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

“No. Leave her. Dad’s going to nip out after he’s got me some food. I’d stay well away, looking at the mood she’s in.”

“OK, I’ll slip past her. I’ll see you later. Be as long as you need.”

“Get that eaten.” Dad thrusts a plate laden with sandwiches and vol-au-vents at me. “They’re vultures, that lot.”

I’m glad he’s come back before anyone else has come over to express condolences. Hopefully, they’ll see I’m having something to eat now and give me a few more minutes’ peace. I’m happier standing out of the way with Dad.

“How are you doing?” He sprays sausage roll crumbs into his beard as he speaks. “Now that the service is over?”

“Just putting one foot in front of the other, to be honest. I can’t do a right lot else, can I?” I nibble at a sandwich. “The police want to talk to me again tomorrow. It sounds as though they have a new lead with the man who’s taken our money.” I’m about to fill him in on what I know, when Mum bursts in, pursued by some man. He stands in the doorway, scanning the room. There’s something familiar about him.

“Shane, no. Not now. Not here!”

Shane. No wonder he looks familiar. I stalked him on Facebook when Mum first started using me as a decoy.

“Which one of you is Fiona?”

I raise my hand, as though I’m in class or something. The clattering of plates from the back of the room has paused. Conversations have stilled. All eyes are on Shane. He walks towards me.

“Shane, you say anything and I’ll…”

“Shut up, Maggie.” He raises his palm in her direction. “I know I should really have gone to the police first. But I wanted you to hear this from me.”

“It’s you that’s been carrying on with my wife?” Dad is trembling at my side. “I can’t believe you’ve got the nerve to turn up here.”

“Let him speak Dad.” I put my hand on his arm, feeling strangely stronger than I have in a long time. After losing Rob and coping with everything else over the last fortnight, things can’t get any worse.

Mum’s heels clip-clop across the parquet floor as she rushes to Shane’s side and tugs at his arm. I’ve never seen such desperation in her face. “Shane! I wasn’t telling you the truth! I made it all up!”

Someone’s brought the flowers from the crematorium. The stench of lilies is overpowering, making my head feel woozy. What is this truth, or not-truth, that Mum is wittering on about? The crowd has moved closer.

“You might have been wondering why Maggie came back so suddenly the other week.” Shane looks from me to Dad. He’s a nice-looking man and reminds me of Richard Gere. He’s easily half a foot taller than Dad, but perhaps ten years younger.

“I thought she was staying with our daughter and grandson,” Dad replies. “But whatever has happened, you shouldn’t be turning up at my son-in-law’s funeral like this.”

“Just leave,” Mum hisses, tugging at his arm again.

“Get off.” He shakes his arm away. “Don’t touch me.” He turns his attention back to me. “I’m here to tell you what happened to your husband.”

Mum, with the wide-eyed expression of an animal caught in headlights looks from Dad to me, then bolts towards the doorway.

* * *

I’ve got to get away.

And if they catch me,

I’m taking her down as well.

Chapter 44

I wasn’t going to come to Mum’s court hearing.

Whether she gets bail has been left for the court to decide. She’s been in custody for the entire weekend, so I haven’t had the chance to hear her side of things. Not that there’s much she could say after what she’s done. Soon, she will be brought up from the underground cells and I will face her across the courtroom.

“Fiona. Can we have a word before we go in?” DI Green and PC Robinson hurry towards me. I expect they’re knackered after hours of interviewing Shane and my mother over the last couple of days. No one could accuse them of not putting the hours in.

“Sure.” I follow them into a room off the corridor, glad to leave the marble walls and floor with sunshine glaring through the glass roof. I’d have a migraine if I sat there for much longer.

The green of the room I step into reminds me of the interview rooms I’ve recently been in. I’m thankful they’re a thing of the past.

“Is your Dad not here with you?”

I take a deep breath. “He’s really struggling with all this. He’s taken Jack to school and then he’s driving home to see his GP.”

“He’s had a lot to cope with.” There is a genuine concern in PC Robinson’s tone and face as he gestures for me to sit down. “As have you. Is he coming back afterwards?”

“Yes. He needs to. He’s got a history of depression, so I need to monitor him.” I sit facing them, as I have in interviews.

“You’re doing really well.” DI Green speaks now. “It’s admirable, how well you’re holding up.”

“I have got little choice. I must stay strong for my dad, and I’ve also got a young son to look after.” I glance at the clock. It’s approaching ten o’clock and I’m aware that this time a fortnight ago, my world was still normal. Or so I thought.

The events leading up to Rob’s death were made known to me and Dad when DI Green and PC Robinson visited us yesterday.

Rob’s work fraud, the loan and the re-mortgage had been Mum’s idea. How Mum had convinced him with her and Rob not seeing eye to eye over the years, I’ll never know. Apparently, they had both been eager to make some serious money. She’d taken on the administrative side of things, and Rob had handled the money. Some of Dad’s savings, unbeknown to Dad, were Mum’s stake.

She believed, DI Green said, that any monies coming were rightfully hers, after losing out with Grandma’s