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

it’s only half-way through the day. So far, I’ve arranged a funeral wake, driven to Manchester, had an altercation with that arsehole, driven back, and now this. Not that I recall much of my journey back – my brain was too busy turning the conversation with Turner over and over in my head.

“Fiona. How can I help you?” DI Green opens the door from the custody suite. “Do you want to come through?”

I take a seat in the all-too-familiar interview room. The drive back from Manchester has calmed me somewhat, and I’m able to relay the events with James Turner coherently. “I’ve got it all on my phone,” I tell her when I’ve finished the story. “Him admitting to taking our money, knowing he would not invest it. Him admitting to being part of Rob’s fraud with his company. And in not so many words, it sounds as though he might have been admitting to his role in Rob’s death as well.”

“Right, you’d better play it to me.” She leans back in her chair. “I will record it as well.”

“Well, that’s it. He realised what I was doing, recording him, I mean, and he smashed it.” I pass the sorry-looking remains of my phone across the table. “It’s my own stupid fault. I got cocky and let him know I had his words on record. I thought I could get back to my car in time. Get away from him.”

“I see. We should still be able to get access to the recording, as long as it saved onto the hard drive. You saved it, didn’t you?”

“It was still recording as I was running away from him. Something might have got pressed on the phone screen whilst he had hold of me which saved it. I really hope so.”

She looks at me, sympathy etching her face this time. Over the last week, I’ve never known what reaction I’m going to evoke in this woman. I’ve had it all - suspicion, disbelief, respect, and distaste.

She records my version of the episode with Turner.

“Whether this is backed up by the phone recording or not, are you planning to speak to Mr Turner again,” I ask her.

DI Green pauses. “Leave it with me for now Fiona. I’ll do what I can with this phone, then we’ll see what happens when we talk to Turner again.”

“Well, I want to press charges for assault. I’ve got a witness.” I pull the card he gave me from my bag. “I want the book thrown at him.”

I am relieved to find my pale green chiffon scarf in the boot of the Jeep. At least no one at school will have cause for gossip, even though it is too warm to be wearing it. I race into the playground with seconds to spare before Jack will be taken to wait at reception. Dad emerges from the year two cloakroom with him in tow.

“How come you’re both here?” Jack looks from me, back to his Grandad.

“I didn’t know if you’d remember to collect him,” I say to Dad. “And I couldn’t ring you to ask.”

“I’m hardly likely to forget about my grandson.” He pats the top of Jack’s head, whilst giving me a look that says, not like you. “And why couldn’t you ring me?”

“Long story. I’ll tell you when we get home.”

“Can we go to the park? Pleeeese!”

“Fiona. Hi!” Lynne leaves the huddle of women she is chatting with and hurries towards us, bracelets rattling and hair flowing out behind her. “How are you doing?” She lands in front of us. “I saw the funeral announcement earlier on Facebook.” She puts her hand on my arm as though we’ve been friends forever.

“Hanging in there, I guess. I didn’t realise you were friends with my husband on Facebook?”

“Oh yes. Now I’m friends with you. He came up as a suggestion of someone I might know.”

But he’s dead. I want to say. We shouldn’t be talking like this in front of Jack, but he’s totally engrossed in a discussion with Sam about what film and pizza topping they should have tomorrow.

“Is this your Dad?”

“Yes, I’m Roger.” Dad steps closer to Lynne and holds out his hand. “It’s nice to meet one of Fiona’s friends.”

“Pleased to meet you too.” She accepts Dad’s handshake. He always has to be so formal. “Will you be there tomorrow when I come around for a glass of wine?”

Worry creeps into Dad’s eyes as he looks at me.

“Well, I’ll be on tea. I don’t drink anymore.”

“Of course you don’t. You’ve mentioned it before.” She pauses. “Why not, anyway? I don’t think I’ve asked you.”

She must know I used to have a problem. Sam only started at this school when they moved here a year ago, but there’s no way that the year two mummy in-crowd will have kept a juicy piece of gossip like that from her. I feel like she’s fishing for more information to go back to them with. “Health reasons, mainly.”

“Ah right. Tea it is then. It will do me good not to drink for a change!”

“I’m glad I’ve seen you Lynne.” At least I remember her name now. “My phone’s in for repair, so I won’t be able to text you after I’ve picked Sam up tomorrow. But don’t worry – I won’t forget or anything.”

Dad glances at the boys and smiles. “I doubt these two would allow you to!”

* * *

I shall take my funeral seat on Friday

and then get on

with the rest of my life.

Chapter 38

Jack doesn’t normally come bounding into my room at ten past seven.

“Mum! Mum!”

Usually I’m dragging him from his bed after eight. He likes his sleep. But today is his eighth birthday, and I’m happy to see his excitement.

It’s surprising how resilient kids are. I keep noticing clouds of sadness crossing his eyes, when he’s possibly thinking of his Dad, but overall, I’m pleased by how well he’s coping. If he shows any sign of not doing, there’s grief counselling that can help