On hearing a creak from the upstairs landing, I straighten up. As I catch the sound of footfall on the steps, my chest quickens and my breath catches. He’s coming. I’ve always found Phillip Bracken intimidating, but normally I’ve had the benefit of some Dutch courage before having to deal with him. I’ve been able to give him as good as I got. From what I can remember, anyway.
“What are you doing here?”
The distaste in his voice couldn’t be more apparent. My anger immediately flares, but that’s not the way. He’s not better than me. I’ve got to face him as an equal. It’s the only way this conversation will go anywhere. I’ve never seen him so casually dressed. He’s wearing combat shorts and a Levi t-shirt. I’d be surprised if he had met no one else since his wife left him. I guess he’s quite a catch. Even if he’s an arsehole.
“I saw your car outside.”
“That still doesn’t explain what you are doing in my building.” He arrives at the foot of the stairs and faces me. “You weren’t invited; therefore, you are trespassing.”
I shrug and gesture towards the entrance. “The door was unlocked.”
“What do you want, anyway? And make it quick.”
“Why do you have to be so unpleasant? You always have been towards me.”
“Do you really want me to answer that?” He folds his arms and surveys me as though I am something he stepped in.
Tears prickle the back of my eyes. I get so sick of being judged and blamed. Especially by people who hardly know me and can’t see beyond the drinking. “I’ve just come from the police station.” I try to keep my voice steady. “I want to know what grounds you think you have for blaming me for Rob’s fraud.”
“I’m not discussing that with you. It’s a police matter.”
“What proof do you have, to drag my name into it, Mr Bracken?”
“I know what type of person you are Fiona.” He uncrosses his arms – the veins in them and in his neck bulge.
Nobody, not even Mum, has ever looked at me with so much venom in their face.
“You’re manipulative, devious, and grasping. I’ve watched over the years, as you’ve brought Robert down to your level.”
“That’s not true.” Being evaluated in this way is not doing me any good. Maybe it was a mistake to come here. But if I can get him to drop me off his radar, I have a chance of getting my money back. We could even join forces against James Turner.
“I’ve seen your behaviour with my own eyes. Your sort is capable of anything. Especially when it comes to ripping others off.”
“Yes, I’ve been drunk a few times.” I sink to a seat in the waiting area. The little girl that wants to be liked is surfacing. It’s the way he looks at me. Like he can see to my core. He’s making me feel like a piece of crap. “That doesn’t make me party to fraud.”
“You might not have committed it yourself. But I’ve worked with Robert for many years, and this is not the sort of thing he could or would have acted alone with.”
“So you assume I put him up to it.”
“The funds have gone into your bank account.”
“That still doesn’t implicate me.” I hold eye contact. “And I resent the insinuation that because you believe Rob wouldn’t have acted alone, that it had anything to do with me. Anyone could have helped him. That’s if anyone else was involved.”
“He didn’t have the gumption to have dreamt this up himself. It definitely has a woman’s touch. He’s betrayed me in the worst way possible.”
“So he’s taken you for well over a hundred grand. Why didn’t you have him arrested?”
He looks thoughtful, as though he’s considering what to divulge to me. “I wanted to deal with it internally. To keep it quiet and out of the local media. This sort of thing can blow a business apart.”
“My heart bleeds. Maybe when you go around treating people like you do, it is bound to come back and haunt you.”
“Look. I don’t want you in my building. I’ve got nothing else to say to you.”
“I’m not leaving till I have some answers.”
“You can either walk out or I can throw you out. And I won’t rest until they have charged you for what you helped your husband to do. You’ll do at least a couple of years for that sort of money.”
“You’ve no proof, and if you don’t stop trying to blacken my name, you’ll have more to worry about than your precious company.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The top of his lip curls.
“You had far more cause to run my husband off the road than me, Mr Bracken.”
The tension in his shoulders visibly softens. “I was here. My staff have already accounted for me. You’ll have to do better than that.”
I rise from my seat and stand in front of him again. We’re nearly nose to nose. I can smell his sour breath. “Keen cyclist yourself, aren’t you?”
His face darkens, and he’s quiet for a moment. “Are you threatening me?”
I smile. “Stop throwing your nasty false accusations around, Mr Bracken, then maybe things can return to normal.”
“I just want my money back.”
“Don’t we all? I’ve lost nearly everything too.”
Something in his expression changes towards me. “If you don’t get off my premises now Mrs Matherson, I’m going to call the police. And I will, of course, be informing them you’ve been here.”
“It’s a free country.” I walk out into the sunshine. My next port of call is the garage which I’ve Googled and learned is open seven days a week.
I pull into the last space on the forecourt. As I lock the car, I notice a young man bent over a computer in the office at the front of the building. I press the button with an Attention sign above it and the man jumps at the sudden disturbance. Normally, I’d make a joke in such circumstances but say, “remember me?”
A puzzled look crosses his face. He’s very tall, about six foot three, and gangly. He looks like how I would imagine Jack to look when he gets older. “No. Should I?”
“Were you working last Monday morning?”
“Yes, why?” He stretches as though he’s been sitting for a long time and rubs his neck, smearing oil onto it.
“At eleven o’clock?”
He frowns and seems to appraise me more closely. He’s in his early twenties, if that. Then a look of realisation appears to come upon him. “You’re the woman that…” He seems to glance around the garage then, as though looking for backup.
“That what?”
“I fixed your tyre.” He looks worried now. Out of his depth. “It had a blowout. My boss. He’ll be back any minute.”
“Was your boss around last Monday morning?”
His eyes dart from me, to the doorway, to the clock, then back to me again. “No, he was out on a recovery.”
“I asked you when I arrived if you remembered me and you said no.” This is good. I just need to get him to tell that to DI Green. All of this trouble I’m in is a load of crap. They will not pin it on me. Except maybe they will. If it all stacks up enough. I was such an idiot going around to Bryony’s like I did. Bloody drink. How could I have been so stupid?
“I couldn’t place you. But you look familiar. We get loads of customers in here. And I’m useless with faces. My mum…”
“I don’t really care about your mum. You’ve got me into a shitload of trouble, telling the police I was here on Monday.”
“I-I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”
“Look.” For a moment, he looks so out of his depth that I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. “All I want you to do is give the police a call. Tell them you’ve made a mistake.”
“I can’t. My boss. He’s already unhappy with the police sniffing around. And I don’t know that I did make a mistake. I just took your details, didn’t I?”
“Look you.” I step towards him. “You either let them know that you don’t recognise me, and that you got it wrong, or I’ll make sure you lose your job.”
“How? You can’t do that.”
“Watch me. I’m warning you.”
“But I’m not even sure whether it was you now. I just fitted the tyre.”
“So you remember doing that?”
“Yeah. It’s a quick job. I had a car on the ramp in here, so I nipped out to do it. You were in a rush. I thought I was doing you a favour.”
“It wasn’t bloody me. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“But you gave me your details.” There’s a squint in his eyes as he seems to look more closely at me. If there was to be a line-up, as Alan speculated, this lad would definitely pick me out now.
“I didn’t give you any details. It wasn’t me!”
“You need to go. My boss is due back. He’ll ring the police.”
“For what?”
“They’ve done you for killing your old man, haven’t they?”
“You little…” I step towards him, but he’s too quick. He’s back inside his cabin before I can get near him, and he’s sliding a bolt across. I wanted him to look at me, admit he didn’t recognise me, and agree to go to the police. That’s all gone pear-shaped.
I’d better get out of here before he rings them, or his boss turns up. I’ll probably get done for interfering with witness testimonies, or something. I’ve had enough for one day. And enough drama to last a lifetime. It’s time to go home. Back to Dad and Jack. Back to normality. I can face all this again tomorrow.
* * *
Sunday.
A day of rest.
For everyone except me.
Chapter 33
It’s Monday. Another week begins. Starting with my appointment with the funeral director. “Thanks for coming in Mrs Matherson. I’m Emma Rowlings and I’m going to be taking your instructions today.”
I accept the handshake she offers. “Hello.”
“Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?”
I accept gratefully. Jack had a meltdown this morning, so I didn’t have time for a coffee before taking him to school. Dad was still in the shower, so I had to deal with him myself. It feels like I’ve already done a full day’s work. I sink into a seat at the polished oak desk as she leaves the room.
I notice the tissue box in the centre. There’s a painting accompanied by the words, Look for me in rainbows, high up in the sky. I wouldn’t want to look for Rob right now. I can’t forgive him for the situation I’ve found myself in. However, I’m fully aware that there’s only me that can make these arrangements, and he’s Jack’s dad if nothing else, so I owe him a reasonable send-off for that alone.
There’s a big question mark whether I’ll even make it to his funeral. Maybe I’ll be locked up? I have heard nothing from the police whether they have paid a visit to either Phillip Bracken or that toerag at the garage, but it’s still early days.
Dad has said yes, subject to Mum’s agreement, to lend me the funeral fees until I get this fiasco sorted. They have a joint account, where both need to approve withdrawals over a thousand pounds, so there’s no getting around her knowing about my situation. I think it’s fifty-fifty whether she’ll agree to it. She’ll either use my situation to dramatically refuse my request for help, or she’ll use it as another bullet to fire back at me in the future. Either way, she’ll enjoy me having to go cap in hand. It’s certainly a first.
Luckily, she was unaware of Rob’s threat to tell Dad of her antics, nor was she aware of how much Rob disliked and disapproved of her. She would definitely say no to the funeral fees if she knew that. She seemed at a loss to understand what he saw in me, other than my former financial situation. I doubt she’ll ever forgive me for my inheritance. It’s her own fault though. She shouldn’t have been such a cow to Grandma.
“Coffee, no sugar.” Emma returns to the room, halting my scattered thought train. She places a cup on the coaster beside me and a plate of biscuits next to it. It’s a strange touch from a funeral director. Who feels like eating biscuits when they’re arranging a funeral?
“Thank you.”
“I’ll start by saying how sorry I am for your loss. It must be a dreadful time for you right now.”
“Thank you. It is.” My eyes fill up. Tears are coming more frequently now. Especially when someone is nice to me. Which, isn’t all that often. I think back to yesterday, to the altercations I had with Phillip Bracken, then the lad at the garage.
“I’ll start by going through your husband’s details and then we’ll go through the arrangements to prepare for his funeral. When are you hoping to hold it?” She reaches into a shelf beneath the desk and pulls out a huge diary.
“As soon as they can.” It’s true. I want to get it over with as fast as possible. The police released his body sooner than I thought they would, having taken all the evidence they needed. He’s been laid in here for four days already. It’s strange to think he’s only a few feet away from me. The thought of his funeral is hanging over me as much as these criminal charges. It’s something else to survive.
I’m sure Dad can talk Mum around in terms of the costs. If not, I’m going to have to use the last of my money. Or try to access what’s in trust for Jack. I feel guilty for even contemplating that, but I’m running out of options. That’s if Rob hasn’t had it already. I must check. He’d have needed to forge my signature again, but he clearly wasn’t averse to doing that.
Emma thumbs through diary pages. “We’ve got an eleven thirty am slot this Friday for a cremation, if that’s any good? Is that long enough for you to inform everyone who might want to attend?”
“I can’t imagine there’d be that many people.” My voice sounds hostile, even to me.
She looks slightly taken aback, so must have noticed it too. Although I’m sure that in that her line of work, she will have heard everything.
“This Friday is fine.” Well, I wanted to get on with it. I can’t imagine anyone coming from his work, given the circumstances.
“We have your husband’s full name as Robert Lee Matherson, date of birth, 4th February 1983, and home address 7 Orchard Mews, Otley, West Yorkshire.”
“That’s correct.”
“We have the date of death as the 8th June, the cause of death on his certificate, as a brainstem trauma, and the place of death as Denton Road, Otley.”
I nod. I should be bawling my eyes out. After all, I’m sat here, arranging my husband’s funeral. The man I had adored enough to marry and have a baby with. At one time I would have done anything for him. And I did, mostly. But now… perhaps I’m just my mother’s daughter. Heartless. Cold. Unfeeling.
“Right. I need to get some details to personalise the funeral. First, can you make a choice from these options?”
I’m floored as a brochure full of coffins is slid towards me. What a decision. How does anyone choose a coffin? “That one,” I say, letting my finger hover over the cheapest one.
“What about flowers?” She flicks her brochure open to a price list.
“What do people normally have?”
“Lilies or roses, usually. White is a popular choice.”
“Budget is a consideration.” I hang my head. What must she think of me? I can hardly tell her he’s fleeced me of most of my money, and that he was carrying on with his former fiancé behind my back. Nor can I tell her I’m a prime suspect in terms of who finished him. Maybe I should have let bloody Bryony sort his funeral out.
“We could organise a mixture of the two and include some white carnations. That would work out less costly. Is it just a spray for the top of the coffin?”
“Yes.” Then I think of Jack. I’ve seen flowers spelling out names at the side of coffins. He’s too young to come to the funeral. Then I remember something. Oh God. It’s his birthday on Wednesday. I’ve not even bought him a present or organised anything. I must sort that when I leave here.
“How much would it cost to spell D-A-D out in flowers?”
She runs her finger down what looks like a price list. “Erm, fifty pounds per letter.”
Daylight robbery, I want to say, but I ask her to add it to the bill.
“Have you thought about what you’d like your husband to be wearing for his final journey?”
I hand the carrier bag of clothes I’ve chosen across the table. It’s what he’d normally wear – when not at work, cycling or golfing. Jeans, t-shirt, and trainers.
“When we’ve got him ready, you’re welcome to visit him. If you could call us first.”
“Visit him?”
“It often helps with the grieving process. Some relatives report it helps to bring about a sense of closure and acceptance to see their loved one at peace.”
Loved one. What does she know? I certainly wasn’t his loved one, the way he was treating me. However, this sudden pique of incredulity turns immediately to sorrow. If anyone had told me nine years ago, when we married, that I’d be sitting here now, arranging his funeral, I would never have believed them. I would have somehow ensured that events had taken a different path.
“I don’t think I’ll want to see him, thanks.”
She looks at me, curiosity written all over her face. “Are you getting any support for yourself, Mrs Matherson?”
“Call me Fiona. Yes. I’m OK.”
“I can put you in touch with someone if you’d like me to.”
“Honestly, I’m fine. If we could just get on.”
“Right, OK, onto the service. Will you be wanting a family car to follow the hearse?”
“I’ll follow it in my own car, if that’s OK. It’s black anyway.” That’s if the police don’t end up impounding it before then, I feel like adding. My next-door-neighbour, Tim, mentioned he saw DI Green and PC Robinson looking around the Jeep last Monday afternoon, when they first came to give me the news. Come to think of it, Christina mentioned something when she first came over too. Though that afternoon is a complete blur. Obviously, there was nothing on the car for them to see. I must mention this to my solicitor. It’s why they haven’t impounded my car. At least that makes sense.
Hit and Run Page 18