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

more shaken than I feel as she asks again, “are you sure no one could come and be with you?”

I shake my head again. How can I tell them I’ve got literally no one to ask? I know it’s my fault. I’m my own worst enemy.

* * *

Midsummer.

A turning point.

Tonight, I feel as heavy as the sky

with a sense of foreboding.

Hopefully, it’s the storm before the calm,

not the other way around.

Chapter 41

Thankfully, Jack is blissfully unaware of our late night intruder, and the police having been here. “When can Sam come again Mum?”

He would never go to bed again if he had an inkling that someone had been prowling around the house. He’s a child who hears and fears noises as it is.

“Fiona. Hi.” Lynne is hurrying towards me as I make my way over to the playground gate. She is impeccably groomed as always, more like she’s going out for dinner than dropping her son off at school. Her friends look on. None of them ever talk to me. I wonder why she does. “I had a right job getting Sam out of bed this morning. He says he had a great evening, so thanks again.”

“Good.” I try to smile and pretend we’re not twenty-four hours away from my husband’s funeral. “He’s welcome anytime.”

“Do you fancy a coffee?” She glances at her watch. “I’ve got a spare hour.”

“I’m sorry. I’m due at the doctor’s shortly.” It’s the first time I’ve ever been invited for a coffee by one of the other mums. It feels quite nice, although I know she will most likely be fishing for information again.

“Oh? Is everything alright?”

“Fine. Just routine.” God, she’s so nosy. I’m off to get some Antabuse tablets, so if I go anywhere near a drop of alcohol, I’ll be violently sick. That information would shut her up. Personally, I think she’s in league with Bryony somehow, after her mention of her last night. Or has such a boring life herself, she wants to be part of my chaos. I’d swap lives with her right at this moment if she wants drama.

Even when I tell him what is going on with me, the GP refuses my request for Antabuse at first and suggests Alcoholics Anonymous.

I tell him what I did last Friday after being sober for twelve months, and having attended AA meetings for two years.

“OK Fiona, I’m going to let you give it a go. I’ll put you onto a five hundred milligrams a day dose. We can alter that after a couple of weeks if we need to.”

“Will it definitely stop me drinking?”

“It can’t stop you, but if you try, you will wish you hadn’t. The medication is so responsive, that you shouldn’t be anywhere near alcohol – that goes for mouthwashes, perfumes, hand gels, or anything like that. Are you having any trouble sleeping?”

“It varies. My sleep is either terrible or really heavy.”

“Well, if you take the medication at night, rather than in the morning, it can have a sedative effect.” I watch as he types onto his keyboard. “I’m also referring you for counselling. Can I have your arm for your blood pressure?”

“Counselling? But I’m already going to AA.”

“And that’s good,” he says as he wraps the blood pressure sleeve around my arm. The human contact is soothing. “But we need to explore every aspect of your life, not just the alcohol addiction. It sounds as though you’re really struggling.”

The tears let themselves loose again. They’re never far away. The gentle voice and the concern in the doctor’s eyes are too much for me.

“Is anyone looking after you, Fiona?”

There it is, the question guaranteed to make me feel like crap. “No,” I admit, my voice wobbling uncontrollably. “I’ve all sorts going on.” Then it all comes tumbling out. My money worries, the allegations and charges against me. “If it wasn’t for my little boy, I would…”

Clutching a prescription and the number for the Crisis Counselling Service, I scuttle through the packed waiting room and out of the automatic doors, ignoring the impatient glares, probably peeved at being kept waiting. At least I’ve got the Antabuse. There’s no going back now. Hopefully, I can stop craving a bloody drink.

I’ve got a couple of hours to kill before I’m due at the funeral home for my viewing appointment. I decide to return home and give Christina a knock whilst I’m at it. I wonder if she’s planning to come tomorrow. I need all the support I can get.

I start up the Jeep and head towards the chemist first. I might as well get started on these tablets tonight. But they haven’t got the tablets in stock at either of the Otley chemists. I’m told they will be in tomorrow. I can’t wait. “I’m at my husband’s funeral tomorrow,” I say. If I don’t have them, I know I will drink. At that, the pharmacist must take pity on me, and a phone call reveals they have them in stock at the Ilkley branch.

I glance in my rear-view mirror. Someone is trying to get past me. These country roads are notoriously narrow, especially for overtaking. Perhaps I’ve been dawdling. With so much on my mind, I’m often driving on autopilot. And I’m so tired that I probably shouldn’t be driving anyway. I speed up. So does he, or she. I can’t tell as their windows are darkened. I think it’s a Range Rover. Whatever it is speeds up. I try to focus on what is in front, not behind, but I can literally feel how close the car is. The irony of the stretch of road I’m on isn’t lost on me. “Oh my God,” I scream as the pursuing car nudges the back of mine. I grip the steering wheel, tempted to hit the brakes, but if I do, the car will slam into the back of me. So I accelerate but it bumps me again.

“Shiiiit,” I yell. I will not die. Not on this