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

“I was drunk. And I’d had enough of everything. I couldn’t cope anymore.”

“I get that. I really do. But to get so drunk that you have pushed and threatened another woman. My daughter doesn’t normally carry on like that. Why didn’t you come and talk to me?”

“Please Dad. Stop going on at me. You do not know how much I regret it.”

“I don’t understand why you would lose it like that. Who is this woman anyway?”

“Bryony. Don’t you remember the police mentioned her the other day. It looks like Rob had been having an affair with her behind my back.”

“I really don’t think he would have done that to you. Or Jack.”

“I know you got on with him Dad, but you don’t know the half of it. I think they’ve been putting their heads together to take all my money. It’s gone Dad, all of it. Everything that Grandma left me. After I have paid for the funeral, there’ll be nothing left.”

“What are you talking about? Nothing left?”

“The bank accounts have been emptied. Before Rob died. Plus, he’s forged my signature to re-mortgage the house and taken a loan out. That’s all gone as well.”

“On top of the fraud thing that’s come out with his work?” Dad’s expression changed to one of concern. “Bloody hell. There’s a hundred grand there, isn’t there?”

“And the rest.”

“We’ll come back to the money stuff love. What I want to know is, how did you think that getting drunk was going to help you?” He turns his back to me, to butter some bread. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

“I wasn’t thinking anything. I didn’t plan to get so drunk. I just wanted to take the edge off the stress. Like I said, I wasn’t coping.”

“Yes. I can see that. But you still haven’t answered my question. Why didn’t you come to me?”

“I just wanted to be on my own after I got bailed yesterday. And I got myself wound up. I was in that much of a state, I don’t even remember getting from the pub to where Bryony lives. You’d have killed me if I’d turned up here like that.” I stare at the photograph of Rob, Jack and me, pinned to the fridge. A fresh wave of misery washes over me. “Especially in front of Jack. Besides, you’ve got enough on with Mum right now.”

“Let me be the judge of that. I would have done anything to stop you hitting the self-destruct button yesterday.” He looks around at me.

“Look Dad. I know you mean well, but what’s done, is done. They have charged me with aggravated assault. There’s nothing you can do to change anything.” Tears jab at my eyes. I can’t bear how he looks at me. It’s a cross between pity and shame.

“Here. Get that down you.” He lifts a sandwich onto a plate and slides it towards me. “You look bloody awful.”

“I feel it. My head is banging, even though I’ve had a migraine tablet.” I squint against the sun that’s streaming into the kitchen. One reason we fell for this house was because of the sunny kitchen. That feels like another life now.

“Get that eaten, then have a lie down.” Dad nudges the plate closer to me. “We’ll talk more about this when you get up.”

“What about Jack?” Guilt seeps into me. “I’ve not seen him properly since Thursday.”

“What are grandads for? Anyway, it’s hardly been a normal set of circumstances these last few days, has it?” He reaches across the breakfast bar and pats my hand. “The time will come when you’ll be able to make it up to him.”

“Why are you being nice to me?” Fresh tears spring to my eyes. They’re part grief, part self-pity. “I don’t deserve it.”

“No matter what happens, or what you’ve done, you’ll always be my daughter. Somehow, we’ll get through this.” He sits on the stool opposite me, and pauses for a moment, as though gathering his thoughts. “I’m not sure how your mother will react when she hears of your latest escapade though.”

Over a year ago, I got drunk and let rip at Mum, big time. In front of all her neighbours. She warned she would disown me if I behaved like that again. “Why does Mum have to know anything? You won’t tell her, will you?”

“She’ll find out soon enough.” A darkness crosses his face. “You’ll be in court soon, for God’s sake. They’ve charged you, haven’t they?”

“Yes, but what…”

“Just go to bed Fiona.”

His abrupt tone stuns me. It’s as though the thought of Mum has changed his mood. No way can I face Jack in this state, even though I should acknowledge him. No, I’ll go upstairs, pull myself back together, then spend some time with him. It’s like I’m ten again, being sent to bed by my father. And it has a while since he has used the word escapades to describe my behaviour. I can’t remember how long it’s been since I’ve received threats of wait until your mother finds out, either.

The bedroom is cool and inviting, the curtains still drawn. As I crawl under the duvet, I make a mental note to change the sheets later. The bed still smells of Rob’s shower gel and aftershave. Part of me wants to nuzzle into it, the other part feels like ripping the sheets to shreds.

I wake up feeling groggy. I always feel rubbish when I sleep in the daytime. A reminder of current events steamrolls over me. I got rip-roaring drunk last night. After a year of sobriety, I went and got blasted. I hate myself and deserve to feel like I do. At least the feeling that I’m going to throw up has gone. So has the migraine. I just feel hollowed out. And so ashamed.

The house is in silence. Either Dad and Jack are asleep, or they’ve gone out. Probably the latter. There is only so long a seven-year-old can be cooped up inside. Especially Jack. He will