* * *
The flattened grass has sprung back,
and they have removed the accident sign.
The only evidence that anything ever happened is
the pile of flowers
at his final resting place.
Chapter 26
I slide my purse from my bag. “A double gin and tonic, please.” It’s the middle of the afternoon and the town centre pub is already half full of daytime drinkers. There are a few people with food, but most are people here to make the most of the happy hour prices. Happy hour lasts from three until six pm in here.
Over the last year, I’ve convinced myself that the smell of an alcoholic drink would repulse me. However, as I raise it to my lips, this is not the case. The liquid seems to infiltrate my being, and it feels like coming home. A warmth spreads through me and I’m immediately calmer. Within a minute, the glass is empty.
“You look like you needed that!” The young and exceptionally good-looking bar man smiles at me. “Can I get you another?”
“Well, with an offer of two-for-one measures, it would be rude not to.” I smile back and slide my glass towards him. Though what I have got to smile about, who knows? I feel almost normal, whatever that is, since I came in here. “Make that two,” I say. “I’m expecting my friend shortly.” For a moment, I feel sad. I wish I was expecting a friend. I could certainly use one right now. Instead, I’m pretending one is on their way just so I can buy two doubles without looking like a complete alcoholic, as Mum so nicely calls me.
I enjoy the familiar sound of fizz as I empty the bottles of tonic water into each of the double gins over the ice. I’ve never been one for all these fancy fruity gins. Straight London gin, that’s me. As I make my way over to a secluded table in the corner, the ice clinks against the glasses. I feel hazy after just one drink - it has been a year. I promise myself that I will order some food soon. I will be blotto if I don’t.
Now that I’ve got my phone back, I should let Dad know that they have let me out of the police station. He would expect me to go straight back home though. I can’t face home right now. The walls are closing in on me. Dad would be heartbroken if he knew where I was. Besides, he’ll be picking Jack up from school about now. I need some me time. I’ll eat. And then I’ll go home.
I make the next two drinks last longer. I’ve got plenty to mull over, although the effects of the gin quickly affect my ability to contemplate anything clearly.
I’m on bail for causing death by dangerous driving. As soon as I sober up, I’ll get some proper advice. I know I shouldn’t be in here, but I can’t take any more crap this week. If this is the only escape on offer, I’m having it. Tomorrow is another day.
There’s never any music in this pub, but I’ve always found it to be atmospheric. It’s a pleasant building and everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, gearing up towards Friday night, and the weekend. I expect most of them will spend it continuing to drink.
Not me though. I’m better than that now. As I raise the glass to my lips, I know I’m not, really. I’m on my third double, and I might as well have another one when I finish this. What’s that saying Grandma had, you might as well get hung for a sheep as for a lamb? The more I look around at the conversations and enjoyment occurring around me, the lonelier I feel.
I’ve got to find this James Turner. He’s got our money – and he’s ripping us off. I hope Rob had some proper paperwork drawn up for these investments. I wonder why the police aren’t getting on to this man. My signature has been forged at least twice, and there’s all that money that has gone missing from Bracken Furniture. The huge transfer has got his guilt written all over it. Why are they blaming me for everything?
I don’t feel able to walk to the bar again but fumble around with my phone and download the app to receive table service. I order another two doubles, this time vodka and coke, and a plate of chips to soak it all up.
By the time I’ve drained the last of my gin, my order has arrived.
“Just one plate of chips?” the barman asks. “Doesn’t your friend want some?”
“She’s just popped out,” I say. “She’ll order some when she gets back.”
“OK. Enjoy.”
I pick at the chips unenthusiastically. Drink has always stripped me of any desire to eat. And today, I’d rather drink. After the week I’ve had, I think even my AA sponsor would understand.
I recall DI Green asking me about being a recovering alcoholic. Bitch. And Bryony has evidently told her. Who the hell does she think she is? Clearly, she and Rob have had some in-depth conversations. She thinks she knows my husband better than I did. I bet she’s been telling him to leave me, that he’d be better off with her. If I know Rob correctly, he’ll have been having his cake and eating it. And not being at work, he’s hardly been at home lately either. I can’t imagine he would have found it easy to leave Jack, but he’s so financially motivated that he would have got beyond any guilt soon enough.
Maybe once Rob had completely fleeced me of every penny I had, he’d have left, and started again with Bryony. She might even be in on it all too. I wouldn’t put it past her.
As I take a huge swig of vodka, her face swims into my mind. That smug and knowing look on her perfect face. I imagine Rob being up close and personal with her and running his fingers through her perfect hair. Perfect figure, perfect clothes, perfect voice – I hate her. And she’s out to cause trouble. To make things worse than they already are. I bet she knows where I can find what’s his name, James Turner. She knew Rob when he was at university – with James Turner. She knows something and I’m going to get it out of her. When I’ve drunk my vodka. My thoughts are tumbling over one another now. I might have another one.
I find myself on Bryony’s street. The more I try to recall how I got there, the more muddled I feel. As I approach her gate, I’m surprised to find myself swigging from a near-empty bottle of wine that I don’t even remember buying. I’m going to know about it tomorrow. I’m not even sure if I can remember the way home from here. I might have to ring Dad. I might just have enough phone battery left. I fumble around in my bag. No, I can’t. He will kill me. I’m best sneaking in later. Like I’m twelve or something. A couple walking arm-in-arm past me are staring. Smug bastards.
“Yeah?” I shout. “What the hell are you looking at?”
They laugh and I resist the urge to wipe the smiles off their faces. Twenty-two-year-old Fiona is back, with full awful temper. I let myself through the same gate as the other day and towards the patio door at the back of the house. I hammer on it with my fist, noticing lit candles inside. I imagine Rob turning up here, tapping on this back door to be let in. The shape of Bryony moves behind the blind, then she slides the patio door across.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Her hair is piled in a bun on top of her head. She’s wearing skinny jeans, a flowing white blouse, and has nothing on her feet. “God, look at the bloody state of you.”
“You!” I know I’m slurring, but I don’t care. “I want a word.”
“I’ve got nothing to say Fiona. I think you should go home.”
“What have you been telling the police about me?” I point my finger at her.
“Just go home Fiona. I mean it.”
“Get fucking out here and face me. Now.” I don’t normally swear that much but anybody would in these circumstances.
She steps through the patio doors towards me. “If you don’t go now, I will ring them.”
“You’ll be in no fit state to ring anyone by the time I’ve finished with you.”
“Are you threatening me Fi…”
I grab her by the scruff of the neck and slam her against the wall; the force making her gasp. “I want to know what you know about James Turner.”
“Get your bloody hands off me.” She places her fingers over mine, bending them, probably trying to prise them from her neck. If I squeezed harder…
“Bloody hell. You reek. Have you peed yourself?”
I let her go. I stumble back as I raise the wine bottle to my lips. I can’t have done. I’m not that drunk. Am I?
“God, you have. You’re soaked. You dirty cow. You’re so drunk you’ve lost control of yourself. No wonder Rob wanted out.”
“What did you say?”
“You heard. He was here the day before he died.”
Her words have a slightly sobering effect. She turns from me and steps away, that awful self-assured expression on her face.
In that split second, I drain the wine bottle then hurl it to the floor. “I don’t care anymore if you were shagging my husband. But I do care about getting my money back. I want to know about James Turner.” I grab the broken bottleneck from the floor and lunge towards her.
“Get away from me. Put that down. Help me someone. Help!”
I push her against the house wall, holding the broken bottle towards her. “I’m getting done for causing a death.” I lift the glass closer to her neck. The edge is pressing into her skin. Just a little more pressure will pierce it. “I might as well add you to my list.”
“Please, put the bottle down. I’m begging you Fiona.”
“Then you’ll tell me what you know?”
Footsteps hammer behind me. I’m being dragged backwards and downwards. Suddenly, I’ve got several pairs of hands holding me to the ground.
“Get your fucking hands off me.” I writhe to get free, but they’re too strong.
“The police are on their way,” a male voice says. “Are you OK Bryony?” “We heard what was going on over the fence.”
“Yes.” Bryony’s hands press around her neck. “She didn’t cut my throat like she was threatening to. Thank God you came when you did.”
“Who is she?” One man releases his hold slightly and looks at me with disgust in his face, before averting his gaze towards Bryony. More people have appeared in the garden. All fight has drained out of me. I’m shaking on the ground and feel nauseous.
“She’s nobody.”
“So this nobody has just appeared in your garden and threatened you with a bottle? Why?”
“She’s married to that man who died in the hit and run on Monday. The one on Denton Road. She did it to him. And because she thinks I was carrying on with him, she’s here to do me in as well.”
“Get off me!” I try to sit up. My mouth is watering. My stomach lurches and bile burns the back of my throat. As I gurgle on the floor, the men let go of me. I hoist myself up and puke all over the grass.
“Dirty bitch,” one of them sneers.
“She’s pissed herself as well.” Bryony’s voice this time.
“Just you wait.” When I’ve done retching, I look at her. “I’ll be back, and next time…”
My voice is drowned by an approaching siren. “In here,” someone shouts as van doors bang and heavy boots thud up the drive. “I don’t think you’ll have much trouble taking her in. She’s in a right state.”
“Blimey. You don’t smell too good,” one officer says as he pulls me to my feet. I’m made to face the shed as they snap handcuffs on me.
* * *
I’ve never known nights to be as long.
Turning thoughts over and over.
Sometimes I regret what happened that morning.
But I can’t change anything now.
Chapter 27
I wake to the sound of banging doors and raised voices. I lift myself from the thin mattress and attempt to open my eyes.
The barren room swirls around me and I lean over the side of the bed, if I can call it that, to be sick into a metal bin which has been left there. I’ve spent all night in a stupor, periodically waking and retching. I lay back on the mattress, tears leaking from my eyes and down the side of my head. How could I have been so stupid?
Not only have I got myself wasted after an entire year of abstinence, I’ve allowed the cocktail of drink to turn me into a violent thug. I used to get into fights when I was younger, if anyone challenged me whilst I was drunk, but this… I’ve never threatened anyone with a bottle.
Rob is dead. I’m on bail for causing his death, and all my money has gone. I think of Jack and Dad and wonder if he has been told anything. Of course he will know. He would have phoned the station by now to see where I am. Why didn’t I just go home when they let me out?
I lean over again and retch once more. Nothing is coming up now. My throat burns and my head feels as though someone is hammering at it from the inside. I don’t think I have ever felt so ill. I’ve certainly never been as low as this.
I hope more sleep will permit some further escape, but closing my eyes makes things spin even more. I need some water. I haul myself to my feet and bang on the door.
There’s a beaker of water, a cup of something masquerading as tea, and some limp toast waiting for me on the table of the interview room when I’m called in.
“I must warn you,” I say to the policeman as he unwraps the tapes. “I’ve been throwing up all night. If this,” I point to the toast, “doesn’t stay down, is there a loo nearby I can get to quickly?”
He points at a bin. Charming.
“Look. I know I’ve done wrong, but you don’t need to treat me like an animal.”
“Let’s just get on with this, shall we?” He nods towards another man who enters the room. “I’m going to start the recording.” He waits for the beep. “I’m DI Thornton and this is my colleague…”
“DI Langton.” The other officer sits down and pulls a cap from the top of his pen.
“And we are here to interview…”
“Fiona Mary Matherson.”
“Could we have your date of birth and address, please?”
Here we go again. “7 Orchard Mews, Otley, Leeds. Date of birth 4th April 1985.”
“Thank you. Well, we would have preferred DI Green and PC Robinson to have interviewed you, as they have been dealing with you up to now, but they’re both on a day off.”
Lucky them. I fold my arms and look at them both. God knows what they must make of me, stinking of urine and vomit, having done what I’ve done last night. I would give anything to turn the clock back to yesterday, and certainly to a few days ago. How I would make sure things were different. I’ve been such an idiot.
DI Thornton runs his finger down a page in front of him. “We’ve been brought up to speed with your ongoing investigation, and though I’m sure it is relevant to the current allegations against you, we’re here now just to question you in relation to the allegation of aggravated assault against Bryony Rose.” He looks at me again.
I nod.
“You do not have to say anything when questioned, but anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”
I should do by now. I’ll be saying the police rights in my sleep. “Yes.”
“You’ve declined the right to legal representation, despite being advised to the contrary. Is that correct?”
“Yes.” I’m not risking slowing things down again like yesterday. Besides, what can a solicitor do for me today? It’s cut and dried. Bryony’s neighbours heard what was happening. There’s nothing I can do to get out of it. They won’t send me to prison. Surely they know I’ve got a son to look after?
Then, as if reading my mind, he says. “You’ve got a son, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“We’ve had a call from your father this morning. He knows you’re here.”
He’ll be so disappointed in me. But I can’t even contemplate that right now. “Do you know whether my son is alright?”
“He never mentioned that. But I’m sure he will be. The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can get back to him.”
“I’m going to get bail?”
“Not necessarily. Let’s just see how the interview pans out.”
I want to tell him to hurry. I take a huge gulp of my water. I really don’t want to be sick in front of these two police officers. I smell bad enough as it is.
“You were arrested
at an address in Otley, the residence of Bryony Rose, at 6:20pm yesterday evening, for aggravated assault. What have you got to say about it?”
“I was really drunk.” I look down at my hands, which are trembling. “Usually I go to Alcoholics Anonymous, but my husband has died this week. Then I find out that he’s been seeing Bryony. I’ve also found out that he’s lost all our money and been lying to me about everything. I lost control. I couldn’t take anymore.”
“You’re saying that gave you a reason to go to her house, push her about and threaten her with a broken bottle?”
“Of course not. I barely remember doing it. I hadn’t eaten much, and I’d been drinking gin, vodka and wine after a year of not drinking at all.”
“I’m afraid that being drunk and out of control will not stand up as a defence in court.”
“I know. I can’t stand the woman, but I had no right to do that to her. I would never normally behave so dreadfully. I’m really sorry.”
“Well, your remorse is noted and might have a slight impact in terms of how you are viewed. Miss Rose is very shaken, but otherwise OK. We have already been in contact with the Crown Prosecution Service, which have authorised us to charge you with aggravated assault.”
“So what now?”
“It’s up to them whether you are granted bail. I have to say though, that because you’re already under investigation for causing death by dangerous driving, I think it’s unlikely.”
“But I haven’t been charged with anything there.”
He and his colleague look at each other. “Let’s just see what they say.”
“Please.” Tears leak from my eyes. “I need to get back to my son. I didn’t kill my husband. I was at home that morning. I loved my husband. I need help to find someone called James Turner.” I realise I’m gabbling, but they seem to be listening. They wait in silence as I take a gulp of water. “He’s the man you should speak to. He knows something. It’s all being pinned on me, and they’ve got it wrong. I’m a victim here too. This man has got all my money and I feel sure that he was involved in my husband’s death.”
Hit and Run Page 14