After the Accident: A compelling and addictive psychological suspense novel

by Kerry Wilkinson

  I watched his car for a moment, wondering if he might turn and come back. He didn’t – he kept driving and, before I knew it, he’d disappeared as magically as he’d arrived.

  As well as my relief at the car running again, the other major positive is that the air conditioning had kicked back in. I don’t think there’s anything quite like a blast of cold air on a scorching day…

  …

  Maybe a Calippo straight from the freezer on a garage forecourt.

  I thought about turning around and heading back to the village. There would be safety there – except that’s not where the answers were going to be. So I kept going.

  I don’t think the road surface got worse – but it certainly didn’t get better. Every time the car lurched into a pothole, I thought the engine would cut out again. As patch-up jobs on the side of the road go, that guy must have done quite the piece of work – because the car kept going and going until I came to a small sign that read ‘Ag Georgios’.

  There was a small row of houses on the inside of the road, with the view unimpeded towards the ocean on the other. The woman at hotel reception had laughed about the idea of coming here – and I soon understood why. There were no side roads and no turn-offs. Within thirty seconds at most, I had driven past the last building and was on the way back out of St George.

  I had to stop and do a five-point turn to head back the way I’d come. This time, I left the car on the side of the road and started walking on foot.

  I’ll call it a village, but St George was so small that I could see from one end to the other. As well as the houses, there were a couple of central buildings that were bigger than the others. I couldn’t read the signs on the outside, but there were some tables outside one, so I headed inside.

  It was a café in the sense that there was a table with a tea urn and a man sitting behind a newspaper. There was a fan in the corner, but it wasn’t doing much other than blowing the hot air around. There was nobody else there and the man blinked up at me as if he was looking at an alien coming down the steps of a flying saucer.

  I was holding the envelope that I’d found in Mum and Dad’s suitcase, and I took out the sheet of paper that said ‘Ag Georgios’ across the top. The other scribbles on the page didn’t seem to be in English, aside from the ‘#133’. I felt sorry for the guy when I showed him that sheet. He had this mix of bewilderment and terror on his face. I guess they don’t get many tourists out there. Either way, he scanned the page, pouted out his bottom lip and then pointed to the building next door.

  It was a strange moment when I walked into that second building. Something utterly foreign and yet something completely recognisable at the same time. The best way I can describe it is when you walk into a neighbour’s house and the layout is the same as yours… but different.

  That was my first time entering a Galanikos post office.

  The first thing I saw inside was a counter with a display of commemorative stamps at the side – plus a stack of differently shaped envelopes. There was a poster with a photo of a passport and lots of foreign writing. It was… strange – and so disconcerting that I almost missed the bank of boxes off to the side.

  I only saw them after the man behind the counter said something I didn’t understand. There were rows and rows of small metal doors, each around fifteen centimetres square, with numbers on the front.

  The man at the counter was still talking, calling at me maybe, but I wasn’t listening – because I suddenly realised what the 133 meant – and why there was a key in the envelope.

  So I walked across, put the key in the door of PO box 133 – and then I unlocked it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  THE MAGIC GOAT HAIR

  Geoffrey McGinley (husband of Bethan McGinley, father of Emma and Julius McGinley): It’ll need more than a drop from a steep cliff to take me out, sunshine.

  Emma: Dad’s ring was back on his finger when I saw him in the hospital that afternoon. I doubt he even knew it had been missing.

  He was awake but drowsy, slurring jokes to himself and trying to get Mum to scratch his backside. Mum said he was on strong painkillers, which was an understatement considering he asked me what rhymed with orange and then giggled himself back to a half sleep that didn’t last long.

  It’s fair to say he wasn’t himself… which was apt because I wasn’t sure whether I could ever look at him the same way again.

  Scott had asked me who benefitted from Alan being pushed – and I didn’t want to listen. Then I’d opened the post office box…

  I was lost in that when the door to Dad’s room opened and the doctor came in. He told us that Dad had multiple fractures in both legs and that operations would be needed to help set them. Before he could finish, Mum asked if that could be done in the UK. I thought it was fairly clear that the doctor was trying to steer us away from that, but as soon as he said ‘it’s possible’, Mum leapt on that and said that they’d get anything done privately as soon as they got back.

  The doctor was trying to explain the dangers, but Dad was higher than a hot-air balloon and Mum seemed determined to get him out of there. The doctor said that Dad would need a wheelchair to be on a plane and that they’d do something with his legs to try to make it as comfortable as possible for him.

  In the end, he could have said that Dad needed a bed of marshmallows and a pillow made out of magic goat hair and Mum would have said it was fine. She wanted him off the island.

  The doctor made a few other checks, gave one final attempt to change Mum’s mind – and then wished us well. It was like a parent telling a child not to stick their fingers in an electrical socket and then standing back with their hands up when their stupid kid insisted on doing it anyway.

  We sat with Dad for another half an hour or so as he drifted in and out of consciousness. I wanted to ask him about the cliff and whether he was with anyone. If he was, then he never said… not that he said much that was coherent. He pointed at the wall behind me and asked why there were sheep in his room. He asked Mum what was for tea and wondered why there were no spaghetti hoops in the cupboard.

  It was surreal.

  Mum and I got a taxi back to the hotel, but we were still in the village when I asked the driver to let me out. I told Mum I’d see her later and then crossed a mini plaza and headed across to where the documentary crew were filming. I’d spotted them from the cab and, if you want to know the truth, I was being nosey. I wedged myself behind one of the market stalls and watched as the crew talked to a guy who was running a café. Scott wasn’t there – but Paul was. He was holding the boom mic as one of the others asked questions and the café owner answered.

  I really wanted to hear what they were saying, especially after seeing the contents of that PO box – but I didn’t want to go any closer and let them know I was that bothered. I probably watched for about ten minutes until I looped my way back around the market and headed up the slope towards the hotel.

  I wanted to get back to the cottage, but Julius was by the small pool again and called across. I think he might have been waiting for me.

  Julius: I’d not seen Emma all day. Amy and Chloe were hoping she’d spend some time with them around the pool. I tried to tell them that Emma wasn’t the type of person who’d sit around on a sunbed all day – and I suppose that’s how it ended up going. The only times I ever saw her around the hotel were either at dinner – or as she was coming and going.

  …

  I have no idea what she was doing with her days.

  Emma: Julius said that Mum had told him Dad was awake. I replied it was true but that Dad wasn’t yet the Dad we remembered because of all the drugs. I suppose, out of context, that could mean a very different thing.

  I thought that was it, but Julius nodded me closer and lowered his voice. He said: ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said… that Dad was pushed.’

  Julius: I suppose that’s what happened – but that doesn’t give the context. I was thinking about what Emma had been
saying, but only because I was worried about her. I wasn’t acting like it was a serious theory.

  Emma: He asked me why someone would push Dad, so I told him about Daniel and the argument over the business from a few months before. If Dad had died, then Mum wasn’t going to bother with the business. Daniel would end up in charge. I reminded Julius that he was the one who’d overheard Daniel talking about Dad’s spending.

  Julius: She was doing a really good job of seeming crazy.

  Emma: I probably talked about seeing Daniel attempt to pressure Mum into signing some papers. I remember Julius and I looking across the pool towards him. Daniel was wearing a pair of shorts that would be obscene in some countries and, if anything, he was somehow redder than the night before. We’ve had turnip and radish and I’m running out vegetables to compare him against. Maybe a mutant tomato? And, yes, I know a tomato is a fruit. Either way, it was extraordinary. I’ve never seen a human being that colour before.

  There was this moment where Julius and I were looking across the pool at Daniel and I really felt we were on the same page as brother and sister.

  Julius: Emma must have seen what she wanted to see, or heard what she wanted to. There was never a time when I indulged her conspiracy theories. At most, I listened to her. Does that make me the bad guy? She’s my sister.

  Emma: Julius said he’d keep half an eye on Daniel, but I wasn’t sure what that meant. It sounded like one of those things someone might say. At the same time, it was more than he’d committed to the last time we’d talked. I felt like I finally had an ally.

  Julius: Is that the word she used? ‘Ally’?

  …

  If that’s what she believed at that time, then she was delusional even earlier than I thought.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  EVEN MORE CHINS

  Emma: I was still with Julius and the girls when I watched Daniel stand. He put on a shirt and some flip-flops, then shuffled off towards the cottages.

  I followed him away from the pool and reached Mum’s cottage a moment after she opened the door to him. Daniel didn’t notice me until he’d already spoken – and I suppose it wasn’t a surprise when he asked Mum if she’d thought about signing the papers from the day before. She’d been at the hospital all day and he wouldn’t have seen her, except for a brief moment when she was re-entering the hotel.

  When Mum caught my eye, he turned and realised he’d been overheard. That’s when he started saying how fantastic it was that Geoff was awake. He went through the full routine of ‘back to fighting fit in no time’ and ‘he’s always been a tough nut’, but it seemed so transparent.

  Daniel: That girl is like the dregs at the bottom of a wine bottle.

  Emma: I think I said ‘Mum—’ and then Daniel exploded. He spun to me and goes: ‘This is none of your concern, girl!’

  For me, there are two types of insult. When Claire called him a gluttonous turnip, it’s probably something she’d thought up at some point beforehand. I can imagine her sitting on it, stewing, for months or years. Then, when the opportunity arose, she threw it in his face with the fury he deserved.

  When Daniel called me a ‘girl’, there was no sophistication there. Insults like ‘boy’ or ‘girl’ are about his level. The only exception is that I once heard him call Victor – his own son, remember – ‘as useful as the dregs at the bottom of a wine bottle’. I can imagine him cracking that out roughly twice a week, hoping for a laugh it will never get.

  He’s not a clever man.

  Imagine Piers Morgan with even more chins than he has already – that’s the kind of person we’re talking about. If it’s not ‘boy’, ‘girl’ – or the thing that’s literally in front of Daniel at the time he’s speaking – then he has nothing.

  Daniel: You know she’s a child murderer, don’t you? That’s the person you’re giving airtime to.

  Emma: There was this moment of silence and I think Daniel realised he’d gone too far. It wasn’t that he had any concern for me – it’s that he’d done it in front of Mum. She didn’t have to say anything because she did it all with a look.

  Daniel muttered something that might have been ‘sorry’ and then he told Mum that he needed a decision about money for the repairs. He wanted to scan the sheet and email it back to the UK so that work could begin the next morning. He asked if Dad was up to signing the form, even though I’m about as certain as I can be that he already knew the answer.

  Mum said that Dad was on some strong painkillers and wouldn’t be up to making big decisions, so Daniel asked if she’d sign it in her role as co-director.

  Daniel: This is a straightforward business matter and I have no idea why you’re asking about it.

  Emma: One thing I do know is that Mum’s role in the company is name only. She is a director, but it doesn’t come with any role that I know of. I’d guess it’s for tax reasons, but it’s not for me to say.

  Daniel: That is none of her business. Or yours.

  Emma: Mum didn’t look at the papers before signing them. They could have been for anything. Daniel took them back from her and then winked at me as he turned to head back to the hotel.

  He kept staring at me when we were at dinner that night. Every time I glanced up, his piggy eyes would be watching and he’d not bother to turn away. It was starting to feel as if every moment I spent in the hotel was a moment I was stuck with him.

  I gave Mum her group dinner, but, after that, I needed to get away.

  Daniel: Emma McGinley grew up with wonderful parents and an older brother who went on to be incredibly successful in his field. She can’t blame her genes for her failures, which only leaves her personality.

  Look at how she dresses, how she speaks. I have no interest in Facebook and all that rubbish – but even I’ve seen the photos of her on those protest marches. I’ve seen the disgraceful language she uses while talking about the democratically elected Prime Minister of this country. Did you see what she called people who vote Conservative?

  It all came out in the papers after she murdered her son. They printed the lot of it and showed her up for who she is.

  If you’re asking me to respect a person like that, to listen to a person like that, then you’re talking to the wrong man.

  Paul: When the lobby called my room, saying there was a woman waiting for me, it’s fair to say I would’ve beaten Usain Bolt down the stairs.

  Emma: I didn’t know whether Paul would want to see me again, but the receptionist had barely put the phone down when he bolted out of the lift. He asked if I wanted to go to the hotel bar, but I was after something more private. The rest of the crew were staying in that hotel and I didn’t think it was a good idea for us to be seen together.

  We ended up heading into the village. It’s easy to get lost there in the evenings. Most tourists stay in their hotels because it’s all-inclusive – but even those who don’t stick to the bars that are closer to where they’re staying.

  I knew a few places on the edge of town because Lander would take me there. It’s not just that they’re quieter, it’s that they feel more real. The other bars will be showing football, or other sport that I don’t think the locals are too bothered about. There will be pub quizzes, or karaoke… things for tourists.

  The bar Paul and I settled into was almost silent. I’ve never understood those places that have loud music all the time. Literally nobody in the history of humanity has said to their friends: ‘Let’s go out and listen to recorded music at a volume so loud, I won’t be able to hear you speak.’

  Paul and I found a snug at the back of a bar. There were a handful of tourists there, but no one either of us recognised. Paul ordered a bottle of the local beer and I did the whole ‘Coke, Please,’ ‘Is Pepsi OK?’ ‘Yes’-thing.

  Paul: Emma was interested in the documentary we were making, which isn’t much of a surprise. I told her a couple of things but nothing important. She kept asking whether the end was fixed.

  Emma: He pretended he didn’t know wh
at I meant, so I had to spell it out. I was asking whether he knew what happened to Alan nine years ago.

  Paul: I don’t remember what I said in response to that.

  Emma: He said a lot without saying anything. They’d spoken to the person who found Alan’s body, Jin the police chief, Scott and a couple of other locals that he didn’t name. I was fishing for details and wondering if I should tell him about the fake driving licence I’d found with Alan’s name and Dad’s face.

  After looking through the contents of the PO box, I finally had an idea why that licence existed… but I wasn’t quite ready to admit it to myself.

  Paul: I don’t remember things quite like that. She wanted to talk about the film, so we did, though she knew there was lots that I couldn’t say.

  Then I mentioned that I’d heard rumours someone else had fallen off a cliff in recent days – and that’s when she said it was her dad. It was fair to say I was surprised. Speechless, probably.

  Emma: I didn’t particularly want those worlds to collide – but Paul knew who I was by that point and he’d have found out about Dad sooner or later. It wasn’t that I’d gone out of my way to avoid telling him, it was that Paul and I had only seen each other once since Dad fell – and that was on the street with Scott and the rest of the crew.

  I told him that Dad was awake, though he had fractures in both legs. He needed surgery and that it was likely he’d end up flying home to have it.