The Accident

by Dawn Goodwin

  ‘Well, I didn’t find it funny in the slightest. I called the police.’

  ‘You what? Why?’ Zara asked incredulously.

  ‘Well, I went over to confront her and ask for an apology and she went absolutely nuts on me! She shoved me so hard, I fell over, then she grabbed me by my hair – I thought she was going to kill me. She looked feral! I was petrified and I realised at that moment that she isn’t all there anymore. I’m seriously worried about her state of mind. So I called the police and complained, hoping that would shock her into action.’ Her voice had risen a few octaves in outrage, but she contained herself and slipped back into middle-class mode before saying, ‘They came over the same day, very efficient, and suggested they just have a talk with her as, apparently, legally I’m not supposed to be using the parking cones, so she would be within her rights to lodge a complaint against me ironically.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘A bloody cheek, considering I’m not hurting anyone! Anyway, they had a word with her and brought up the idea of counselling and I hope the whole horrible episode is finished with, but it was galling to think the police could do nothing about it.’

  The table was silent for a moment, then Zara said in a low voice, ‘I’m sure she’s doing the best she can. None of us know how we would react if we were in her shoes. For all I know, I would be locked away by now in a padded cell.’ She picked up her spoon and stirred her coffee for something to do under the heat of Felicity’s gaze.

  ‘Perhaps Veronica should be.’ Spears of white hot anger shot through Felicity. ‘Someone needs to do something. She can’t go around disturbing the peace, vandalising property and generally being antisocial. If it were me, I would want someone to step in. It’s obviously a cry for help. Tom agreed with me.’

  ‘You told him about it?’ Zara asked, frowning.

  ‘Yes, of course. He needs to know what’s going on. A lot of it he doesn’t see when he’s at the hospital.’

  ‘I haven’t seen Tom in ages, actually. How is he doing?’ Virginia asked.

  ‘He’s been doing so much better lately. We talk all the time and he’s trying really hard to move on. He’s seeing a grief counsellor and I’m very proud of how he’s tackled all of this.’ Her fingers played with the edge of her mug and she felt her cheeks warm. She was still annoyed with him after their conversation yesterday, though. She felt cheated – and the irony was not lost on her.

  ‘How often do you see him then? I thought he was working crazy hours at the moment,’ Zara said.

  Felicity backpedalled. ‘Oh, no, well, just in passing really.’

  ‘But enough for him to confide in you,’ Zara persisted.

  ‘Well,’ Felicity shrugged, ‘he needs a friend and we have been friends for a very long time now. You know, I was supposed to be on a date with Tom the night he met Veronica, not Ian. She just manipulated things because she fancied him.’ She knew she had said too much, but couldn’t get her mouth to stop babbling. ‘It feels like yesterday – and if things had played out as they were supposed to, all four of us would probably be better off.’

  ‘You really think that?’ Zara looked aghast.

  Felicity shrugged, then looked away. The others sat resolutely silent.

  ‘You know, Will has been trying to get together with Tom for a drink for weeks, but he’s never available. It’s funny that he makes so much time for you though.’

  Zara narrowed her eyes as a flush deepened and spread down Felicity’s neck. ‘Well, it’s not that he makes the time as such. Just old friends supporting each other really…’

  ‘Oh, you know what men are like,’ Penny interjected, ‘They would get together and talk about cars or football, but never about what they really want to talk about. Women are much better at that.’

  ‘Yes, and I’m sure if Veronica wanted our help, she would ask for it?’ Virginia sounded unsure.

  Zara slammed her mug onto the crumb-spattered table. The others jumped. ‘When have any of you offered her any help or even asked her how she is lately? You know as well as I do what date is coming up. This is not an easy time for her. Felicity, you and her are the oldest of friends, as you keep reminding us, which should mean something to you. Maybe you need to cut her some slack instead of exacerbating her problems by calling the police! Or moving in on her husband!’

  There was an audible gasp around the table.

  Before Felicity could answer, Zara continued her tirade. ‘I’m just as bad at avoiding her, I admit. I never knew what to say afterwards. None of the words sounded right. She didn’t want platitudes or pity, but I also didn’t know what she did want to hear. Actually, no, I do know what she wanted to hear. She wanted someone to tell her it hadn’t happened, it wouldn’t hurt any more or that it was all a bad dream and because I couldn’t honestly tell her that, I avoided it altogether. And she was left on her own. I’m not proud of that, but there is still time to help her. We’ve all known each other a long time’ – she looked at Felicity pointedly – ‘that should count for something.’

  ‘Well, according to Tom, she has this new friend that she’s been going out with, so maybe our friendship isn’t as important as we thought it was,’ Felicity said icily.

  ‘Oh,’ Zara replied. ‘Is that what this is really about? Is your nose a bit out of joint then?’

  ‘What? Absolutely not! For the record, she is avoiding me, not the other way around. I would love to meet this new friend of hers,’ she replied with as much conviction as she could muster.

  ‘Well, at least she has someone helping her through this, even if it isn’t any of us. We have to give her the space she needs and be here when she is back to her old self,’ Zara countered.

  Silence fell.

  ‘I still think she should be ashamed of herself.’ Felicity couldn’t let it go. She had hoped for all of them to be on her side for a change. Bloody Zara. Her steely eyes glinted.

  ‘Do you know what, Felicity? You can be a right bitch sometimes. I hope nothing as awful ever happens to you because it’s times like these when you need your friends, and I, for one, am ashamed of all of us.’

  “Excuse me, but-’ Felicity looked outraged.

  ‘And a word of caution: leave Tom alone. You’re not being fair to either of them.’

  ‘Okay, Zara, you’ve made your point,’ Virginia said.

  ‘Sorry,’ Zara mumbled.

  ‘I always got along so well with Veronica and I haven’t been as supportive as I should’ve been.’ Virginia stared into the dregs in her mug. ‘I feel terrible about it. I wouldn’t want to be deserted by my friends when I really need them the most and that’s what we did. God forbid I am ever in the same situation.’ With that, she scraped back her chair and got to her feet. ‘I better go, dinner to get ready and all that.’

  Penny mumbled something about needing to be somewhere and shuffled off too, leaving Felicity sitting with Zara. Her cheeks were burning and her fingers fidgeted and twitched as she realised she was desperate for a cigarette for the first time in years. She grabbed her phone from the table and made to stand up. ‘I think we’re done here, Zara, don’t you?’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry for flying off the handle – mostly my own guilt really.’ Zara stood too. ‘I was out of line there. But we both know what I’m talking about when it comes to Tom.’

  ‘Do we?’

  ‘Yes. I was there that night. I saw the two of you in the kitchen at V’s dinner party. I know something happened between you and I hope for the sake of your friendship with V that it didn’t go any further – or won’t in the future.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Her voice was menacingly low. She turned her back on Zara and worked her way through the coffee shop to the door. Zara followed her.

  ‘Okay, I’m sorry. Maybe I misread the situation. But I do think Tom needs to be talking to Veronica more than to you,’ Zara continued as they stepped outside and walked towards the edge of the pavement. Cars streamed past in a steady line and they stopped on the kerb.
/>
  ‘Zara, you would probably do well to keep your nose out of it, to be honest. Meddling can be a dangerous pastime.’ Her voice was like ice.

  Zara narrowed her eyes. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You have no idea about my relationship with Tom and how important we are to each other and I am not about to abandon him now, regardless of what stupidity Veronica is up to. As you say, the next little while will be hard on him and he needs me.’

  ‘She needs him more,’ Zara replied, looking at Felicity closely. ‘Maybe I should speak to her about this.’

  ‘Maybe you should leave well alone. You really don’t want anyone to get hurt, do you?’ Felicity moved to step into the road, then pointed down to the pavement. ‘Oh, your shoelace is loose. You should tie that in case you trip over it.’

  Thrown by the sudden change of subject, Zara looked down at her feet as she stepped off the pavement, barely registering the sound of a car horn blaring.

  Veronica

  October 10th. One of the days I had been dreading the most, but I woke up early on Grace’s birthday, as I did every year, ready to get everything prepared and the cake made. This year I couldn’t decide between a vanilla or a chocolate cake, so settled on a three-tiered mix of the two: a vanilla layer sandwiched between two chocolate layers, and covered with purple icing and hand-made fondant flowers. She would love that.

  Tom had already left the house when I came out of the shower. I wasn’t sure where he had gone. We had barely talked since my night out. I’d told him about my altercation with Felicity because I knew she would share her version at the first opportunity. He had been shocked to start with, but then seemed saddened, although he hadn’t commented. I came away feeling like I had disappointed him again and surprised myself by realising that for the first time in a long while I had actually wanted him to hold me and tell me everything would be okay. It was only when he walked away from me without saying very much, apart from a quiet, ‘Perhaps I’ll have a word with her and smooth things over,’ that my loneliness presented itself like a thin cloud. I had the urge to shout and rant, but he had walked into the garden and closed the door behind him, mumbling something about an urgent call to make. By the time he had ended his call, the cloud vapour had dispersed and blankness has returned.

  Afterwards, I kept to myself as much as ever. Truth be told, I was nervous of running into Felicity again, now that my initial bravado had dissolved. The day after, I had woken with my friend, Guilt, sharing my pillow, whispering sweet accusations in my ear, reminding me of my domestic failures. All vestiges of teenage rebellion had fizzled away, leaving behind a headache of unworthiness.

  Last night he had tried to talk to me about today, whether we should do something to mark the occasion, but I wanted to do this my way. I had set out on the school run, but saw Felicity in a huddle with a number of other mums, many of whom she wouldn’t normally talk to, animatedly holding court, with her arms gesticulating dramatically and her eyes manic, and with Scarlet’s suspicions ringing in my ears, I convinced myself she was telling them all about what I had been up to, so I made a hasty retreat.

  Back at home, I gathered the baking ingredients onto the counter, double-checking them against the recipe as I went. But as I pulled the block of butter out of the fridge, I knew straight away that there wouldn’t be enough. With a blip of dread, I checked the fridge shelves for another block, then checked the margarine tub as a possible substitute, but even that was down to the scrape marks at the bottom. I closed the fridge door, cursing under my breath and wishing I had added more than just bottles of prosecco to my last shopping delivery.

  A plausible idea came to me and I grabbed my phone from the counter, my snatching fingers only serving to knock it onto the floor first. Impatiently, I reached down for it, then hit redial, knowing it would ring straight through to Scarlet.

  ‘Hey honey,’ she said, her voice immediately comforting me. ‘It’s been a while, how’ve you been?’

  ‘I’m okay. Listen,’ I said, rudely getting straight to the point. ‘I’ve just realised I don’t have enough butter for Grace’s birthday cake, so I was wondering if you happened to be on your way over and whether you could get me some from the shop? It would save me some time.’

  ‘I would, but I won’t be there until later as I have some stuff I have to do first. It would be quicker if you popped out yourself, to be honest. So you’re making her a cake, huh?’

  I wasn’t used to Scarlet saying no to me. ‘Yeah, she loves cake,’ I replied quietly.

  Scarlet started to say, ‘Are you—-’, but I cut her off and said in a fraught tone, ‘Thanks anyway. I better get this done, otherwise there will be no cake after all. See you later,’ and I hung up.

  At the thought of heading outside, I took a quick detour past the liquor cabinet for a sneaky sip of courage, then threw on the Converses that were lying abandoned by the door, and grabbed my purse and keys. I paused for a moment, my hand on the latch, and looked out of the side window to see if anyone (Felicity) was about. With the coast clear, I opened the door, took a breath and stepped across the threshold.

  *

  I watch her from the shadows as she steps out of her front door and crosses the street, her eyes down, her feet heavy but moving one in front of the other, as if in automation. She has told me before that she never turns left down the street anymore, that being the direction in which Grace died. Instead, she turns right and takes the longer route around the block rather than facing her demons head on.

  It’s Grace’s birthday. The day she has been dreading. The gifts won’t have been delivered yet. I doubt she would’ve emerged if they had. I follow her from a distance, keeping out of sight, curious to see where she is going. She seems quite in control, which irks me. I was hoping that the day would be marked by more visible emotion, but from the outside she appears resolutely calm.

  This just won’t do. It’s not healthy to bottle it up; I need to help her with that. Sometimes you need a real friend to help you to face up to such things. Time to make her realise that she is out of her depth, floundering, that masking her emotions will do more harm than good. A little reminder of Grace’s funeral perhaps; something to show respect on such an auspicious day, albeit with a hidden sting, like a wasp hiding among the petals.

  I follow her as far as the convenience store and watch her go inside. I know what my next step will be. I don’t have much time though. She won’t be in there long and I want to be able to witness her reaction first-hand this time. I can feel a thrill of smug excitement building at the thought of it, my heart taking flight as I imagine the moment to come.

  I quickly nip past the convenience store, keeping my head as low as hers was, and head towards the florist further down the road with a skip in my step.

  *

  I made it without incident to the convenience store that never seems to close. When Grace was younger, I was always nipping in there for something – nappies, wet wipes, milk – but I hadn’t been in for months.

  The cold air of the shop hit me in the face as I pushed open the door. An old-fashioned bell tinkled above my head and an elderly Pakistani man behind the counter raised his tired eyes from his newspaper. He did an obvious double-take of recognition.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Pullman, it’s been so long.’ He struggled out of his chair and shuffled around the counter towards me. The frayed sleeves of his brown cardigan and comfortable carpet slippers contradicted his sensible necktie, but in the years I had been popping into his newsagents, I had never seen him with his top button loosened or his shirt stained. He was looking at me with such intensity that I realised he was considering giving me a hug. I immediately recoiled from him and formally held out my hand instead, giving him the message loud and clear. He stopped in his tracks with a stricken expression on his round and open face.

  ‘How are you, Mr…’ My mind drew a complete blank on his name. ‘Er, and your lovely wife?’ I inwardly cringed.

  ‘Ah, who am I to complain?’ he re
plied, shaking my hand vigorously and with such a look of pity that I almost crumbled on the spot.

  With my free hand, I calmed myself with a quick fingernail dig in my palm. My other hand was still clasped tightly in both of the shopkeeper’s unexpectedly cool hands.

  ‘I’m out of butter,’ I announced awkwardly. We looked at each other for a moment, then he released my hand and stepped aside.

  ‘Of course, of course,’ he said too brightly.

  I moved towards the fridges, chastising myself for my rudeness.

  He returned to his stool behind the counter and when I turned to look over my shoulder, he was watching me with concern. I offered him a wan smile, and kept walking, his downtrodden, pitiful eyes on my back, weighing me down.

  The fridges were at the back of the store and thankfully out of sight of the counter. I stood in front of the shelves and closed my eyes. When I reopened them, I couldn’t make out any of the products. Everything was a blur. The bell above the door tinkled the arrival of another customer and cleared my head a little. I saw the butter on the middle shelf and grabbed two packs, before heading back to the till.

  As I rounded the shelves, the shopkeeper was deep in conversation with a woman whose pushchair was blocking the aisle, the small child clipped into it kicking his feet with wild abandon. All three turned to look at me. With a jolt, I recognised Zara.

  Part of me wanted to drop the butter and make a run for it. Inexplicably, a mental image of me tiptoeing past the pushchair to the door flashed through my head, bringing giggle bubbles to my throat, and I had to dig my nails into my palms to stop me from laughing out loud. There was no way I could get past her without being seen, and since attack is the best form of defence – or so I was starting to think – I took a rapid breath and walked straight up to her, placed the butter on the counter and said, ‘Hi Zara,’ in as steady a voice as I could muster.

  I expected pity, sadness, patronising compassion, but instead I saw what looked like fear. She looked skittish and on edge. Her unease unsettled me. I wondered what titbits of gossip had filtered through to her from Felicity’s poisonous mouth to cause such a reaction. Zara had always been the most genuine of all of them.