by Anita Waller
Jenny once more lunged towards Anna who was unable to see clearly, because the blood was flowing freely down her face.
Anna sidestepped with difficulty, grabbed her bag, and ran. Jenny tried to stop her, but desperation lent wings to Anna, and she ran towards the front door. She bumped into Mark, and he stared in amazement at the sight of his mother covered in blood, followed closely by his wife, screaming obscenities at her.
Anna pushed him to one side and ran out of the door. She fumbled in her bag for her keys, and within seconds was leaving the parking area, her tyres screaming.
She hit the road for Sheffield at some speed. Tears were now mingling with the blood, and she tried to clear her vision. She couldn’t stop crying, but she needed to put distance between herself and Jenny and Mark. She guessed Mark wouldn’t be able to follow her; he would have his hands full with Jenny.
Anna was soon on the A57, and as she approached the Dunham Bridge toll booth, she fished in the drinks holder where she kept loose change to make sure she had the right money for crossing the bridge.
She was still sobbing as she reached the booth, and as she handed the money over, the attendant stared at her in horror.
‘Hang on a minute, love,’ he said. ‘There’s blood all over your face. You need help?’
She shook her head and put her foot down hard. She needed Michael. She had no idea what she would tell him, but she needed him. Her sobs increased, and the blood was still blinding her left eye almost totally.
She swung around a bend in the road, not seeing the speedometer registering 85 miles an hour, and as she approached the crossroads, she was out of control.
She screamed. There was no way to avoid the oncoming truck. Anna’s world descended into darkness.
*****
Michael was looking forward to the evening. He would cook Anna a nice meal, and they could share a bottle of wine and discuss telling the Carbrook family of their marriage.
He took the steaks out of the freezer and put them on the kitchen work surface to defrost. He couldn’t remember ever being this happy and blessed the day Anna had called him. Eric the fish would always have a special place in their hearts.
He picked up the newspaper and sat down to do the crossword. The buzzer sounded, and at first he ignored it. But, then it was repeated, and he went across to answer it. Cautiously.
‘Yes?’
‘Mr. Groves? It’s the police. Can we have a word please?’
Uneasily, he pressed the door release button, and then went out into the vestibule to wait for the lift, hoping neither Lissy nor Jon would walk out of their door.
There were two of them, a man and a woman.
‘Is there a problem?’ he asked and then felt stupid. Of course there was a problem. They wouldn’t be there if there wasn’t a problem.
‘Can we go inside, please, Mr. Groves?’
He waved them through, and all three of them sat down.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked once more.
‘Is your wife Anna Groves?’
‘Yes...’ He swallowed.
‘I’m sorry, Mr. Groves, but she’s been killed in a road accident on the A57, this side of the Dunham Bridge. We’re very sorry for your loss.’
He stared at them. ‘It can’t be her. There must be some mistake, because she’s not coming home until tonight.’
‘Does she drive an Audi R8?’
‘Yes.’
He passed a small piece of paper across to Michael. ‘With this registration, sir?’
Michael looked and nodded.
‘Then I’m sorry, sir, it is your wife. We recovered her handbag at the scene. Her driver’s licence was in it, and when we checked the car registration, it came up with this address.’
Michael felt tears flow unchecked down his face. Anna, gone? How could that have happened? She was always such a careful driver.
‘Whose fault...?’ He had to ask.
‘As far as we can tell, and from eye witnesses, your wife was going very fast and drove straight into a truck at a crossroads. The driver is in a critical condition in hospital, but is expected to live. We are hopeful he can give us more information. Can we notify family for you, Mr. Groves?’
Michael shook his head, deeply in shock. He owed it to Anna to handle this.
‘No, I’ll notify everyone.’
‘Then can we get someone to come and stay with you?’
‘I’ll be fine. If you’ll go now...’
‘Of course, if that’s what you want.’
Michael showed them to the lift and went back inside.
He sat for over an hour, unsure of what to do first. Clearly, he had to get to Lindum Lodge, but that wasn’t going to be an easy thing to do. They would have no idea who he was.
And then he remembered the letters. He would have to take them with him; they belonged to Anna’s children. She had written them for when she died.
He moved zombie-like into the bedroom he had shared for such a small amount of time with his love and keyed in the code she had told him. The safe clicked open, and he took out the large brown envelope.
It was sealed with sealing wax, and at first he thought he would just leave it and hand it over in its entirety to Mark and Jenny. Nobody else was in England.
Michael changed his mind. He would take all of them with him, but he wanted to keep them until he met up with the name on the envelope, and could explain just how much he had loved Anna.
He broke the seal and peered into the envelope. He could see three envelopes, and he tipped them out on to the coffee table.
He picked them up and stared. There were no names on them.
Murder Number One. Murder Number Two. Murder Number Three.
His brain went into shutdown. He stared at the envelopes for a long time and then stood to get a drink. He felt sick. He poured a glass of water and carried it back to the table.
Three murders. What had Anna known? Who was she protecting? Tim had been in America, so it left only one person to protect. Mark.
His eldest son.
Chapter 52
Michael drove to Lincoln via Newark; he couldn’t bear to use the A57, and guessed it would still be closed at the crossroads while forensics did their work. His brain was reeling. Three murders could only mean one thing; Joan Jackson, Ray Carbrook, and the other chap with the Polish sounding name. Mark must have written everything down and given them to his mother for safe keeping. But, why had Anna said they were to be opened in the event of her death and not in the event of Mark’s death? He clearly must have misunderstood her, and now, it was up to him to put things right. If she’d had a secret, he would keep that secret also.
He pulled up outside Lindum Lodge, leaving his car on the road. He sat for a while without getting out; he was about to do something so difficult, and he needed his brain to be in top gear for it. The letters were in his inside pocket. He had to see Mark on his own.
He had to make sure Jenny was out of the room. He didn’t want her to hear or see anything during the conversation he had to have with his son. He planned the scenario; he hoped it would go according to plan.
Jenny opened the door, thinking it would be Anna coming back for her things. Mark had stayed at home, in an attempt at smoothing things over between his wife and his mother; they just needed Anna to come back.
The shock showed in her face when she realised just who was on her doorstep.
‘Jenny,’ he said. ‘My name’s Michael Groves, and I’m Anna’s husband. Can I come in for a few minutes, please?’
She looked nervously behind her. Mark was approaching the door. ‘Hi. Can I help you?’
‘I need to speak with you.’ Michael felt helpless, out of his depth. This was his first meeting with his son.
‘Who are you?’ Mark was looking at him, curiosity written into his features. ‘Do I know you?’
‘In a manner of speaking. I’m Anna’s husband. We were married in September. Please, can I come in?’
Mark stood aside, but Jenny stayed where she was, half blocking his entry. He waited, and eventually, she moved.
He followed them into the lounge and began the most difficult conversation of his life. He saw Mark’s face crumple as he learned of his mother’s death; he saw Jenny turn ashen, and she stood and moved to sit with her husband.
‘Where?’ The word came out of Mark as a croak.
‘The crossroads, just after Dunham Bridge.’
Jenny was staring at both of them. She didn’t know what to do. She needed to get to Sheffield and get in that damn safe, that was for sure.
Mark’s head dropped, and he began to cry quietly. ‘Jenny,’ he said between sobs, ‘what the fuck was so important in that argument it’s caused this?’
Jenny put her arm around him, and he shrugged her away.
She stood. ‘Mr. Groves, Michael, would you like a cup of tea. I think we all need one.’
He said thank you, and she left to go into the kitchen.
Michael leaned forward and spoke quietly to Mark. ‘Mark, listen carefully. I am your father. You were conceived just before your mother married Ray. Look at me, and I know you’ll know I’m telling the truth. But, that’s irrelevant, except for one thing. I won’t give you up to the police. I believe Anna died protecting you, and as my son, I’ll do the same for you. I don’t know why you did what you did, but I suspect it was to save your mother from your father, from any more abuse. These belong to you, I believe.’
He took the three letters out of his inner pocket and handed them over.
Mark held out his hand and looked at the words written on the fronts. Then, he looked at Michael, his eyes blank. ‘What...?’
The door opened, and Jenny came through with a tea tray in her hands. She saw the envelopes in Mark’s hands.
She dropped the tray and screamed.
Epilogue
Michael, Mark, and Adam had enjoyed staying overnight at Nan’s apartment in Sheffield, boys together.
But now they were enjoying watching the Owls, all three of them season ticket holders. Michael had bought his in memory of Anna, and Mark had bought one for Adam, in memory of Ray.
Michael had decided to keep the apartment so they could stay over when they went to home games; it made life a little more exciting for Adam. Grace went to her other grandparents when they had their boy’s weekends.
Life without Mum and Nan had been hard at first, but they were slowly carrying on with life.
After Jenny’s spectacular scream and collapse on that heart-breaking afternoon, Michael and Mark had read the letters. It became clear immediately Michael had completely misread the situation.
Mark had asked him to leave, and Michael had slipped a business card into his hand.
‘Call me when you need me.’
Mark had merely nodded.
He then read the letters one more time and turned to his wife. She was softly crying in the corner of the sofa.
‘You have ten minutes to get out of here,’ he said. ‘If you’re still here in fifteen minutes, I’m ringing the police. I’ll hang on to these, just in case I ever need them. Leave your credit cards, and anything else concerning money. You are leaving with nothing. I never want to see you again. I shall tell the children you’ve gone with another man. I shall blacken your name to them, and to everyone else who asks. You will never see any of my family again. Is that clear?’
She nodded, too distraught to speak.
‘In exchange, I won’t go to the police. However, if you attempt to contact any of us, I will make Gainsborough a present of these.’
Jenny did as instructed, and left.
*****
After the match, Michael took the three of them for a meal, and then they went back to the apartment. Mark had dismissed facts in the letter pertaining to the fatherhood of Adam, the son who was also his half-brother. He chose to forget the half-brother bit. Adam was his son. Michael had taken on the role of grandfather – they would explain true relationships when Adam was much older.
They walked across the car park singing hi ho Sheffield Wednesday, remembering the singing before the match started. They entered the vestibule and disappeared from view.
A woman with newly dyed dark brown hair cut very short sat in her car and watched. She heard the song, saw the camaraderie, felt the closeness between the three people in her line of sight. Felt the anger in her, so very deep inside her. One day, she would show them just who was in charge here, one day.
One day, when she had the letters back where they belonged.
With her.
A note from the publisher
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Acknowledgements
A huge thank you to Sheffield Wednesday Football Club, who helped me with dates, fixtures, results, and general information as I ‘borrowed’ this MASSIVE club for part of my story. Up the Owls!
Thank you also to Karen Tighe, who read the first half of the novel and encouraged me to continue with it, despite breaking off after 35,000 words to write Angel.
Mike Miklosz, my Lincoln helpmate, also came through with information about the upper class part of Lincoln, for which I am truly grateful – it saved me having to invent area names.
And thank you to Dave for keeping out of the kitchen while I write!