Hit and Run by Maria Frankland (best book recommendations txt) 📗

I’d rather drink. After the week I’ve had, I think even my AA sponsor would understand.

I recall DI Green asking me about being a recovering alcoholic. Bitch. And Bryony has evidently told her. Who the hell does she think she is? Clearly, she and Rob have had some in-depth conversations. She thinks she knows my husband better than I did. I bet she’s been telling him to leave me, that he’d be better off with her. If I know Rob correctly, he’ll have been having his cake and eating it. And not being at work, he’s hardly been at home lately either. I can’t imagine he would have found it easy to leave Jack, but he’s so financially motivated that he would have got beyond any guilt soon enough.

Maybe once Rob had completely fleeced me of every penny I had, he’d have left, and started again with Bryony. She might even be in on it all too. I wouldn’t put it past her.

As I take a huge swig of vodka, her face swims into my mind. That smug and knowing look on her perfect face. I imagine Rob being up close and personal with her and running his fingers through her perfect hair. Perfect figure, perfect clothes, perfect voice – I hate her. And she’s out to cause trouble. To make things worse than they already are. I bet she knows where I can find what’s his name, James Turner. She knew Rob when he was at university – with James Turner. She knows something and I’m going to get it out of her. When I’ve drunk my vodka. My thoughts are tumbling over one another now. I might have another one.

I find myself on Bryony’s street. The more I try to recall how I got there, the more muddled I feel. As I approach her gate, I’m surprised to find myself swigging from a near-empty bottle of wine that I don’t even remember buying. I’m going to know about it tomorrow. I’m not even sure if I can remember the way home from here. I might have to ring Dad. I might just have enough phone battery left. I fumble around in my bag. No, I can’t. He will kill me. I’m best sneaking in later. Like I’m twelve or something. A couple walking arm-in-arm past me are staring. Smug bastards.

“Yeah?” I shout. “What the hell are you looking at?”

They laugh and I resist the urge to wipe the smiles off their faces. Twenty-two-year-old Fiona is back, with full awful temper. I let myself through the same gate as the other day and towards the patio door at the back of the house. I hammer on it with my fist, noticing lit candles inside. I imagine Rob turning up here, tapping on this back door to be let in. The shape of Bryony moves behind the blind, then she slides the patio door across.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Her hair is piled in a bun on top of her head. She’s wearing skinny jeans, a flowing white blouse, and has nothing on her feet. “God, look at the bloody state of you.”

“You!” I know I’m slurring, but I don’t care. “I want a word.”

“I’ve got nothing to say Fiona. I think you should go home.”

“What have you been telling the police about me?” I point my finger at her.

“Just go home Fiona. I mean it.”

“Get fucking out here and face me. Now.” I don’t normally swear that much but anybody would in these circumstances.

She steps through the patio doors towards me. “If you don’t go now, I will ring them.”

“You’ll be in no fit state to ring anyone by the time I’ve finished with you.”

“Are you threatening me Fi…”

I grab her by the scruff of the neck and slam her against the wall; the force making her gasp. “I want to know what you know about James Turner.”

“Get your bloody hands off me.” She places her fingers over mine, bending them, probably trying to prise them from her neck. If I squeezed harder…

“Bloody hell. You reek. Have you peed yourself?”

I let her go. I stumble back as I raise the wine bottle to my lips. I can’t have done. I’m not that drunk. Am I?

“God, you have. You’re soaked. You dirty cow. You’re so drunk you’ve lost control of yourself. No wonder Rob wanted out.”

“What did you say?”

“You heard. He was here the day before he died.”

Her words have a slightly sobering effect. She turns from me and steps away, that awful self-assured expression on her face.

In that split second, I drain the wine bottle then hurl it to the floor. “I don’t care anymore if you were shagging my husband. But I do care about getting my money back. I want to know about James Turner.” I grab the broken bottleneck from the floor and lunge towards her.

“Get away from me. Put that down. Help me someone. Help!”

I push her against the house wall, holding the broken bottle towards her. “I’m getting done for causing a death.” I lift the glass closer to her neck. The edge is pressing into her skin. Just a little more pressure will pierce it. “I might as well add you to my list.”

“Please, put the bottle down. I’m begging you Fiona.”

“Then you’ll tell me what you know?”

Footsteps hammer behind me. I’m being dragged backwards and downwards. Suddenly, I’ve got several pairs of hands holding me to the ground.

“Get your fucking hands off me.” I writhe to get free, but they’re too strong.

“The police are on their way,” a male voice says. “Are you OK Bryony?” “We heard what was going on over the fence.”

“Yes.” Bryony’s hands press around her neck. “She didn’t cut my throat like she was threatening to. Thank God you came when you did.”

“Who is she?” One man releases his hold slightly and looks at me with disgust in his face, before averting his gaze towards Bryony. More people have appeared in the