Hit and Run, Maria Frankland [books like harry potter txt] 📗

I slide the Apple Mac from the bedside table, and balance it on my stomach. The police missed taking this to examine. It’s mine, mainly, though Rob was always after it. He would tell me I had no need for a laptop of this quality, as all I did with it was mooch about on the internet. He ended up using it a lot of the time.

I log into my personal bank account. £4529. That will not get me far. Not with a funeral to pay out of it. I need to find Rob’s will. Hopefully, he will have kept up his life insurance payments. There will be something. I feel slightly more optimistic at this thought. However, guilt and depression soon chase the positivity away and I’m swiftly reminded that he’s dead, and it’s me who is suspected of killing him.

Dad was right. There was more than enough to deal with, without me getting wrecked and turning up at Bryony’s last night. Maybe if I apologise, she will drop the charges. There was no real harm done. It’s not as though I whacked her over the head with the bottle, or slit her throat, however much I felt like it. In hindsight, I’m not sure what stopped me. My temper had totally gone. A younger me might be on a murder charge.

An ad flashes on my screen for an unsecured loan. I swear there’s computer intelligence that has somehow sniffed out my desperation for money. It’s not like we’re going to starve, but I’m not used to living this near the knuckle. Not anymore.

I click on the ad. It’s only seven and a half percent APR. I’ll go for ten grand. At least the funeral costs won’t completely wipe me out then, and I’ll have breathing space until I get hold of my money from James Turner. I go through the application process, pausing at the status section. Eventually, I select widowed. There’s nothing I can enter for employment as it’s years since I last worked. I haven’t needed to. It dawns on me I might have to address that. Perhaps that is what I need. But it’s a decision for when all this is over with.

I hit submit. Within two minutes, I’ve received an email notification from the loan company. Thank you for your recent application. We’re sorry to inform you…

Shit. I can’t believe they have knocked me back. Rob’s dodgy dealings must have affected my credit rating too - by financial association. Or maybe I should have chosen married and put Rob’s former income down. But that’s fraud. It puts me in the same league as him. Another email drops into my inbox. Like I said, they can smell desperation. Apply for a credit card today. Pre-application check. I might as well look at that. I’ve not had a credit card since my twenties, so I’m bound to get accepted. I type in the information, then quick as a flash I receive an acceptance and an invitation to complete the whole thing. They will only give me an initial credit limit of £1200 though. Shit. Shit. Shit. That’s not going to scratch the surface.

Lying back on my pillows, I turn it all around in my mind. However, I am struggling to think clearly. If I don’t find out what Rob did with my money, then I’m done for. James Turner is the one I need to find. I can’t believe the situation I’ve found myself in. I was having more fun as a twenty-something lush. The bang of the front door jolts me out of my miserable thoughts.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and rake a brush through my hair. I’m sweating, a combination of alcohol withdrawal and having slept in my jeans and a jumper, so I change into denim shorts and a floral t-shirt. That, in itself, makes me feel better. As I descend the stairs, Jack’s sat on the bottom step, untying his shoes.

“Why didn’t you come to the park with us Mummy? We’ve fed the ducks, had an ice-cream, and everything.”

“It sounds as though you’ve had a lovely time, you and Grandad. I’ll come next time.” And I will. I’ve been a pile of crap as a mother this week. I just can’t get it together.

He drops one trainer and looks down. “We kind of had a lovely time. But I can’t have a properly lovely time anymore. Not now that Daddy is in heaven. I feel sad all the time. I want to play trains with him.”

“I know.” I step towards him and ruffle the top of his head, making a promise to myself in that instant that I’m going to fight, tooth and nail to make him happy again. Apart from Dad, because Mum can’t really be included, I’m all Jack’s got. I’ve got to make sure I get our money back, get free of these police charges, and hang onto the house – even if it’s by the skin of my teeth. “I’m going to have a word with Grandad, then I’ll come and play a game with you.”

He brightens slightly. “Promise?”

“Pinky promise.” I wiggle my little finger.

“OK. While I’m waiting, I’ll draw a picture for you.” He walks towards the lounge.

He’s such a good kid. What I ever did to deserve him, I don’t know. With the all-too-familiar tears stabbing at the backs of my eyes again, I head off to find Dad.

He’s coming through the conservatory with the kitchen bin. The expression he wore before I went to bed is still etched across his face as he notices me.

“I know you’re not happy Dad, but I promise, I’m going to sort myself out. Starting with getting some tablets to make sure I can’t drink. Antabuse, they’re called.”

“Never heard of them.” He lowers the bin to the floor and sinks onto one of the wicker chairs.

“If I’m on Antabuse tablets and go anywhere near, even