Target

by Simon Kernick

  She hadn't thought about Fallon much these past few weeks, having found the time only to obsess about her own problems. She hadn't even made his funeral the previous month, although she'd been invited to attend. But then, the previous night, she'd dreamt about him. It was one of those surreal dreams where nothing makes sense. They'd been backpacking together somewhere – it might have been Indonesia, a country she'd travelled around extensively many years ago, she wasn't entirely sure. But when she woke up that morning with another numbing hangover she'd experienced a sudden urge to pay her respects to a man who'd died because he'd been brave enough to become involved in someone else's problem. In the end, he hadn't saved Jenny Brakspear. In the end, he hadn't even saved himself. But Tina knew that Rob Fallon deserved her recognition, which was why she found out where he was buried and made the fifty-mile journey out here.

  She stood in the shadow of the church, waiting for the couple and their child to finish at the graveside, not wishing to intrude upon their grief. Or rather, if she was honest with herself, not wanting to get involved in a conversation.

  They weren't there long. Two minutes at most. There is, after all, only so long you can stand over a grave in the rain when you have a child with you.

  They turned and filed back along the path towards the gate. But as they came past, Tina caught the woman's eye, and the woman stopped. The hood on her raincoat was up, but Tina could see she was in her early thirties and pretty, although her face was red, and the eyes puffed up from earlier tears. Her daughter – a miniature version, no more than four years old, and wearing the same bright red raincoat – held her mother's hand tightly. She looked sad and confused. The man stood further back.

  'Excuse me,' said the woman uncertainly. 'Are you Tina Boyd?'

  Tina's photo had appeared enough times recently in the papers and on the news to make a denial pointless. 'Yes,' she answered, forcing a polite smile. 'I just came here to, er...' She trailed off, waving the cheap bouquet of petrol station flowers she was holding.

  'I'm Yvonne,' said the woman. 'I was Rob's wife. This is my daughter, Chloe.'

  Chloe looked down at the ground.

  'And this is my, er, partner, Nigel.'

  Nigel, who was tall and well built with the air of a public school rugby player, nodded, looking slightly embarrassed.

  'I'm pleased to meet you,' said Tina.

  There was an awkward silence. Neither of them, it seemed, knew how to continue the conversation.

  Finally, Tina realized that it was she who should break the silence. 'I only knew Rob for a short while,' she said, 'but I'm glad I did. He was a good man. He could have done nothing, but he chose to do the right thing.' She looked down at Chloe who was still staring at the ground. 'Your daddy was very brave,' she continued. 'You should be proud of him.' She turned away, feeling herself choking up.

  'Thank you,' said Yvonne. She started to say something else but stopped herself.

  Nigel put a protective arm round her shoulder, and the three of them continued down the path together.

  Tina watched them through the rain until they were out of the gate, then she turned and limped slowly up to the gravestone. As she laid her flowers down with the others, she sobbed silently in the growing gloom.

  But even as the tears ran down her face, she knew they weren't for Rob Fallon.

  They were for herself.