Hit and Run by Maria Frankland (best books to read for students txt) 📕

“I should collect him. He needs to hear what’s happened from me.” I watch as people park and leave their cars, or return to the hospital car park, some deep in conversation, some glued to their phones. All around me, life continues. I wonder if I’ll ever feel normal again.

“I can make sure Jack finds nothing out. They haven’t named your husband yet, have they?”

“No, but it’s only a matter of time. Like I said, I’ve just formally identified him, so they’ll release his name soon. Plus, they’ll be wanting eye witnesses to come forward.”

“You should look after yourself Fiona. Let me help you with Jack. It’s the least I can do.”

I’m beat. I haven’t got the energy to insist on collecting him. At least I can wait until tomorrow before having to impart what’s happened. He’s seven years old – it’s not as though he is going to watch the news, or read a paper and find out for himself.

“OK, thank you. I’ll leave him with you. If you’re really sure?”

“Of course I am. I’m glad to do something useful. Let me know if you’d like me to collect him tomorrow as well. Sam loves having Jack here.”

“No, it’s fine.” I am aware of the possessive edge to my voice. “I must tell him what’s happened to his daddy tomorrow. At least you looking after Jack gives me chance to try and make sense of what’s happened myself first.”

“Are you going to be alright Fiona? Have you got someone there with you?”

“My neighbour is coming over.” I’m lying. I’ve already decided that I need to be on my own this evening. We all have our own way of dealing with things, and this is mine.

“If there’s anything I can do, all you have to do is ask. I mean that.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

The standard line when someone has died. If there’s anything I can do… It’s a sentence that I’m probably going to get used to hearing.

I take the long way home, pointing the Jeep toward Denton Road, which has reopened. There’s hardly any sign of anything having occurred. It’s as though Rob’s life didn’t count for anything. Here one minute, gone the next.

I pull up and step out into the balmy evening air, which smells of muck spreading and summer meadows. There are a few stones on the ground from the dry stone wall. Apart from that – nothing. I glance over the wall where I saw a police officer earlier, taking measurements. There’s a dent in the grass, man-sized. I realise, with a shudder, that this is where Rob ended up. There should be rows of flowers here, marking his life. Yet hardly anyone knows just yet, that he’s gone. I climb over the wall, stumbling towards the flattened grass. A closer look reveals dried blood. I fall to my knees beside where he died. I am comforted because it was quick. That’s probably why PC Robinson told me. To comfort me.

* * *

Not a soul passed as I set off again.

I thought I saw the top of someone’s head in the next field.

But I will have got away too quickly for them to have anything on me.

A gamble which seems to have paid off.

Chapter 9

Arriving back home is inevitable. Though the company of anyone else is the last thing I want, the prospect of an empty house is still uninviting. I absently notice the hanging baskets are showing the fruits of my recent labour. They need watering but, in the scheme of things, that seems unimportant.

I usually love being in our beautiful home – my sanctuary and favourite place in the world. It’s hard to believe that this time yesterday, Mum, Rob and Jack filled it. Rob wasn’t impressed that Mum was here. I had sensed this by his tone whilst they were in the garden. I was busy in the kitchen, so couldn’t make out what they were saying. Jack had been over the moon at her arrival and the toy cars she had brought him. Despite the undercurrents, yesterday, it was a family home. Now, I don’t know what it is. An empty shell.

There’s a tap on the window of the Jeep. I let the window down.

“Was it him?” Christine bends towards me, shaking her mane of chestnut hair behind one shoulder. I’ve always been envious of her hair. Mine is past my shoulders now, but thin and brittle, not glossy and thick, like hers. I notice she’s holding a foil-wrapped plate.

I nod, momentarily closing my eyes against her expression.

“I’m so sorry.” She reaches in and touches my shoulder with her perfectly manicured hand, balancing the plate in the other. I’d meant to get my nails done as a sobering up treat but had never got around to it. Somewhere deep inside, I have never felt as though I deserve treats such as manicures. I rarely spend money on myself. Just Jack and the house.

“How are you doing? Sorry, silly question, I know.”

I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t think it’s really hit me yet.”

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through. Where’s Jack?”

“He’s staying at his friend’s tonight – that one whose mum picked him up. I’m going to be rattling around in there.” I nod towards the house, “It’s probably for the best though. I don’t think I’d have the energy to cope with Jack tonight.”

“Shall I come in with you? I can stay overnight.” She means well, though her expression doesn’t carry the same conviction as her words. “You shouldn’t be on your own,” she adds, as though convincing herself.

“No.” I’m surprised at how quickly I reply. “I honestly need to be on my own tonight. Just to get my head around it all.”

“I understand.” She rises back to her full height. “If you change your mind, just drop me a text. And make sure you get something to eat and get some sleep.”

“Yes Mum,” I say, wishing I could say that to the person