You Had It Coming by B.M. Carroll (best fiction novels .TXT) 📕

as Bridget is. How well does he know his colleague? There’s an obvious rapport between the two, but at the same time Bridget can understand how this subject matter was never discussed. The stigma. The embarrassment. Bridget dealt with a few rape cases before she transferred to homicide. Categorically the most frustrating cases of her career; six offences, not a single conviction.

‘Twelve years ago now,’ Megan continues in a voice that sounds very far away. ‘It took me a while to recognise him. He looked a lot older. And he was the last person I expected to see. I still can’t believe the coincidence …’

Bridget is on high alert. Cold hard fact: coincidences are often not coincidences at all.

She has a thousand questions to ask but suddenly there’s the crackle of the radio.

Car 482. Category 2A, construction-site fall … Lucas and Megan are on their feet and already halfway out of the kitchen.

‘What was the verdict of the trial?’ Bridget calls after them.

A beat before Megan turns around. ‘Not guilty … Aren’t they all?’

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we have it on account that Megan Lowe has a quiet nature. We have heard evidence from her pastoral care teacher, Mrs O’Neill, who read us an excerpt from last year’s school report: ‘Megan is a hardworking and introverted student who sometimes finds it difficult to voice her feelings and thoughts. Next year I hope to see Megan grow in confidence and I will be encouraging her to speak up both in class and with her friends.’ Megan has a history of being passive, of not voicing how she truly feels, and of internalising her thoughts and true opinions. We all know that introverts are good, intelligent people. But no amount of thinking can substitute for talking. There are times in life when we need to articulate what we want, and – more crucially – what we don’t want. Megan didn’t need to give chapter and verse on the night in question. Monosyllables would have done the job. She could have said ‘No’. She could have said ‘Stop’. She could have said ‘Don’t’. She said none of the above, and my clients should not have to pay for the fact that Megan Lowe, at age seventeen, had trouble speaking up.

7

MEGAN

‘Right at the lights. All clear.’

It’s Lucas’s turn to drive today, which is a relief because Megan feels off-kilter. She is in charge of navigation and the MDT, which require less decision-making.

‘Another right coming up. Watch that white car.’

Lucas hasn’t brought up what happened in the kitchen. He’s waiting for a lull and there hasn’t been one. A construction-site accident. A schoolyard concussion. A pedestrian versus a reversing car. Now they’re on the way to a multi-vehicle accident. One of the drivers, an elderly woman, is reportedly unable to leave her car. She hit her head on impact. God knows what other harm has been done: her bones will be more brittle than a young person’s.

‘Here we are.’

Three crumpled cars in a neat row of destruction. The first one appears to have stopped suddenly, the vehicle behind rear-ending it before getting rear-ended itself. Relatively high speed, going by the concertinaed bonnets and splintered windscreens. The elderly woman is in the middle car, damaged from both ends. The other cars appear to be empty. A brown-haired girl is sitting on the kerb. A man, with a cut on his forehead, stands back to allow access to the old woman. She’s leaning forward, into the airbag. Conscious. Wincing in pain. The car door is open, which is a bonus. In accidents like these, the doors often become crumpled and stuck, requiring the assistance of Fire and Rescue: extra levels of stress and complexity.

‘Hello there. What’s your name?’ Lucas asks her.

‘Shirley Wallis.’

‘I’m Lucas and this is Megan. What day is it today?’

‘Thursday.’

‘Do you remember everything?’

‘I do … Unfortunately.’

Her sense of humour seems to be intact. That’s a good thing.

‘Was anyone else in the car at the time of the crash?’

‘Just silly old me.’

Megan goes around to the other side of the car and opens the passenger door.

‘Just pulling up the handbrake and putting the car into park, Shirley,’ she explains, sliding in next to her. ‘Are you on blood thinners?’

‘I am.’

‘Can you run your tongue around your mouth for me?’ The old woman complies. Megan presses fingers gently against her forehead. ‘Pain?’

‘Oh, yes. Gave it a right wallop. Saw stars. It was like one of those cartoons.’

‘How about your chest? Is it hurting?’

‘Yes. Didn’t know the airbag would be so bloody hard. Took the wind right out of me.’

Lucas is taking her blood pressure while Megan continues her assessment.

‘Any neck pain?’

‘No.’

‘Pelvis area and legs?’

‘Just as rickety as usual.’

Megan uses scissors to cut open her top. ‘You have some nasty seatbelt abrasions there, Shirley. Now Lucas is going to hook you up to the ECG so we can check your heart.’

‘I haven’t got a heart!’

Megan laughs. ‘How old are you, Shirley?’

‘I’m ninety-one, but in my head I’m still nineteen.’

Lucas and Megan share a smile. It’s moments like this that make it all worthwhile. Shirley – battered, bruised and after the fright of her life – still able to joke around.

Lucas turns his smile on Shirley. ‘Considering you don’t have a heart, it’s beating just fine.’

Megan leaves Shirley temporarily in his care. Time to quickly check on the other drivers. Make sure that their injuries aren’t serious. You can’t be too careful. Sometimes it’s the people who appear to be okay who are hurting the most.

‘Coming for a drink?’ Lucas asks after they sign off for the night.

Oh God. He wants to talk. Megan doesn’t want to talk. She is depleted, particles of her left behind with each of today’s patients. What she needs is an early night: sleep puts her back together.

‘Nah, too tired.’ She hitches her bag on to her shoulder.

They’re always tired at the end of a shift. Impossible not to be. But one look at his face is enough