by NC Marshall
Charlotte sat forward in her seat, suddenly registering the road signs for the coast.
“Tony, where are we going? I thought we had to get back to headquarters?”
“We do, but we’re just popping in to see my mam first.”
Charlotte chuckled, “Just because we’re working in your neck of the woods doesn’t entitle you to a whistle-stop tour of the Morgan family! And I’m not sure Emery would be overly impressed if he knew.”
“Don’t be daft! Anyway, it was his idea. Mam is expecting us and she said she’ll have the coffee and bacon butties ready for when we get there.”
“OK, you’ve twisted my arm.” Charlotte shook her head before changing the topic of conversation back to work and away from her car-crash excuse of a love life, and bacon sandwiches.
“The car Megan was driving when she crashed was a pretty decent one as well. I saw the reports that Emery gave you.”
“Aye, it was brand new,” agreed Tony. “Seems strange that the brakes were dodgy after the short mileage she had done in it.”
“So, she could afford a car that cost more or less £20,000, but couldn’t fork out for a mechanic to check the brakes?”
“That’s not what she was saying – she just hadn’t had the time to get them looked at. Anyway, I really don’t think it was an underlying problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not convinced it was a coincidence that her brakes failed on that night.”
“So you don’t think her brakes were faulty at all?”
“Possibly.”
“You mean, you think someone tampered with her brakes before the accident?”
“The investigators who went down to the crash site don’t seem to think so, and even if the brakes had been tampered with before the accident, there’s no way of knowing now. The explosion destroyed the small amount that was left of the car after the fire.”
“What did you say she did for work?” asked Charlotte.
“She’s a marketing manager for a big retail chain.”
“And she can afford to keep a house like that on her salary, and have leftover cash for a little sporty number?”
“You don’t know people’s circumstances, Charlotte.”
Tony didn’t feel the need to discuss the financial details right now. Although he hadn’t pried too much into Megan Cooper’s background, he had access to it, and he guessed from the small amount that he had seen that her deceased husband had left her financially secure, via his will and life insurance.
Charlotte ignored Tony’s comment and continued to dig.
“What did her husband do?”
“He was some sort of account manager for a building firm based over in Gateshead.”
Tony had only read details about Megan Cooper when he and Charlotte had arrived in Newcastle yesterday afternoon, and, after catching up with his old boss in Northumbria CID, and speaking with the officers who’d already questioned Megan, he had headed to his hotel armed with information. He had then spent a few hours reading the notes and had been awake into the small hours of this morning running things through his head.
It seemed to him that Megan Cooper had been dealt a fairly shitty hand so far, and she was only 30. Her mother had died when she was in her late teens, and then her partner of
9 years, with whom she had been married to for 5, had been cruelly taken from her too. Tony knew that even Charlotte wasn’t shallow enough to believe that the money made up for this loss, and the sadness in her expression at the mere mention of her late husband’s name had said at all.
Tony hoped that this was all just an unfortunate coincidence. His ex-boss, Joe Emery, had called him yesterday morning and said that the local authorities believed that Rick Donovan had nothing to do with Megan Cooper’s accident, and that the crash was just another pothole in her long road of bad luck. Tony had been in the game for long enough now to know that indeed, coincidences did happen, however, the word ‘coincidence’ and Rick Donovan had rarely been strung together in the same sentence.
Tony called Emery to update him and to confirm that everything Megan had told them this morning had coincided with her earlier statement while in hospital. Emery thanked him for his time today and promised to keep him updated if any more information arose.
As they continued along the road towards his parents’ home in Whitley Bay, Tony crossed his fingers and prayed that the local police were correct, and that this time, for once, he had it all totally wrong.
Chapter 8
It’s been 2 days since the visit from the uninvited detectives. They haven’t been in touch with me again and I’m assuming that, whatever information I provided has given them the answers they need, and quashed any link with Rick Donovan.
It's Wednesday night, and after a boring few days of sitting around the house, because my boss insisted I take the full week off, I’m eager to get out and spend some time away from home. Although the rest and relaxation has made me feel a lot better, the time off has also meant a lot of hours on my own and, with an unoccupied mind, I have exhausted my own company!
Eva and I have arranged to meet outside a bar and, when I arrive, she’s already waiting.
“Hi Eva, sorry I’m a bit late, the taxi wasn't on time,” I say, greeting my friend with a peck on the cheek. As always, she looks impeccable and I expect nothing less from my closest friend.
“No problem,” replies Eva, dancing on the spot to stay warm. “I've been chatted up three times already – standing here does wonders for a girl’s ego!” She smiles brightly.
“Come on, let’s get hammered,” I say, linking her arm and heading for the open door.
The popular wine bar is busy. Fake cobwebs dress the walls, and large plastic spiders hang from the ceiling. Small pumpkins with lit candles sit on each table, and the bar area is surrounded by people donning an array of imaginative fancy dress costumes.
‘Halloween’ to me is for children and, as I don’t have any, and I don’t agree with the money-making, over-the-top event that it’s become, I tend to avoid it. However, looking around tonight, it’s clear to see there are plenty of people who do like to get involved!
Pushing my way through the crowd, I accept that we’re not going to achieve the quiet weekday drink that we had hoped for; nevertheless I head straight to the bar. It only takes a few minutes before I’m greeted by the barmaid, aka Frankenstein’s wife. I order our drinks while Eva stands behind me, being propositioned by a questionable-looking Dracula.
We’re lucky to find an empty booth at the back of the pub, where it’s a little quieter to sit and chat. I've only spoken to Eva a couple of times since the accident, but she knows all about the detectives’ visit earlier in the week.
“So, how are you really feeling?” asks Eva, as she sits down, places a bottle of Prosecco in front of us and fills our glasses.
“Yeah, I’m fine thanks – just itching to get back to work if I'm honest.”
“You never were the type to take it easy,” she replies, taking a sip from her glass. “Are you still thinking about finding the guy who saved you?”
“I'm not sure now. I gave his jacket to the police on Monday, so I have no real need.”
“Aren’t you curious about him though?”
“Well, yeah, I suppose.” I take a sip of Prosecco and the bubbles tingle my tongue; the alcohol that I have recently abstained from tastes wonderful after the stressful time I have had.
“Well, why don’t you go? You have the address printed on that key, don’t you?”
“Yes, it’s on the keyring it was attached to.”
“So…what you waiting for?” Eva refills our glasses; the alcohol hasn’t touched the sides.
“I’ll tell you what,” adds Eva, “I’ll come with you. We’ll make a little break of it this weekend and, as you don’t have a car yet, I’ll drive! It’ll do us both some good.
I still shudder at the thought of being behind the wheel of a car so soon after the acci
dent; it makes me feel sick.
“Do you even know how to get there?”
“That’s what sat navs are for Meg!”
“Have you been to Morteford before though?” I ask.
“Of course! Lots of times actually - mum and dad used to take Johnny and I every summer when we were kids.”
My heart races at the mention of her twin brother’s name, prompting me to glance at the wedding ring on my left hand. I roll it between my thumb and forefinger thoughtfully; our initials and wedding date fastidiously engraved on the inside.
“I’d forgotten – he’d told me that,” I whisper.
Eva reaches across the table and gently rubs my hand.
“I miss him too, Meg,” she says, tears fill her heavily made-up eyes briefly before she brushes them away and picks up her glass.
“Let’s raise a toast to him,” she says, enthusiastically. I smile and hold up my glass against hers.
“To Johnny!” she declares loudly. “The best brother and husband a girl could ever wish for – gone but never forgotten.”
I manage a smile through my tears.
“To Johnny.”
***
A taxi eventually brings me home and I feel more relaxed than I have these past few days; it’s definitely done me some good.
Slipping off my heels in the hallway, I flex my throbbing toes and head to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. The house is so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
I’m used to that now, but at first, after Johnny died, I couldn’t bear the silence. Even though, towards the end, I spent a lot of time on my own in the house, I knew that no matter how late it was, he would be home. When I first lost him, it took a long time before I accepted that he wasn’t coming back. I would sleep with the light on and, although I wasn’t keen on the darkness, it was the quiet of the house that really unsettled me.
Downing a half pint of water in an attempt to wake up hangover-free in the morning, I head upstairs where I change into a pair of comfortable cotton pyjamas and climb wearily into bed. Tilly follows me and curls into a furry ball at the left side of the duvet – Johnny’s side – and, since he died, there hasn’t been a single night when she hasn’t fallen asleep in the exact same spot. I’m asleep before my head hits the pillow.
Half an hour later, I’m wakened by a loud shattering sound downstairs. Startled, I look around the dark bedroom, trying to get my bearings, with my brain swirling in a concoction of sleep-filled fog and alcohol-induced disorientation. My eyes settle on Tilly, still curled in a ball fast asleep at the bottom of the bed, and suddenly my heart starts pounding as realization washes over me. If it wasn’t the cat making that noise, then what was it?
Throwing back the heavy duvet, I lower myself to the carpet and creep to the door. Moving to the landing, I stop at the top of the stairs and flick on the light switch, before tiptoeing down. I quickly cross the hall, the cold marble stinging my warm feet, and it's then that I hear the sound of running water coming from the kitchen.
I run the short distance from the hallway and through the open door of the kitchen. I don’t click on the light, but I can clearly see what woke me – the kitchen tap is running full blast, and the sink, now full of water due to the plug being in, is overflowing down the sides of the cupboards. The glass, which had been in the empty sink, now lies shattered on the tiles and the floor is gleaming with large puddles deepening by the second; the patio door is also slightly ajar.
“Shit!” I shout into the freezing cold, empty room. How could I have been so stupid? I must have left the tap running when I got a drink before bed, however, I don’t know how the plug’s in, enabling it to flood! I must have done that without realizing – as well as leaving the patio door open when I let Tilly in before going to bed. I’m never drinking again!
I quickly turn off the heavy flow of cold water and, after I discard the broken glass, I race back upstairs to get some towels. My heart’s still leaping in my chest at the shock of being woken so suddenly.
I reach the kitchen again, pausing in the doorway as light from the hall illuminates the water still pooling on the shiny floor. I take a deep breath and try my best to ignore the vision of Johnny I see in my head – he’s standing in the centre of the pool, dripping wet. His body is still, his skin pale and his once bright blue eyes are lifeless as he watches me.
“Just ignore it Meg, it's not real,” I say aloud to the empty kitchen, bending to put the armful of towels down on the floor to soak up the mess at his bare feet.
Once the majority of the water is cleaned up, I throw the sodden towels into the washing machine, setting the timer to start first thing in the morning. I then wearily head back upstairs. Climbing into the now cold bed, where Tilly hasn’t even stirred during the commotion, I pull the duvet up to my chin, a sudden chill entering the hot, centrally heated room.
I roll onto my right side and close my eyes. As I do most nights, I imagine Johnny climbing into bed behind me, and pulling me towards him, like he used to in the early days.
I imagine his warm breath against my neck as he tells me that he loves me and, as I drift off to sleep, I imagine the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat that is no longer there.
Chapter 9
Charlotte raised the burger to her lips and took an unladylike mouthful.
“God, I've been waiting for this since Sunday,” she murmured. Tony, who was sitting opposite in the service station fast-food restaurant nursing a large cappuccino, smirked at her.
“How do you eat so much and manage to stay so thin?” he asked, as she finished the burger and wiped away the mustard that dotted the corners of her mouth.
It was true that since Tony had hit 40, the middle-age spread had taken hold, and even though he looked after himself and was in relatively good shape, he still couldn’t achieve the desired results without working hard at it. Charlotte, on the other hand, was only a few years younger than Tony, but her tiny figure, washboard stomach and toned limbs were a scientific marvel. She’d never set foot in a gym in her life, and lived on a diet that consisted of fast food and takeaways.
“I do lots of physical activity!” she answered, still with her mouth full and reaching for the extra-large Coke in front of her.
“Yeah, we know about your type of physical activity,” joked Tony.
“You’re just jealous Tony, admit it.” Charlotte smiled and playfully hit her colleague on the arm.
“I'm a happily married man DI Taylor, and I have an extremely sexy wife back at home,” he retorted, dead pan and adopting the stern professional voice he always used when questioning suspects.
Charlotte laughed. “I know, I know, I'm only joking.”
Tony Morgan was the best DCI Charlotte had ever had the pleasure to work alongside and she knew his sense of humour matched hers – the main reason they’d become such good friends, as well as colleagues, over the 2 years they had worked together. She also knew his limits, and how far she could push him. After Charlotte had transferred from the London Met, and Tony had relocated to Manchester with his family, they had both found themselves in the same boat; new city, new team and both ultimately thrown in at the deep end of their respective new roles. Charlotte had a tremendous amount of respect for Tony – she had learned a lot from him and, although they had a laid-back relationship, she was always aware of him being her superior.
“How is Olivia?” she asked Tony.
“She’s fine. A bit pissed off that we have to go back to Newcastle, but she understands that needs must. She said ‘hi’, by the way.”
Charlotte smiled, “…and the kids?”
“They’re good. Isla lost another tooth last night; she’ll have none left if she keeps going at this rate.”
“There’ll be a visit from the tooth fairy to your house soon then?”
“Yep, and Liv’s giving her £5 a pop! I swear Isla is yanking them out herself now just to pocket the cash.” Tony replied.
Charlotte grinned, “Smart kid! How’s
Archie?”
“He’s fine, although almost knocked himself out at nursery yesterday pretending to be Spiderman. Liv was in A&E for almost 2 hours waiting to get him checked over.”
“But he’s OK?”
“Oh he’s fine, just a big bump on the head!”
Charlotte ginned. “The joys of parenthood,” she replied, sarcastically, reaching for her fries.
Even though she and Tony were roughly the same age, she could never imagine herself with his life – happily married, two young kids, a large semi-detached in a respectable part of the Manchester suburbs. They couldn’t be further apart in some respects, and she often wondered if the ‘opposites attract’ rule is why their friendship worked so well.
Charlotte thought about her own life back at home – her two-bedroomed flat, which had a glorious view of a busy mini-roundabout, a worsening damp problem, and scandalous rental charges. However, the place also had its perks and was the reason she had chosen to live there for as long as she had. These included the absurdly good-looking neighbour upstairs, with whom she would spend the occasional night, amazing acoustics, and the best Chinese takeaway in Salford just a few doors down.
The long line of failed relationships and the ring-free left hand was a flashing beacon to the fact that Charlotte was unmarried. She simply didn’t have time to find the perfect husband and, other than the occasional one-night stand, she was happy without a man in her life. Unlike her older sister, Becky, Charlotte didn’t have the same urge to conform to society by settling down and having kids and let’s face it, she wasn’t exactly the marrying type. She was 2 years away from 40 and was old enough and wise enough now to know that marriage and kids were not how it was panning out – and that was fine. She had one love in her life, and her career gave her more pleasure and overall satisfaction than any man could.
Fishing in the brown paper bag for her apple pie, Charlotte removed the cardboard container and pulled out the pastry. Splitting it in two, she popped a piece on a napkin and slid it across the table in Tony’s direction. His eyes lit up as he took the small, sugar-filled offering and, in one fluid movement, shoved the whole lot in his mouth.