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

it turns out it was, but I didn’t want to contradict it. Joseph sent the eulogy to me yesterday for approval, and it made me cry, despite everything.

I look over my shoulder in time to see Mum creep in and take a seat at the back. I wonder why she’s staying there. As I bring my gaze forwards again, I notice Bryony crying her eyes out, being comforted by the person sat next to her. Bitch. How dare she come to my husband’s funeral and act like the grieving widow. She can get lost if she thinks she’s coming to the wake.

Simone’s sobs can be heard echoing through the room as well. She’s sat with her mother in the front row on the other side from me. Denise is consoling her. She must sense me watching them, for she looks straight at me with an expression that’s a cross between fury and pity. I’m close enough to notice that Denise’s eyes are dry. I stare at the photo on the screen of Rob and Jack. It was one of my favourites, though I don’t think I will be able to display it at home again after this.

We say the Lord’s Prayer, or at least everyone else does, then it’s the committal. Crematorium services are always over in record time. They allocate only twenty minutes. This is the part I’ve been dreading. The piano introduction of Someone Like You reverberates around the chapel. Everyone’s eyes are on me again. I guess that as his wife, I’m expected to leave the room first. Dad links arms with me as I get to my feet. He steers me towards the coffin. If it were up to me, I would just run out of here.

“Bye Rob,” I whisper at the coffin. I will not wait until the curtain draws around. I will not look on as Simone sobs over it. I will not watch as Bryony does whatever she will do. Hopefully, she will keep a grip on herself. He was married to me, not her. “I need some air.” I turn to Dad.

“Come on then love.”

Lynne follows us out. I look for Mum, but there’s no sign. The ground outside is partitioned into squares for the flowers to be brought out. The previous funeral, only twenty minutes before, has dispersed, leaving their flowers behind. I stare sadly at the letters spelling out G-R-A-N and M-U-M. The woman probably lived to a ripe old age. I try to imagine how I will feel when my Mum dies. Right now, I would not feel like shelling out three hundred and fifty pounds on flowered letters for her – in fact, I would not want to spend three pounds fifty. Still, she’s here, which I’m surprised about. Even if Dad forced her to get in the car.

“Did Mum take much persuasion to come?” I can’t help myself. I have to know.

His reply is drowned out by the sudden swarm emerging from the crematorium. One by one, people who I’ve never met hug me and shake my hand. They tell me how sorry they are for my loss and say, if there’s anything I can do… I nod repeatedly and thank them, noticing how Bryony, Simone and Denise keep their distance. But Bryony barely takes her eyes off me.

“Can I come in the car with you Dad? We’re only going to the golf club.”

“There’s no room in the back.” Mum sidles up to Dad’s side. The back seat is full of our cases and other stuff.”

“So you’re staying then?” Despite my mixed feelings towards Mum, I want them to come back after the wake. I don’t want to be on my own tonight. Especially with the intruder from two nights ago. Thankfully, there was no sign of anyone last night.

“I can move your cases into my car if you like,” Lynne offers. “Then you can all go together.”

“No. Don’t worry. It’s too much hassle.” Mum waves her hand. “We’ll see you at the club Fiona.”

I start to respond, but DI Green and PC Robinson look as though they’re waiting to speak to me.

“How are you doing Fiona?” DI Green asks.

“You know.”

“We’ll be in touch tomorrow. We need to talk.”

“What about? Have you located Turner yet?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Can’t you give me some idea of what you want to talk about? I’ll be worrying if you don’t tell me.”

“It’s possibly positive, depending on which way you look at it. Now that we’ve spoken to Turner’s wife, and got some information on his car, we’ve had some CCTV sightings of one like it in Ilkley. Two of them were on the day Robert was killed.”

“Really? I told you it was him.”

“The same car has been checked in the vicinity on the night you had an intruder and the next morning when someone was trying to run into you as well.”

“Well at least I know who it probably was.”

“We’ll talk more tomorrow,” PC Robinson says. Even though he is dressed head to foot in black, he stands out from everyone else here. It’s obvious he’s with the police. “It was a good turnout, wasn’t it?”

“A nice service too,” DI Green adds. Her too. They’ve got an air about them that shows they’re watching, rather than taking part.

Good turnout. Nice Service. Stock funeral talk. James bloody Turner. He has ruined my life. And now it seems he is out to finish me off, or at the very least, to to everything in his power to frighten me as much as possible.

I want to know who Mum is on the phone to. She’s walked to the edge of the car park and seems to be having a heated conversation. Dad’s watching too. He and I look at each other. We are probably thinking the same thing. Is it him?

The funeral guests, mourners, or whatever you call them, are disbanding into the car park. All probably ready for a stiff drink. I don’t know whether to envy or pity them. Joseph