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

ring them back last week. And there’s an interim funeral bill. They haven’t wasted any time. Two bloody grand. I must text Dad and let him know. Then I remember, I’ve no phone.

I can’t believe they have gone away. Mum couldn’t get away fast enough earlier. I’ve always known she was cold-hearted, but booking a reconciliatory holiday with Dad at a time like this, goes beyond what even I would have expected of her. It’s up there with when she kicked me out of home at sixteen. I’m quite surprised Dad’s gone with her. He must be over her barrel even more than I suspected.

I decide to spend the next couple of hours doing something normal. Housework. My life has fallen apart, but if I can get my house in order, then I might feel slightly better. I have done little since the day before Rob died, when my mother was on her way here. But I no longer care what she thinks of me, or my house. She can write her name in the dust for all she’s worth.

As I mop, dust and gather all the clutter together, my mind wanders to solutions rather than despair. It’s a better place to be. Perhaps DI Green will have retrieved the recording from my phone by now. She may have even re-interviewed Turner. I’ve got to stay hopeful about recovering at least some of that money. Even if not from him, there may be some kind of central insurance to help people who are victims of crime. And that’s what I’ve got to prove.

I’ve still got to clear my name with the hit-and-run allegation, but I think the only reason they haven’t let that one go from me, is because they don’t have a shred of evidence against anyone else. The charge I’ve received against Bryony is indefensible, but I’m going to plead extenuating circumstances and grovel my way out of a custodial sentence. Everything will be fine. My husband has died – I’m sure that will afford me some leniency and I have Jack to look after.

As I spray and wipe the kitchen cupboards, humming to the song on the radio, I know that the only way I will leave this house will be in a box. I love living here, and I’m going to fight tooth and nail to keep it.

Eventually, I sink into an armchair with a cup of tea. There’s only five minutes to spare before the funeral celebrant is due to arrive. Even though I’m expecting him, I still jump when the doorbell sounds. I open the door to a darkly dressed, shiny-shoed man who holds his hand towards me. “Joseph Alexander. We have an appointment.”

I accept his handshake, then invite him in. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No, not for me, thanks. I had one at the office before I left.”

I don’t ask him where the office is. It could be at the funeral home, or the crematorium. I don’t know how people in the funeral service do the work they do, but it must be interesting. “Come through.”

He takes the seat by the window and I swivel my armchair around to face him.

“I’ll start by expressing my condolences for your loss, Mrs Matherson,” he begins. “Your husband was so young.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“And to be taken so suddenly and tragically,” he goes on. “I hope you’re being well looked after.”

“I was.” My previous fury with Mum snakes back up my spine. I try to quell it. She wants me to feel shittier than I already do. I will not bow to her wishes. “My Dad was here but now he’s had to go.”

“OK, well, as Emma from the funeral home will have explained, I will conduct your husband’s service, and I need to get some details to help me know your husband a little, and also to take some information in order that we can put the service together. We haven’t got a lot of time, with it only being on Friday, so we need to get through it all today.”

“What sort of details?” Emma asked me to give this some thought and dig out some photographs. I haven’t done either. I recall her saying I could have one photograph up on the screen throughout the service. My eyes fall on a recent one of Rob with Jack. They look like twins, though thirty years apart, both with exactly the same blue eyes, brown hair and even the shape of their eyebrows and the way they’re smiling. They’re both wearing navy, so look even more alike. “Can this photo be on display throughout the service?” I stand and pluck it from its corner in the bay window which looks over the garden. A cloud of dust would normally come with it, so I am pleased I’ve given the house the once over today.

“Is that the only one? Most people have a carousel. It’s not expensive.”

“That one on its own is fine.”

“Are you sure you don’t want one with you in it as well?” He takes the photograph from me.

“No, just that one.” I hope he will not challenge every one of my decisions.

“Right, as you wish. I’ll get it scanned onto the system.” He crosses one pin-striped leg across the other. “Before I go through the more formal questions, can you give me a flavour of Robert? His childhood, that sort of thing.”

“Yes, sure.” This is the easy bit. Talking about his past. “He was an only child, close to his parents. His dad died fairly recently, but his mother died before Rob and I met.”

“What did they do for a living?”

“His dad used to be a miner, and his mum worked in a shop. They apparently spent their entire lives worrying about money and how they would get by. It sounds as though they worked themselves into early graves. His dad died of a lung condition and his mum died from breast cancer.”

Joseph nods slowly. “Do you want your husband referred to