by Tom Bale
He saw newspaper reports and TV footage. Grainy photos of a thin, haunted man attempting to shield his identity from the cameras as he was marched into court. He saw the shame etched indelibly on the face of his aunt – Dan’s surrogate parent these past fifteen years – as she contemplated the process by which his disgrace would contaminate and quite possibly destroy her life.
He started to move to the rear of the car. In the darkness he could barely see where the road ended and the verge began. The poor visibility offered itself as an excuse to give up, to tell himself he’d imagined it.
Then he heard the passenger door open, Robbie climbing out, and he knew there was no question of driving away. They had to do the right thing.
****
‘Can you see him?’ Robbie asked.
Dan didn’t respond. He crouched down and examined the verge. Maybe he had imagined it. Maybe Hank had slipped through a gap in the trees and continued on his way home across the fields. What they’d hit was merely a rabbit or a badger, something that would lie unnoticed, unmourned, quietly decomposing by the roadside.
Then he saw the shape: twisted, unnatural, far too large to be an animal. It was further away than he’d expected, lying partly in a shallow ditch at the base of a tree.
Dan made it to within six or seven feet and then stopped as emphatically as if a force field had come down around the body. Later he would question whether it was purely fear, or revulsion – or whether a sense of self-preservation had been kicking in, even then.
Don’t leave any evidence at the scene.
‘Oh, shit,’ Robbie whispered. ‘We hit him. We really did.’
Dan fumbled for his phone, nearly dropping it. He looked at the display. ‘No signal.’
‘What?’ Robbie saw the phone and gave a tiny shudder. ‘We’ve got to get out of here, mate. Right now.’
‘What if he’s still alive?’
Robbie said nothing for a moment. Then he swore again, softly. ‘Oh, fuck. He could identify us.’
He brushed past Dan, who was about to explain that he didn’t mean it like that. If O’Brien was badly injured then they had to help him. Raise the alarm, somehow. Even transport him to hospital themselves, if need be.
But Robbie was right, too. As dreadful as it was, it might actually be better if Hank was dead ...
The thought produced a tingling in Dan’s temples. A cold sweat broke out on his back and suddenly he was fourteen again, coming home from school to find not his mum but his aunt waiting for him, a police car parked outside and two officers in uniform standing in the kitchen. One of them, a young woman, had greeted Dan with the most hideously false smile he’d ever witnessed—
‘I’m going to throw up.’
‘Not here.’ Robbie made an urgent flapping gesture to shoo Dan away from the body. Dumbly comprehending, Dan staggered back to the Fiesta and then beyond it, to the opposite verge. Along with the roiling nausea in his gut came an even more sickening realisation.
He was a coward.
CHAPTER 6
If anyone should have been chucking up, Robbie thought, it was him. All that lager and a couple of lines of coke – and now this.
Instead, somehow, he felt fine. Clear-headed and stone-cold sober.
Robbie had always considered himself good in a crisis. The trick was never to look too far ahead, never over-worry, as his dad used to put it, before he buggered off and stopped worrying about anyone.
Now Robbie assessed the situation with a cool, clinical logic. The first stage was acceptance. He had done something really dumb. Despite what Dan might think – despite what anyone might think – there hadn’t been any malicious intent. But it was done, and it couldn’t be reversed, so there was no point dwelling on it. The consequences were all that mattered now. The consequences – and how to avoid them.
He took a few steps towards the body. His foot touched something solid and there was a faint sucking sound as he lifted it away.
It was the envelope. The frigging envelope full of cash. He picked it up, saw it was coated in blood. Part of his footprint was visible on the outer edge. For that reason alone, he couldn’t leave it here.
‘Mine, I think,’ he murmured. He shoved it into his pocket, glancing round to make sure Dan wasn’t watching. Then he moved closer to the body.
O’Brien had been thrown about ten or fifteen feet. It might have been further if a tree hadn’t got in the way. He lay slumped and twisted, his head half buried in the ditch, his chubby limbs flung out at crazy angles, as though he’d been frozen in the act of an ill-advised star jump.
Reluctantly, because he knew that every second they stayed here could condemn them, Robbie eased into the ditch until he found a position that allowed him a view of O’Brien’s face.
At first all he noticed was the blood, dribbling from the nose and mouth. More blood on his head, dark as treacle in his hair. Blobs of it on his bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows. Blood everywhere, and yet—
Hank’s eyes were open.
Robbie thought his heart would stop. He had to straighten up and take a deep breath. He checked on Dan: a distant silhouette, doubled over and coughing.
One second, two, Robbie’s mind busy processing, processing ... and then a decision.
Couldn’t let him live. Not if it meant going to prison.
He looked round for something to use: a rock, or a branch. A branch would be best, given that the guy had already hit a tree.
Then some gut impulse had Robbie bending low, looking at the eyes again. Not just at them but into them, gazing deep as though there was a seduction to be had.
Nothing. Not a blink. Not a flicker.
Result.
Robbie let out a sigh, the relief now coursing through his veins, a thrumming in his ears like something mechanical. Like a distant engine, almost.
He shut his eyes, willing the sound to be inside his head and nowhere else.
But it wasn’t, and when he opened his eyes he saw, off to the north, the probing lights of an approaching car.
‘Dan!’ he yelled.
****
Robbie leapt out of the ditch, one foot skidding as he landed awkwardly. He turned his ankle and grunted with the pain, but still had the presence of mind to check the verge for footprints. In a few places the grass had been flattened, but it should spring back up. The body might not be discovered for hours yet, whereas if another motorist came past and saw them ... that would be game over.
He started running. Dan was a few feet from the car, gaping like an idiot.
‘Get in.’
‘But—?’
‘He’s dead. Nothing we can do for him.’
‘We have to report it.’
‘You said there’s no signal. Let’s get out of here, find somewhere to make the call.’
Looking uncertain, Dan climbed into the car and switched off the hazard lights. As the engine started, some wily instinct made Robbie grab the rear door rather than the front. He saw Dan reaching for his seat belt and shouted, ‘Leave that. Just go.’
Robbie threw himself on to the back seat, twisting round to get the door, but the momentum as Dan pulled away was enough to swing it shut. Robbie lay back on the seat and stared at the car’s roof, watching the ghostly shadows of trees gliding across the rear window.
‘Not too fast,’ he cautioned.
There was a sarcastic snort from Dan: as if he ever drove too fast. The Fiesta wobbled on the road as he briefly let go of the wheel to secure his seat belt. ‘See if your phone has a signal,’ he said.
‘All right. When we reach the main road.’
Silence for a few seconds. Then Dan glanced over his shoulder, noting that Robbie was still lying on his back. ‘What’s up?’
‘Feel sick myself,’ Robbie said, putting a groan into his voice.
‘I don’t see why we’re doing this.’
‘Just giving ourselves a choice. Some time to think.’
‘But that’s wrong. We should have—’
/>
‘Hank’s dead, okay? It makes no difference now.’
A disgruntled noise from Dan, and a wash of light through the rear window. ‘The car’s gaining on me.’
‘Pick it up a bit, for Christ’s sake.’
‘But we’re leaving the scene of an accident!’ Dan sounded wretched, like a kid caught cheating by his favourite teacher. ‘What if he’s lying there, unable to call for help ...?’
‘He’s dead, believe me. Half his bloody head’s caved in.’ Robbie let that image take hold, then said, ‘You know, we’re better off going back to mine. Report it from there.’
‘Why?’
‘We’ll be calmer. We can get our heads straight.’
Dan fell moodily silent, to Robbie’s relief. He wanted Dan to forget he was there, at least for a couple more minutes.
The car stayed on their tail until they reached the junction with the A283, where Dan made a hesitant left turn. The car behind went right.
When he was certain it had gone, Robbie gripped the front passenger headrest and loomed up into the rear-view mirror like something from a horror movie.
Dan let out a yelp of alarm. ‘Oh, Jesus Christ—’
Robbie shouldn’t have smiled, but he did. There were still problems to solve, of course; various issues that might need to be addressed. The barmaid, for a start, and maybe the pub’s other customers.
For now, though, only one possible witness had seen them on the road. That witness probably wouldn’t recall much about the Fiesta, but if by chance they did they ought to be clear on the fact that the car had just a single occupant. A driver, but no passengers.
Result.
CHAPTER 7
Dan decided to leave Robbie in the back seat. He couldn’t face pulling over, even for a few seconds. If he stopped now he might never drive the car again.
That was also why he reluctantly accepted Robbie’s advice. It shouldn’t take long to get back, and then he could explain why they hadn’t been able to call any sooner. Hank O’Brien was, after all, tragically beyond help.
Besides, the shock was taking hold, creeping through his body like a slow immersion in ice. It was a fight to keep control of his hands and feet. More than once a corner approached and he felt certain he’d be incapable of anything but driving straight ahead, ploughing into a tree or an oncoming car.
And would that be so bad? Better that his aunt suffer a genuine, unexpected bereavement than the disgrace that he was about to inflict upon her.
So he thought, and yet each time he found the strength, the will to keep the car on the road, and that only seemed to emphasise the depth of his cowardice.
It was nearly eleven when he turned off the A27 and threaded through the quiet streets of suburban Hove. Robbie lived virtually rent-free in one of his mother’s properties, a two-bedroom flat in a red-brick Gothic pile in The Drive, a few hundred yards from the seafront.
Dan pulled in at the kerb. Suddenly eleven o’clock didn’t seem very late at all. There were plenty of lights on in the buildings all around them; a middle-aged couple strolling past; a dog walker crossing the road just ahead of them. No one paid them any attention.
And why should they? Dan thought. It wasn’t as though the nature of their guilt was painted on—
His gaze came to settle on the cracks in the corner of the windscreen. He gasped. Ignoring a bemused question from Robbie, he opened the door and in his haste almost tumbled out of his seat.
****
Dan stood facing the car. Robbie joined him, and both men confronted the evidence of their crime.
The bumper was barely affected, just a scuff mark on the black plastic, and the lights were undamaged. But there was a long, deep crease on the bonnet, running from front to back, directly beneath the crack in the windscreen. More damage on the roof: several indentations in the corner above the door frame. The bodywork was crumpled but not cracked, so perhaps it could be repaired without too much difficulty ...
Then Dan spotted the blood. Half a dozen drops on the roof, glistening blackly beneath the glow of the street lights. Another thin smear along the glass where the windscreen bonded to the frame.
‘Look at this,’ he said.
‘Got a cloth?’
Dan opened the passenger door. There were tissues in the glovebox. He used a couple to wipe up the blood, shuddering at the thought of where it had come from, then stuffed the soiled tissues in his pocket.
‘Let’s go in,’ he said. ‘Make the call on your landline.’
Robbie didn’t move. He stared at Dan, a curious look in his eyes. Amusement, almost.
‘What?’ Dan said.
‘You really wanna do that?’
Dan felt his heart rate go up a notch. A crippling weight pressed on his stomach, like something trying to shove his organs apart.
‘Of course. We have to—’
‘No, we don’t. We don’t have to tell anyone.’ Robbie moved a step closer, his eyes blazing with intensity. ‘It was an accident, pure and simple. O’Brien is dead, and that’s terrible for him. But let’s be honest, he was a piece of shit.’
‘You can’t say that for sure.’
‘Look how he treated Cate. An arrogant old lech who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Imagine what he might have done to her if we hadn’t been there ...’
Dan was shaking his head, not wanting to be persuaded. ‘But what about his family? If he’s got kids ...’
Robbie shook his head. ‘He hasn’t, I’m sure of that. He divorced a few years back. Lived on his own. And even if there were kids, they’d be grown up by now.’
You can’t imagine what it’s like, Dan thought. The whispered condolences. The sorrowful smiles. The way the whole world suddenly collapses, folding in on itself, and you’re trapped in a suffocating darkness that might never end ...
He cleared his throat. ‘He’s still going to be missed. What about his job, his colleagues?’
‘All I know is he travelled a lot. Maybe he worked for himself?’
‘You’re trying to tell me the guy lived in a void, but I don’t buy it, Robbie. This has made a hole in someone’s life, you can be sure of that.’
‘All right. But nothing we do now will bring him back. It’ll only ruin our lives, won’t it?’
Dan swallowed. His mouth had become too dry for him to speak. Again he thought of his parents, and the manner in which he had lost them, and now the appalling irony that he could even contemplate running away from a situation like this.
If you do something wrong, put your hand up. That was what had been drilled into him. Take your punishment, and in the long run you’ll be a better person for it.
****
Robbie was studying his face, waiting for his argument to hit home. Then he added: ‘It’s not just us, Dan. Think of our families. Cate. Your brother. And Joan. What will this do to Joan?’
Dan knew he was being manipulated, but he also knew that Robbie had a point. Was Dan so adamant about this that he’d subject his aunt to more tragedy, more heartbreak?
Then he remembered: ‘O’Brien texted your sister. The police will track her down.’
‘I’ll speak to Cate, don’t worry.’ Robbie’s attitude became a little more brisk. He gestured at the car. ‘You’ll have to get this fixed up. But not through the insurance.’
‘I can’t, anyway. I don’t have comprehensive cover.’
‘Okay. Well, it needs to go somewhere that won’t ask questions. I could try and find a place if you like?’
‘Robbie, this is wrong.’
‘You wanna go to jail, do you?’
‘Of course not. But maybe that’s what we deserve.’ Dan placed a hand over his mouth for a moment, as if to block the words before they emerged. ‘I don’t know what to say. Are you really suggesting we should just do nothing?’
Robbie gave a benevolent smile. ‘In a way, the hard part’s already done.’
‘But I can’t bear the thought of leaving him there. Perhaps if we reported it
anonymously ...’
‘You’re kidding? The technology these days, they can trace the phones in a heartbeat. And they record all the calls. Once they play it on TV, somebody’s bound to recognise you. They’ll have you banged up in no time.’
‘So we own up to it, then. We tell the truth.’
‘That it was an accident? They won’t buy it. Not once they find out what happened in the pub. They’ll think you hit him deliberately. And we can’t prove that you didn’t.’
‘Oh, Jesus, Robbie—’
Dan pushed his hand through his hair, while Robbie gazed into the distance, his eyes misty with regret.
‘I s’pose we should have stayed at the scene. Now it’s just gonna look like you ran off.’
‘But I said that.’ It was almost a shout. Dan had to make a real effort to lower his voice, talking through gritted teeth. ‘I wanted to stay. You were the one who insisted on coming home.’
‘Mm. Bad call on my part. I wasn’t thinking straight.’
Dan turned away, his body almost writhing with misery. ‘This is insane. We should have flagged down that other car to fetch help.’
Nothing from Robbie. When Dan turned back, what he saw made him flinch: an expression so cold that for a second this didn’t look like Robbie at all, but a stranger.
‘At the end of the day, though, it was your decision.’
‘What?’
‘You were driving, Dan. Not me.’
Dan stared at him, at a friend he had known since primary school. The most important friend he’d ever had.
‘You grabbed the wheel.’
‘I was just trying to beep the horn, that’s all. Make him jump.’
‘No. You grabbed the wheel. That’s why we hit him.’
Robbie opened his hands: whatever. ‘Look, I hate to point this out, but all the police will care about is that you were driving. It’s your car. You were in control of it. I was just a passenger, yeah?’
His eyes widened, and what they told Dan was clear: I won’t go down for this. I won’t take any responsibility.