Hit and Run Maria Frankland (general ebook reader .txt) 📖

garden. All fight has drained out of me. I’m shaking on the ground and feel nauseous.

“She’s nobody.”

“So this nobody has just appeared in your garden and threatened you with a bottle? Why?”

“She’s married to that man who died in the hit and run on Monday. The one on Denton Road. She did it to him. And because she thinks I was carrying on with him, she’s here to do me in as well.”

“Get off me!” I try to sit up. My mouth is watering. My stomach lurches and bile burns the back of my throat. As I gurgle on the floor, the men let go of me. I hoist myself up and puke all over the grass.

“Dirty bitch,” one of them sneers.

“She’s pissed herself as well.” Bryony’s voice this time.

“Just you wait.” When I’ve done retching, I look at her. “I’ll be back, and next time…”

My voice is drowned by an approaching siren. “In here,” someone shouts as van doors bang and heavy boots thud up the drive. “I don’t think you’ll have much trouble taking her in. She’s in a right state.”

“Blimey. You don’t smell too good,” one officer says as he pulls me to my feet. I’m made to face the shed as they snap handcuffs on me.

* * *

I’ve never known nights to be as long.

Turning thoughts over and over.

Sometimes I regret what happened that morning.

But I can’t change anything now.

Chapter 27

I wake to the sound of banging doors and raised voices. I lift myself from the thin mattress and attempt to open my eyes.

The barren room swirls around me and I lean over the side of the bed, if I can call it that, to be sick into a metal bin which has been left there. I’ve spent all night in a stupor, periodically waking and retching. I lay back on the mattress, tears leaking from my eyes and down the side of my head. How could I have been so stupid?

Not only have I got myself wasted after an entire year of abstinence, I’ve allowed the cocktail of drink to turn me into a violent thug. I used to get into fights when I was younger, if anyone challenged me whilst I was drunk, but this… I’ve never threatened anyone with a bottle.

Rob is dead. I’m on bail for causing his death, and all my money has gone. I think of Jack and Dad and wonder if he has been told anything. Of course he will know. He would have phoned the station by now to see where I am. Why didn’t I just go home when they let me out?

I lean over again and retch once more. Nothing is coming up now. My throat burns and my head feels as though someone is hammering at it from the inside. I don’t think I have ever felt so ill. I’ve certainly never been as low as this.

I hope more sleep will permit some further escape, but closing my eyes makes things spin even more. I need some water. I haul myself to my feet and bang on the door.

There’s a beaker of water, a cup of something masquerading as tea, and some limp toast waiting for me on the table of the interview room when I’m called in.

“I must warn you,” I say to the policeman as he unwraps the tapes. “I’ve been throwing up all night. If this,” I point to the toast, “doesn’t stay down, is there a loo nearby I can get to quickly?”

He points at a bin. Charming.

“Look. I know I’ve done wrong, but you don’t need to treat me like an animal.”

“Let’s just get on with this, shall we?” He nods towards another man who enters the room. “I’m going to start the recording.” He waits for the beep. “I’m DI Thornton and this is my colleague…”

“DI Langton.” The other officer sits down and pulls a cap from the top of his pen.

“And we are here to interview…”

“Fiona Mary Matherson.”

“Could we have your date of birth and address, please?”

Here we go again. “7 Orchard Mews, Otley, Leeds. Date of birth 4th April 1985.”

“Thank you. Well, we would have preferred DI Green and PC Robinson to have interviewed you, as they have been dealing with you up to now, but they’re both on a day off.”

Lucky them. I fold my arms and look at them both. God knows what they must make of me, stinking of urine and vomit, having done what I’ve done last night. I would give anything to turn the clock back to yesterday, and certainly to a few days ago. How I would make sure things were different. I’ve been such an idiot.

DI Thornton runs his finger down a page in front of him. “We’ve been brought up to speed with your ongoing investigation, and though I’m sure it is relevant to the current allegations against you, we’re here now just to question you in relation to the allegation of aggravated assault against Bryony Rose.” He looks at me again.

I nod.

“You do not have to say anything when questioned, but anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”

I should do by now. I’ll be saying the police rights in my sleep. “Yes.”

“You’ve declined the right to legal representation, despite being advised to the contrary. Is that correct?”

“Yes.” I’m not risking slowing things down again like yesterday. Besides, what can a solicitor do for me today? It’s cut and dried. Bryony’s neighbours heard what was happening. There’s nothing I can do to get out of it. They won’t send me to prison. Surely they know I’ve got a son to look after?

Then, as if reading my mind, he says. “You’ve got a son, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve had a call from your father this morning. He knows you’re here.”

He’ll be so disappointed in me. But I can’t even contemplate that right now. “Do you know whether my son is alright?”

“He never mentioned that. But I’m sure he will be.