road. The three of them moved forward in silence, watching and listening, the air quiet, save for the sound of their shoes on the tarmac and the rain dripping from the trees. Then, further up the road, the beam fell on the outline of something more solid, something partially raised and sticking out above the ditch.

  ‘Over there!’ the lorry driver cried, and the three of them ran to the spot.

  ‘Jesus!’ he gasped.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ the man said.

  ‘I’ll call an ambulance,’ the woman said, taking out her phone.

  The car was completely upside down in the ditch, fitting in so exactly it was almost as if it had been made for it. The doors and windows were compacted against the sides of the bank; only the underneath of the car and the bottom of the doors were visible. It was as though the car had been turned upside down and then dropped in directly from above to fit in so precisely, the lorry driver thought. And in a way it had, for the impact had flipped it over and sent it flying to land squarely in the ditch.

  ‘There’s no way we can get into that,’ the man said, and the lorry driver nodded.

  As the woman spoke on her phone, giving details of their location to the emergency services, the man from the car began knocking on the metal of the upturned car and calling, ‘Anyone in there? Can you hear me?’

  But there was no reply.

  ‘I suppose he could have been thrown clear,’ the lorry driver said.

  ‘It’s possible,’ the man from the car agreed. Together they began walking slowly up the road, peering where the torch beam shone – on either side of the road, into the ditches and up the bank, but there was no sign of anybody, dead or alive.

  Other vehicles began joining the slow-moving queues forming in both directions from the hypermarket. Some of the drivers wound down their windows and asked what had happened, and, their curiosity satisfied, continued around the lorry and parked cars, driving over the glass which crackled like ice. The two men, having found nothing, returned to the woman, who said the emergency services were on their way. The men began tapping on the metal of the upturned car, calling out, ‘Anyone in there? Help is coming.’ Just for a moment they thought they might have heard something, possibly a groan, but then another car passed and sirens sounded in the distance, after which they heard nothing further from the wrecked vehicle.

  Police, ambulance, and fire tenders arrived within minutes of each other and the officers immediately took control. The police closed off the road in both directions and rerouted the traffic. Portable spot lamps flooded the scene and the fire crew quickly established that there was one male in the vehicle, then set about cutting him free. Sparks flew as they worked and the man and the woman who’d stopped to help told the officers what they knew, which wasn’t a lot as neither had actually witnessed the accident. However, the woman did tell them about the driver who’d overtaken her on a blind bend, and the police officer included it in his notes. Once she and the man had given their statements and contact details, they were allowed to leave.

  The lorry driver meanwhile was in a patrol car giving his statement. The police had already completed an initial safety check of his lorry and had found nothing untoward. They’d also looked at his driving licence and insurance, breathalyzed him, and checked his mobile phone, all of which they said was now standard practice at the scene of a road traffic accident. Everything had been in order and the last call he’d made had been before he’d left the hypermarket. As he finished making his statement, they saw the fire crew finally cut the driver free from the now backless car. They laid him on the waiting stretcher where the paramedics took over. An oxygen mask was placed over his mouth and nose and a line ran from his arm to a bottle held up by one of the paramedics. As they prepared to load the stretcher into the ambulance, the lorry driver turned to the officer beside him and asked, ‘Do you think you could find out how he is?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he replied helpfully.

  The driver watched through the windscreen as the officer went over and spoke to two of his colleagues. It had stopped raining now but a damp mist hung over the scene. They talked and nodded and at one point smiled. The ambulance sped away, its siren wailing and light flashing.

  ‘He’s got a broken leg and arm and a head injury,’ the officer said on his return. ‘They’ll know more once he’s at the hospital, but it seems he’s lucky to be alive.’ He paused, then added, ‘He’s known to us. He’s already lost his licence and there’s alcohol in his blood.’

  The lorry driver let out a sigh of relief. He was very sorry that the accident had happened at all, but it could have been a lot worse. Supposing there’d been a seriously injured woman or child in the car – or even someone killed? He’d never have forgiven himself.

  Chapter Four

  Rosie had almost stopped shaking now. She’d had to force herself to appear calm. Shane would be back at any moment – indeed she had expected him sooner – and he hated to see her crying and trembling. She looked silly, pathetic, he always said, like a scared-shitless rabbit. It reignited his anger if he saw her in a state.

  ‘Surely you’re not scared of me!’ he would say, and she’d tell him she wasn’t, trying to keep her voice steady to belie how frightened she truly was. Of course she wasn’t scared of him. She loved him. While this was true some o
f the time, those moments were now few and far between. Even when she wasn’t in fear of him she was on her guard, walking on eggshells, constantly making sure she didn’t upset or disappoint him. It was hard work keeping him happy and the strain was taking its toll, so much so that she wasn’t sure what was worse: being attacked or anticipating it. Life was so confusing now, especially when he apologized and told her how much he loved her and that it would never happen again.

  When did her life become this difficult? She knew the answer. A week after he moved in.

  Rosie had wiped the blood from her face and cleaned the vomit from the floor, scrubbing the carpet with disinfectant until the smell of sick had gone. She often vomited after he attacked her; she thought it was from shock and the pain of being punched in the stomach. She never used to be sick – not before. She’d been very healthy and happy back then, before he’d moved in. But now even thinking about his anger and what he might do to her caused her stomach to contract and the bile to rise to her throat.

  Shane liked everything to be back to normal with no trace of ‘their fight’ when he returned, so she’d also changed out of her blood- and vomit-splashed clothes. They were in the washing machine. The duvet cover would go in once the first load had finished, and she’d already put a fresh cover on the bed. The only sign of their fight now was her swollen lip. She’d managed to stop the bleeding by pressing a wet tissue on the cut, and make-up had covered the redness and bruising around her mouth and on her cheek, but it couldn’t hide the swelling. In fact, if anything, it accentuated it.

  Had she really deserved the beating? she wondered as she examined her face again in the bathroom mirror. Was it really always her fault? Did she provoke him beyond reason as he accused her of doing? She honestly didn’t know. So much of her life had changed in the last six months that she barely recognized herself any more. Work colleagues and her mother had noticed the change in her too and had commented. Her mother, aware of Shane’s past, had never liked him and refused to have him in her house, saying he was a ‘bad lot’ and that a leopard never changed its spots. Her friends, even her best friend Eva at work, had never met Shane because she no longer went out socially. Shane didn’t like it. Rosie wished she could have confided in Eva or her mother. They might have been able to offer a fresh perspective and make some suggestions on how to help, but she knew that was out of the question. Shane had told her plenty of times that if she went blubbering to anyone he’d have to kill her, and she believed him.

  The doorbell rang, making her start. Shane? Why didn’t he use his key? Had he lost it? Quickly checking her appearance in the mirror again she glanced around the living room, making sure everything was back to normal, then gingerly went into the hall and opened the front door. Two uniformed police officers stood side by side.

  ‘Rosie Jones?’ the woman police officer asked.

  Rosie nodded, a sinking feeling hitting the pit of her stomach. Shane had promised to keep out of trouble.

  ‘I’m PC Linda Simpson and this is my colleague PC Tim Marshall. I believe you own a car with the registration number BA06 FYS?’

  Rosie’s mouth went dry and her legs began to tremble. ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘I’m afraid there’s been an accident. May we come in?’

  Rosie stared at them, not fully understanding. She’d been expecting Shane and now this? ‘What sort of accident?’

  ‘I think it would be better if we came in to explain,’ Linda said.

  Rosie moved aside to let them in.

  ‘In here?’ the policewoman asked, nodding to the living room.

  ‘Yes,’ Rosie said, and followed them in.

  She sat on the sofa and Linda sat beside her, while Tim took the single armchair: Shane’s chair. She saw them glancing around. Were they looking for something? Her lip began throbbing.

  ‘Your car was involved in an accident earlier tonight along Bells Lane,’ Linda said, turning slightly so she could look at Rosie. ‘A person called Shane Smith was driving. Do you know him?’

  Rosie nodded. ‘He’s my boyfriend. He lives here.’

  ‘I’m sorry, he’s injured and is being treated at St Mary’s Hospital,’ Linda continued. ‘He has a nasty head injury but it isn’t thought to be life-threatening, so he’s been quite lucky considering the state of the car. You’ll be able to find out how he is later.’ Rosie nodded. ‘You knew Shane was driving your car? You gave him permission to do so?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rosie said, her voice unsteady. ‘He has a key.’

  Linda touched her arm, concerned. ‘Are you OK, love? You’re very pale. Can I get you a drink of water?’

  ‘No, I’ll be all right.’

  ‘He’s been well looked after,’ Linda reassured her. ‘But I’m afraid the car’s a write-off. He seems to have escaped with some broken bones and a head injury, but it could have been a lot worse. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?’

  ‘No,’ Rosie said. PC Tim Marshall took out his notepad and pen.

  ‘How long have you known Shane?’

  ‘Not long. He went to my school for a while.’ Rosie tried to keep her voice steady. ‘But I hadn’t seen him for years.’

  ‘And how long has he been living here?’

  ‘Four months.’

  ‘So you hadn’t been in touch with him before you became a couple and moved in together?’

  ‘No,’ Rosie confirmed. ‘I met him by chance and he had nowhere to live.’

  ‘Where was he before he came here, do you know?’ Linda looked at her carefully.

  ‘He was in prison, for something he didn’t do,’ Rosie said, and saw the look the police exchanged. Her cheeks burned.

  ‘So he came straight here then after his release?’ Linda asked.

  ‘He went to his mother’s first but she didn’t want him there.’

  Linda nodded. ‘Did he tell you why he was in prison?’

  ‘No. He didn’t like talking about it. He wanted to put it behind him and make a fresh start.’

  ‘It was for GBH – grievous bodily harm. Were you aware he’d lost his driving licence for drink-driving offences? Shane wasn’t allowed to drive.’

  ‘Oh,’ Rosie said, genuinely shocked. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘To allow someone to drive your vehicle if they are banned is a criminal offence,’ Tim added.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know,’ Rosie said again. ‘I put him on my insurance,’ she added, hoping this would make it better.

  ‘Driving while banned invalidates any insurance I’m afraid,’ Linda said. ‘They won’t be paying for your car.’

  Rosie looked at her. ‘Will they keep Shane in hospital tonight?’ she asked.

  ‘For quite a few nights,’ Tim said, glancing up from writing. ‘He had to be cut from the wreckage.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Rosie said politely.

  She saw them exchange another pointed glance and realized it wasn’t the reaction they would have expected, but she was a bit overwhelmed at present and struggling to take everything in.

  ‘That’s a nasty cut on your lip,’ Linda said.

  ‘I fell,’ Rosie said, her hand going nervously to her mouth.

  ‘Tonight?’ Linda asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  Linda held her gaze. ‘Look love, I’ll be honest with you. Shane broke the terms of his probation by not informing his probation officer where he was living. Added to which, he was driving while banned, over the legal limit of alcohol in his blood and in a manner likely to cause harm to other road users. As soon as he’s out of hospital he’ll be returning to prison.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Rosie said. ‘I didn’t realize.’

  ‘No. I take it he didn’t involve you in his criminal activities? He hasn’t been arriving home with expensive items, for example? Items he can’t provide receipts for?’

  ‘No, not as far as I know. You can have a look around if you like.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Tim was already on his feet.

  ‘So Shane won’t be h
ome tonight?’ she asked, still trying to come to terms with it.

  ‘No. You can phone the hospital now if you want and see how he is.’

  ‘I will,’ Rosie said. ‘After you’ve had a look around.’

  She watched as Linda joined Tim and they went first into the bedroom. The flat was only small and Rosie could hear them moving across the floorboards, opening and closing the wardrobe doors, and then the drawers. There was nothing to see in there apart from the wet patch on the carpet smelling of disinfectant. She’d no idea what they were searching for and frankly she didn’t care. Shane wasn’t coming home tonight and she was starting to feel relieved. They came out of the bedroom and searched the bathroom and then had to pass through the living room to enter the kitchen. She heard them open and close the cupboard doors.

  ‘You’re very good doing your washing on a Saturday evening,’ Linda called.

  ‘Yes,’ she said quietly.

  She heard the stainless-steel bin ping as one of the officers opened and closed it. They would have seen the bloody tissues she’d used to wipe her bleeding nose and mouth. And very likely the duvet cover in the laundry basket waiting to go in the wash. They came out and Linda returned to sit beside her while Tim remained standing.

  ‘Is there anything you want to tell us about Shane?’ Linda asked, encouraging confidentiality.

  Rosie shook her head. Linda looked at her for a moment longer then sighed.

  ‘OK, love. I’m going to give you the number for the Domestic Violence Unit anyway,’ she said, taking a card from her pocket and handing it to her. ‘You can just phone for a chat if you wish. You don’t have to give your name.’

  Rosie gave a small nod but didn’t look at the card.

  ‘We’ll leave you to it then. Phone us if you need to. We can see ourselves out.’

  Rosie stayed where she was as they left. She was still struggling to come to terms with what had happened and wondering what she should do for the best. Phone her mother? Phone the hospital? Speak to the Domestic Violence Unit, or change the locks? Possibly all of them, but in which order? Suddenly her life had changed in a way she could never have foreseen, and while she was sorry Shane had had an accident it had opened up an escape route. A huge weight lifted from her shoulders. There were decisions to be made and opportunities to be taken, and a light now shone at the end of what had been a very dark tunnel. She needed to galvanize herself into action. The washing machine bleeped as it finished its cycle and she stood to unload it. Once she’d sorted out the washing she’d start packing Shane’s belongings. And although she wasn’t a religious person, she said a silent thank-you to someone out there, grateful that she had been given this chance.