The Accident: A heart-stopping thriller with shocking secrets that will keep you hooked

by Dawn Goodwin

  ‘The flowers could be a misconstrued gesture, sure, but the gifts? It’s a lot of stuff for a distant relative to send.’

  I sat forward with my head in my hands. ‘I don’t want to talk about it anymore.’

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

  I lifted my head. ‘I have to talk to him sometime, don’t I?’

  ‘You don’t need me to tell you that.’

  ‘What do I say?’ I beseeched to Scarlet, to anyone.

  ‘Once you start, I think you’ll find the words will come on their own.’

  ‘I’m not ready.’

  ‘You are, actually. You know this isn’t healthy anymore.’

  I looked down at my wringing hands and forced myself to stop. Deep in my gut, a flicker of determination flared, then extinguished just as quickly. I chewed hard on my lip, drawing metallic blood into my mouth.

  ‘No, I’m not ready yet. Not today. I don’t want to ruin her birthday.’ I turned to look into Scarlet’s open face.

  She replied with a glint in her eye, ‘Then we should get you dressed for a party.’

  Felicity

  Felicity knew as soon as she heard the doorbell who it would be. She opened it with a look of triumph on her face, but that evaporated as soon as she saw the broken man in front of her. She stepped out onto the front step and pulled the door to behind her.

  ‘What’s happened? Did you tell her?’

  ‘No, it’s Grace’s birthday. She’s in there baking a fucking cake and I feel like I’m going mad. She’s ordered presents!’

  ‘Look, Ian’s here,’ she whispered. ‘He’s upstairs working, so we can’t—’

  ‘Felicity, was that the door?’ a deep voice called from behind her.

  Moments later Ian appeared behind them. ‘Shit, Tom, you okay?’

  ‘Yeah, no, I… er…’

  ‘Look. Come in. I’ve got a cold beer with your name on it.’ He pushed Felicity aside and pulled Tom into the house. ‘Come on, let’s be having it…’

  Felicity watched the two men in her life disappear into the house, leaving her alone on her doorstep, her foot tapping in annoyance. How had the four of them got to this?

  *

  ‘Do I look okay?’

  ‘Of course you do! You look amazing. I wish my legs looked that long.’ Veronica slipped her arm reassuringly through Felicity’s and smiled. ‘Relax, they’re just boys and if they’re awful, we still have each other.’

  Felicity felt the nerves diminish somewhat in the face of Veronica’s calm. She envied her the control she seemed to have over herself.

  They were standing outside a bar about to meet up with two guys for a date. Felicity had orchestrated it so that she met one of them, Tom, on campus outside her lecture hall and he had suggested a drink. Nervous at the idea of a date with such a good-looking guy, she had suggested they each bring a friend and make a night of it. Felicity immediately asked Veronica, even though they hadn’t known each other that long. She figured Veronica would be good for keeping the conversation going, but not gorgeous enough to steal the limelight.

  Veronica’s job was to big Felicity up and highlight her obvious assets. They had talked strategy and Veronica was to laugh at Felicity’s jokes, keep the subject matter away from sport (which Felicity knew nothing about) and slouch next to her in order to amplify Felicity’s statuesque frame. Veronica was briefed and ready to go, but Felicity’s nerves were threatening to get the better of her. She really liked this guy and needed this to go well. She had been watching him from a distance over the past few weeks around campus and she could sense he was a keeper already. Now she just had to put her plan in motion and actually catch him.

  They found Tom and his friend chatting over pints at a table small enough that their legs were cramped and touching. Felicity positioned herself opposite Tom so that she could lean seductively towards him; Veronica squeezed in next to him as he introduced his friend, Ian, a non-descript man with messy hair, stained shirt and filthy trainers. Felicity felt a brief flutter of sympathy for Veronica – next to Ian, Tom looked immaculate with his clean fingernails and neat shirt. Ian was apparently studying a business degree, but Felicity was more interested in Tom’s career prospects as a doctor and paid little attention to what Ian was wittering on about.

  The conversation stuttered along for a while, with Veronica doing her bit to promote Felicity as subtly as possible, but Felicity could see early into the evening that Tom seemed drawn to Veronica. Felicity started leaning across the table more, pushing her arms under her chest for emphasis, but the more they talked, the more Tom and Veronica found commonalities. So much for sticking to her script. Soon they were chatting like old friends, while Ian and Felicity were mere spectators. After a few pints of courage, Ian started a charm offensive on Felicity, but she was too distracted by what was playing out in front of her to discourage him.

  How dare Veronica steal her date from under her very eyes? She started to pick at what Veronica was saying, contradicting her and steering the conversation onto topics she knew Veronica knew very little about. But Tom seemed to find her naivety charming. Felicity then tried talking over her and drowning her out, but his eyes were only for Veronica, who seemed oblivious that Felicity was upset.

  As the evening was drawing to a close, Felicity made a desperate last-ditch attempt to get him to notice her by snogging Ian in the hope of making Tom jealous, but Tom merely laughed and suggested he escort Veronica home as Ian was clearly needed elsewhere. Veronica had looked at Felicity with delight, as though Felicity had given her permission, and wandered off into the night with Tom.

  *

  Their fates were sealed that night. Felicity had tackled Veronica about the failed date the next day, but she merely said that once she saw Felicity with Ian, she figured Felicity had made her choice. Of course, she had apologised, and since Felicity had quickly come to lean on Veronica as her only friend at that godforsaken university, she had forgiven her, but logged it mentally.

  The bond between Tom and Veronica became unbreakable very early on and they grew to be inseparable. Felicity’s only option was to stay with Ian so that she could at least shadow them, making sure she was never too far away in the hope that one day Tom would notice her. But then Tom asked Veronica to marry him and Felicity felt the first seed of bitterness take root. Ian followed soon after with his marriage proposal, spurred on by the happiness of his best friend, and Felicity had no reason not to accept: he was nice enough, he had a promising, if not boring, future ahead of him, and he worshipped Felicity.

  Over the years, Tom and Veronica had grown in strength and status while her and Ian had stagnated. Ian’s first attempt at running a consultancy business had failed and Tom had had to bail them out. Tom was still a silent partner in Ian’s business now, which was in trouble again. When the house next door to them had come on the market, Tom had even lent them the money for the deposit, which Felicity took to be serendipitous. They were both pregnant with the girls at the time and she had sold it to Ian as needing to be close to Veronica so that they could support each other and raise their children together.

  And now look where they all were; quite the dysfunctional family.

  She could hear the two men talking in low tones in the kitchen, their voices and the sound of chinking beer bottles filtering along the corridor to where she still stood on the front step. Her eyes caught on the car keys lying inert on the hallway table and she reached in and grabbed them. With determination, she walked over to where Veronica’s car was parked in the driveway, almost taunting her, and casually carved a deep line into the shiny paintwork along the driver’s door. The squeal as the sharp key dug in sent icy darts through her ears and deliciously set her clamped teeth on edge. Then she turned and casually retraced her steps, closing the front door firmly behind her.

  Veronica

  New evening, new bar; this one more for the trendy, after-work types in loosened ties and power suits. Laughter, interspersed with unrecognisab
le music and clinking glass, gave the place a carnival feel, as though the worries of the entire global economy had been checked at the door. I expected the bar inside to be full, but it wasn’t. Most people were standing outside on the pavement, smoking cigarettes in the cool night air, so there were a few empty tables inside for us to choose from. Scarlet and I picked one in the far corner of the room, facing out as always to give us a good view of the action as we settled in for some people-watching.

  The barman had looked up as we walked in, then returned to wiping glasses. Once settled, I left my bag and jacket on the table with Scarlet to watch over them and approached him, these days unfazed at ordering drinks and hanging out in such places, compared to when I’d first met Scarlet. He was young enough to make me feel old, but old enough to be working in a place like this. Clearly channelling his inner Bieber, his longish blonde hair was styled into a quiff, tattoos snaking around his biceps underneath a grey T-shirt and loose-fitting jeans. He looked me over and asked, ‘What you drinking?’

  ‘Can I get a bottle of Pinot Grigio please?’

  ‘Sure thing,’ and he wandered off. I looked back at Scarlet, who waved enthusiastically like a kid at sport’s day who suddenly spots their mum in the crowd. I rolled my eyes at her, then turned back as the barman placed a cold bottle of wine in front of me. ‘Can I run a tab on this?’

  ‘Sure. How many glasses?’

  ‘Two, thanks.’

  I handed over my card and he passed me a tab number in return.

  Ten minutes later and the people-watching was in full swing. Scarlet and I were immersed in our favourite bar game of concocting stories about the patrons around us. The wine was filling me with warmth and I felt almost delirious, all thoughts of birthday cakes, presents, flowers and handprints melting away. Tom’s pained expression still haunted me, like a black cloud over my sunshine, but getting my five a day from a bottle of wine would help that to fade eventually too.

  Scarlet leaned over. ‘For all intents and purposes, this is a celebration, right?’

  ‘It is indeed,’ I replied.

  ‘So I think we need something manlier than a Pinot. We’re playing it too tame here.’ She pushed the bottle to one side, clearly plotting something, and scanned the room. Her eyes stalked the barman as he went about his business. With a flourish, she announced, ‘Tequila!’

  I laughed, but felt a flicker of apprehension and my mind flashed to Beardy Man and the smell of tequila on his stale breath.

  ‘I can’t – not after the last time. Don’t think I could stomach it.’

  ‘Okay, vodka then. We have to toast this birthday properly! Go girl, go!’ She shoved me hard off my chair and I made my way back to the bar.

  The barman came right over and said, ‘More wine?’

  ‘No, we’re feeling a bit more dangerous than that. Two vodkas on the rocks, I think.’ He looked at me as though trying to work me out, then nodded and turned away. On a whim, I said, ‘Nice shirt,’ in a vague attempt at flirting. In actual fact, the T-shirt was nothing noteworthy – non-descript, with some surf company logo in silver writing that only someone in their twenties would recognise. I immediately felt daft saying it, but he politely acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod of the head.

  ‘I’ll bring them over,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks,’ I mumbled, feeling ridiculous, and returned to the table, my ankle twisting in my skyscraper heels. Collapsing into my chair, I rubbed my ankle. ‘Don’t let me lose any belongings this time – or my dinner,’ I said to Scarlet.

  ‘Can’t promise,’ she replied with a laugh as the barman approached with the drinks.

  ‘Quiet in here tonight – for now anyways,’ he said conversationally as he put the drinks down.

  ‘It is, which means you could join us for a drink,’ I said bravely, indicating a third empty stool at the table. I ignored Scarlet’s delightedly shocked expression and the voice in my head that asked what the hell I was playing at.

  He contemplated me for a second, then said with a smile, ‘Maybe later…’ and headed back to the bar. Halfway there, he looked back over his shoulder with a half-smile and my stomach turned over.

  Scarlet was attempting to look horrified, but there was glee there too and I laughed.

  ‘What’s got into you?’ she said.

  ‘The birthday spirit,’ I retorted, but sensed something shift in my brain as I raised my vodka glass and gulped it unceremoniously.

  ‘You’re scaring me… and I like it!’ she replied.

  I shifted in my seat and pulled my uncharacteristically short skirt down lower over my thighs, my ankle still throbbing. I hadn’t seen Tom again before I fled the house earlier. Instead, I had left a cowardly note in the kitchen to say I was heading out with Scarlet and not to wait up. To be honest, I was relieved he hadn’t returned. I had a feeling I wouldn’t like what he had to tell me. Not only did I not want to pursue our conversation and see his disappointment again, but in the back of my mind, hiding behind all the good intentions, I recognised that I had dressed as provocatively as I could tonight, given the limitations of my conservative wardrobe, because I knew he would object. The teenage rebellion was back and Scarlet was my wingman. He may question why Scarlet was my friend, but I didn’t.

  Whistling her affirmation, Scarlet had convinced me to add the killer heels that dated back to my uni days – shoes that Grace had uncovered one day when playing dress-up in my wardrobe and had immediately loved, as only a pair of purple suede platforms with tiny silver stars would appeal to a little girl. Looking down now, I liked that my top was pulling tight over my chest and my legs looked longer in the heels. Mild discomfort from a throbbing ankle was a small price to pay. Bizarrely, Beardy Man had boosted my confidence and given me a weird high I wanted to feel again, although in possibly less dangerous circumstances. Pity Tom wouldn’t get to see me like this. It would certainly shake him out of his sensible chinos.

  I could feel my quiet politeness and middle-class manners evaporating in a cloud of vodka fumes. I caught the barman’s eye and he smiled in my direction. I signalled for another round of shots.

  We sank the second vodka quickly, then got stuck into the wine again. I noticed the barman throwing casual looks our way as we chatted and laughed. The bar was starting to fill up properly as the later crowd came in post-dinner. Laughter and loud music pulsed from every corner. I can’t remember what Scarlet and I talked about, but whatever it was, it was superficial and shallow, just what I needed.

  Sometime later, I retrieved my bag from under the seat and excused myself to go to the toilet.

  ‘Wait, I need it too.’

  ‘We’ll lose our table though,’ I replied, looking at the vultures circling.

  ‘Just leave your jacket draped across the table with the wine bottle in full view and it’ll be fine,’ she said.

  I did as she said, then we weaved quickly through the bodies to the corridor leading to the cloakrooms.

  ‘You know, that barman followed you with his eyes the whole way,’ Scarlet teased as we pushed through the cloakroom door.

  ‘Don’t be daft. He’s probably thinking, She’s old enough to be my mother.’

  ‘And he’d be right!’

  We collapsed into giggles.

  I emerged from the loo a few minutes later to wash my hands in the sink. My eyes caught on the face in the mirror in front of me and for a split second I didn’t recognise myself. There was a hardness around my mouth that I hadn’t seen before and emptiness behind my eyes.

  Scarlet came up next to me, washed her hands and started reapplying her lipstick. I looked over at her and had a strange sensation of déjà vu, not in the sense that I felt like I had been there before, but in that I felt I knew her from somewhere else, but couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Something in her perfume or her facial expressions when she didn’t know I was looking at her.

  ‘What’s that perfume you’re wearing?’ I asked. ‘It smells really familiar to me, but I c
an’t quite place it.’

  ‘It’s Anais Anais. Why? Do you like it?’

  Then it hit me and I had to grip the sink as my legs wobbled under the weight of the realisation. That was the perfume Grace and Tom had bought me for Mother’s Day a few years ago. Tom had said that Grace had taken the process of choosing the right one so seriously that she had sniffed so many, she had given herself a headache, but she had made the perfect choice. And that’s who Scarlet suddenly reminded me of: Grace – but not ten-year-old Grace; rather the woman Grace would resemble in thirty years’ time. The eyes in particular and the way she brushed her auburn-red hair away from her face.

  Scarlet looked over at me and said, ‘That ankle still bothering you? You’ve gone all squiffy.’ Those doubts that Tom had tried to seed before bloomed suddenly, along with the thought, How much do you really know about her? Then it was gone as quickly as it had arrived and the familiar face I had grown to love was looking back at me once more.

  ‘Um, no, a bit of vodka vertigo,’ I said with a shake of my head. I needed to get a grip; the emotion of the day was clearly taking its toll. ‘Come on, let’s hope our table is still there.’

  *

  As we emerged back into the bar, a man had made himself comfortable on the spare stool.

  ‘Dammit, someone’s taken it!’ I moaned.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of him sharpish… unless he’s cute of course.’ She ducked around the table and sat down, but the predatory look that appeared on her face told me our new guest wasn’t going to be dismissed after all.

  I sat down next to her and saw that it was the barman in the seat, pint in hand and a smirk on his lips. I went to stash my bag under the chair in a bid to hide my smile and took a sneaky glance at my mobile to see if Tom had called; he hadn’t. I couldn’t tell if I was more hurt or relieved.

  ‘My shift is over,’ he said by way of explanation, then raised his glass in salute.