Hit and Run

by Maria Frankland

  “Can you remember what your husband was wearing this morning?” DI Green asks.

  My mind drifts back. “His cycling stuff.”

  I can’t remember the colour he was wearing. I took little notice. He’s got stacks of golfing and cycling gear, though I’ve always told him he looks sexier in the cycling gear. At least, I used to. We’ve barely given each other a compliment in the last couple of months. Which would tie in with him being in contact with Bryony.

  “Did he say where he was heading?”

  “My son thought maybe Skipton. But to my knowledge, he sets off and goes wherever he ends up.”

  “So quite a fit man then? And normally safe and capable on a bike?”

  “Yes, always. Listen - before we go any further with this, I want to make sure it’s him.”

  “Like we said, we’re…”

  “If he’s dead, I want to see him. I won’t believe it until I do.”

  “Very well.” DI Green sips from her mug and nudges her colleague. “We will wait until your friend has finished on the phone. Make sure your son is taken care of first. How old is he?”

  “Seven. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to tell him.” I drop my head into my hands.

  Christina walks back towards us. “One of Jack’s friend’s parents was in the office when the school secretary answered.” She places her hand over the mouthpiece of the mobile phone. “Anyway, the mum has offered to take him to their house. Give him some tea. Is that OK with you?”

  “Whose mum?”

  “Someone called Sam.”

  I nod. “I know her address. I’ve dropped Sam off before when he’s been here. Tell her thanks.” I can’t believe I’m even capable of making decisions and holding a conversation. Not with all this going on.

  She walks away again, completes the call, then comes to stand next to me.

  “I’m off to make sure it’s him. Rob, I mean.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?” She squints in the bright sunshine. However, her expression says she wants to do anything but come with me.

  “No. This is something I should do on my own.”

  She squeezes my arm. “Drop me a text when you get back. I’ll come over. You shouldn’t be on your own tonight. I’ll bring over something to eat.”

  “Thanks.”

  “We’ll drive you there.” DI Green offers.

  “I’ll drive myself. I’ll be OK.”

  “You probably shouldn’t. You’ve had a huge shock.” Christina says, letting her hand rest on my shoulder. “Let them drive you.”

  I don’t tell them this, but I want to look at the crash scene for myself first. Try to make sense of everything. So far, I’m holding up well. The old me would probably be drunk by now. I seem to have gone into some sort of autopilot, and I don’t know whether or not that is a good thing. Deep down, however, I know that drinking is the last thing I will be doing.

  “She’s right, you know,” says DI Green. “You’ve had a terrible shock.”

  “I’d rather drive,” I reply. “Besides, I need to collect my son on the way back. Where shall I meet you?” We could be arranging a meeting at a café, the way I’m talking. Not the identification of my husband’s dead body.

  “He’s at the hospital mortuary.” She’s all matter-of-fact. The wateriness has disappeared from her eyes, now that I’ve got myself together. I suppose this is all in a day’s work for her. “We’re waiting to hear from the Coroner but it’s almost certain that a forensic post-mortem will be necessary. Once your husband has been formally identified and the post-mortem has taken place, he can be moved to a chapel of rest.”

  “That’s if it’s him.” Christina’s words are full of hope.

  I can’t believe that we’re talking coroners and post-mortems. Why couldn’t he just be injured? Why does he have to be dead? “I’ll get changed and I’ll set off,” I say to the police, then turn to Christina. “I’ll text when I know.”

  “Are you sure you can do this, alone?”

  “I’ll be fine.” My voice exudes a strength I’m not feeling.

  “We’ll meet you at the hospital reception,” DI Green says. “Then we’ve got a few more questions to ask you, if that’s alright?”

  * * *

  The bang wasn’t as loud as expected.

  There was something,

  but more like a bump in the road.

  I got a bigger jolt from the stone I hit as I left him there.

  A plan executed like clockwork.

  Nearly.

  Chapter 7

  I slide into my Jeep. Thoughts of the day Rob bought it returning to haunt me. Well, I say he bought it. It was out of our savings, which mostly comprised of what remained of my inheritance. The new car was to celebrate getting my driving licence back after a three year driving ban. I had been three times over the limit.

  I blink back tears as I reverse from the drive and make my way out of our cul-de-sac. All the neighbours, apart from Christina, probably think I’m off to collect Jack from school. I’m surprisingly calm as I leave the residential area and pull onto the country road. The air conditioning is blasting onto my face, freezing the tears I didn’t realise I was crying.

  The radio station is tuned into Classic FM, probably from when Rob picked Jack up on Saturday. When life was normal. I imagine that this is how my life is about to become demarcated. Before and after. Rob and post Rob. Normality and well – I don’t know yet.

  I imagine my husband cycling this route. Toned calves and biceps glistening in the sunlight, head down, legs pumping. I overtake a cyclist, taken aback at his similarity from the back to Rob. After I’ve passed, I feel compelled to check in my mirror that it’s not him. I’ve heard before that when someone dies, you see them everywhere.

  I surprise myself at my ease of driving, especially on this road, after what’s happened. I should be more anxious. But I’m numb. Void. Like I’m not even here. But it’s an easier way to feel than what it could be.

  Rob always felt safe when out cycling. Said he could handle anything. I was never the same on the odd time I went out on my bike with him. I felt out of control going down a hill, and as though I was going to die from lack of oxygen going up one. So cycling became something he did without me. Same with golf. I would rather watch paint dry. It was like that with most things, eventually. We hardly did anything together. We barely even ate together.

  The air freshener swings from side to side as I bring the car to a halt at the end of a line of cars. I’ve arrived here in record time and can’t even recall my journey. There’s a sign ahead saying road closed and a snaking queue of vehicles turning around in the narrow road. As they turn in the opposite direction towards me, and the queue becomes shorter, I edge closer to the sign. Before long, I’m right in front of it. I get out of the car, poised to walk to the spot where whatever has happened, has happened. I need to see it.

  “You can’t come through here love.” An officer springs from his patrol car that’s blocking the road after the sign. It’s so sunny that I didn’t notice the revolving blue lights. But I see them now, reflecting on his face as he reaches me. “There’s a crime scene back there.”

  “A crime scene?” I stare at him. “What’s actually happened?”

  “A fatal road traffic accident earlier today. This road will be closed for a while longer, I’m afraid. The crash investigation team are still doing what they need to.”

  “Wasn’t it just an accident?” I ask. I feel sick. I realise I’ve not eaten anything since the toast, just after Mum and Jack left this morning. If I’m sick, it will just be bile. I swallow hard.

  “That’s what they’re trying to establish.” Sweat rolls down the side of his head. “But for now, you’ll have to find another way through.”

  “I need to see what’s happened.”

  He gives me a strange look. “You can’t. I’m not letting anyone through. I’m not allowed.”

  “But I’m his wife.”

 
; “Whose wife?”

  “The man who has died. Rob. The cyclist. I need to see what has happened.”

  “I’m really sorry. You shouldn’t be here. I can’t let you through.”

  He steps back from me, so I break into a run. He shouts after me. I turn, expecting him giving chase but he doesn’t. He’s tilting the radio on his shoulder towards his face. I’ll probably be intercepted when I get there, but at least I’ll get a glimpse of the scene. I get to the sharp bend and stop, now able to see a hive of activity further up the road, through the gaps in the bushes. If I go any further, I will definitely be caught and frogmarched back to the cordon.

  There are people all over, in white suits, measuring things, taking photographs, writing things down. There’s no sign of Rob’s bike.

  There’s not too much damage to the dry stone wall from what I can see, from the distance I’m at, and I can’t see any skid marks in the road from where I am. Of course, I will come back and take a closer look. Maybe lay some flowers. Apart from a low hum of voices, all is quiet. I close my eyes, allowing the sunshine onto my face and the sound of birdsong to wash over me. It could be just another day.

  * * *

  The scene keeps replaying.

  I’ll never forget the sight of him flying through the air.

  I imagine the crumpled body as bone and flesh connected with earth.

  Chapter 8

  By the time I leave the hospital, it is what I used to call wine o’clock. I’m tempted to have a drink, and no one would blame me if I did. It’s not as if I have to answer to Rob anymore, is it? I hate myself for thinking this. However, I know drink won’t do me any favours, so I’m going to try other things to get through this. I just haven’t worked out what yet.

  The mortuary staff have stamped my parking ticket, so I don’t have to pay. DI Green got someone to make me another sweet tea whilst they asked more questions. They didn’t ask anything out of the ordinary, just routine stuff. But the patrol officer was right. It is being investigated as a crime. There were apparently no skid marks in the road, just a wheel dent where the car ran into a large stone. They’re saying that whoever hit Rob did not even try to stop afterwards.

  It’s the second time I have seen a dead body. The first was Grandma, ten years ago. I was the only one who went to see her. It helped me accept it. I don’t know what I feel after seeing Rob. I only glanced at him. A sheet was pulled up to his neck. I looked at his face and said, “yes, that’s him.” He apparently died quickly. They haven’t worked out the exact cause of death yet, but think it was damage to his brain stem. The forensic post-mortem will confirm that, and whether he had taken anything that might have caused an accident. After seeing me, they were speaking to the farmer that was there when he died.

  I couldn’t even cry when I saw Rob’s body. In fact, I have only cried this afternoon. That might have been more to do with Mum’s indifference. And then Christina being nice to me. I guess, in time, the lot will come tumbling out. But I’ve Jack to break the news to first. I’ve got to stay strong for him.

  I tug my phone from the glove box and search through my messages for Sam’s mum’s number. She texted me a couple of months ago about yet another birthday party. Jack’s got a ten times better social life than I have. He seems to go to a different party every week. I haven’t saved her number – she’s not exactly what I’d call a friend, but at least she gives me the time of day, not like the other cliques of mothers at the school gates. They used to stare and whisper when I’d walked up to collect Jack, a little worse for wear. Since I’ve sobered up, they still eye me with the same suspicion. Pious hypocrites if you ask me. I bet they all have their own wine o’clock routine.

  The call connects immediately. “Is that Sam’s mum?” I don’t even know her name.

  “Speaking. Hi Fiona.”

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “I’ve got your number saved.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m all over the place right now. You must remind me of your name. I can’t keep calling you Sam’s mum.” Here I go again, having a normal conversation. Even though I’ve just identified my husband’s body. People will think I’m heartless.

  “It’s Lynne. Don’t worry. Is everything OK?”

  “Not really.” I steel myself to say the words out loud. I guess I’m going to have to get used to telling people. “It’s Jack’s dad – my husband. He’s…” Out of the corner of my eye, I notice DI Green and PC Robinson, as they drive out of the police parking bay, towards the exit barrier. They’re laughing. How can they laugh after what they’ve just dealt with?

  “He’s what?”

  “He’s been in an accident. On his bike this morning.”

  “The one on Denton Road? Oh, my goodness! I’ve just heard something on the local news. Please tell me it wasn’t your husband!”

  “I’ve just identified his body.”

  The line is quiet. What can she possibly say? Heat springs to the back of my eyes as I imagine her face – etched with shock and sympathy. Maybe the other mums at the school gates will acknowledge me now. Or perhaps they will treat me even more like a leper. As if the death of one’s husband is something that can be transmitted.

  “Hello? Are you still there?”

  “Fiona. I don’t know what to say. Do you want us to keep hold of Jack tonight? He can borrow some of Sam’s pyjamas. I’ll wash his clothes ready for school tomorrow. You must be distraught.”

  “I should collect him. He needs to hear what’s happened from me.” I watch as people park and leave their cars, or return to the hospital car park, some deep in conversation, some glued to their phones. All around me, life continues. I wonder if I’ll ever feel normal again.

  “I can make sure Jack finds nothing out. They haven’t named your husband yet, have they?”

  “No, but it’s only a matter of time. Like I said, I’ve just formally identified him, so they’ll release his name soon. Plus, they’ll be wanting eye witnesses to come forward.”

  “You should look after yourself Fiona. Let me help you with Jack. It’s the least I can do.”

  I’m beat. I haven’t got the energy to insist on collecting him. At least I can wait until tomorrow before having to impart what’s happened. He’s seven years old – it’s not as though he is going to watch the news, or read a paper and find out for himself.

  “OK, thank you. I’ll leave him with you. If you’re really sure?”

  “Of course I am. I’m glad to do something useful. Let me know if you’d like me to collect him tomorrow as well. Sam loves having Jack here.”

  “No, it’s fine.” I am aware of the possessive edge to my voice. “I must tell him what’s happened to his daddy tomorrow. At least you looking after Jack gives me chance to try and make sense of what’s happened myself first.”

  “Are you going to be alright Fiona? Have you got someone there with you?”

  “My neighbour is coming over.” I’m lying. I’ve already decided that I need to be on my own this evening. We all have our own way of dealing with things, and this is mine.

  “If there’s anything I can do, all you have to do is ask. I mean that.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  The standard line when someone has died. If there’s anything I can do… It’s a sentence that I’m probably going to get used to hearing.

  I take the long way home, pointing the Jeep toward Denton Road, which has reopened. There’s hardly any sign of anything having occurred. It’s as though Rob’s life didn’t count for anything. Here one minute, gone the next.

  I pull up and step out into the balmy evening air, which smells of muck spreading and summer meadows. There are a few stones on the ground from the dry stone wall. Apart from that – nothing. I glance over the wall where I saw a police officer earlier, taking measurements. There’s a dent in the grass, man-sized. I realise, with a shudder, that this is where Rob ended up. There should be rows of flowers here, marking his life. Yet hardly anyone
knows just yet, that he’s gone. I climb over the wall, stumbling towards the flattened grass. A closer look reveals dried blood. I fall to my knees beside where he died. I am comforted because it was quick. That’s probably why PC Robinson told me. To comfort me.

  * * *

  Not a soul passed as I set off again.

  I thought I saw the top of someone’s head in the next field.

  But I will have got away too quickly for them to have anything on me.

  A gamble which seems to have paid off.

  Chapter 9

  Arriving back home is inevitable. Though the company of anyone else is the last thing I want, the prospect of an empty house is still uninviting. I absently notice the hanging baskets are showing the fruits of my recent labour. They need watering but, in the scheme of things, that seems unimportant.

  I usually love being in our beautiful home – my sanctuary and favourite place in the world. It’s hard to believe that this time yesterday, Mum, Rob and Jack filled it. Rob wasn’t impressed that Mum was here. I had sensed this by his tone whilst they were in the garden. I was busy in the kitchen, so couldn’t make out what they were saying. Jack had been over the moon at her arrival and the toy cars she had brought him. Despite the undercurrents, yesterday, it was a family home. Now, I don’t know what it is. An empty shell.

  There’s a tap on the window of the Jeep. I let the window down.

  “Was it him?” Christine bends towards me, shaking her mane of chestnut hair behind one shoulder. I’ve always been envious of her hair. Mine is past my shoulders now, but thin and brittle, not glossy and thick, like hers. I notice she’s holding a foil-wrapped plate.

  I nod, momentarily closing my eyes against her expression.

  “I’m so sorry.” She reaches in and touches my shoulder with her perfectly manicured hand, balancing the plate in the other. I’d meant to get my nails done as a sobering up treat but had never got around to it. Somewhere deep inside, I have never felt as though I deserve treats such as manicures. I rarely spend money on myself. Just Jack and the house.