The Accident: The bestselling psychological thriller

Chapter 4

I’m curled up on the sofa when Brian gets home, a book in my hand, a glass of wine on the coffee table and my feet tucked up under my bum. It’s a familiar scenario, and one that would normally signal a happy, relaxed Sue, but I’m on my third glass of wine and I’ve read the same paragraph at least seven times.

‘Hello, darling.’ My husband pops his head around the living room door and raises a hand in the same easy manner as his son, twelve hours earlier.

I smile in acknowledgement but my body is tense. It’s not the thought that he’s having another affair that’s tearing at me, it’s the fact he’s been using our daughter’s accident to cover his tracks. I’ve been torturing myself all day – poring through my diary and the one in Brian’s study (there was nothing in the drawer, just some headed notepaper), looking for anything to back up, or even discount, my suspicions – but I found nothing. If it wasn’t for the phone call with Mark this morning I wouldn’t have a shred of evidence.

‘You okay?’ He raises a hand as he strolls into the room with Milly at his side. When he reaches the sofa he kisses me gently on the lips and sits down. ‘How’s your day been?’

‘Okay.’

He reaches for the cushion behind his back, throws it onto the armchair, leans back with a sigh and then looks at me. ‘Just okay? I thought you were going to go into town and treat yourself to a new dress?’

‘I …’ For a second everything feels normal – my husband and I, having a chat about our day – but then I remember. Everything is far from normal. ‘I didn’t go. I was too busy.’

‘Oh?’ He raises an eyebrow and waits for details but I change the subject.

‘Oli popped by, this morning.’

‘I missed him again?’ He looks genuinely gutted. ‘What did he want?’

‘Nothing in particular. He was on his way to Southampton for a field trip. I think he’s going to call in again on his way back.’

‘Oh, good.’ Brian brightens again. His relationship with his son is different from his relationship with Charlotte, it’s more complex. They were joined at the hip when Oli was a child, clashed furiously when he was a teen and have developed a mutual respect since. Theirs is a comfortable friendship, tempered by a similar sense of humour and challenged by different political views. They laugh easily but when they clash it’s Titan-like. Charlotte and I always run for cover.

I twist to place my book and my wine glass on the coffee table, temporarily hiding my face from my husband. I feel sure he must have noticed the strained expression on my face. Trying to appear ‘normal’ when all I want to do is rage at him is exhausting, but I can’t scream at him. The last thing Charlotte needs is for me to suffer another of my episodes. I have to be calm. Logical. One lie does not an infidelity make. I need more evidence.

‘You okay?’ There’s concern in Brian’s voice.

‘Great,’ I twist back. ‘How was work?’

‘Urgh.’ He groans and runs a hand through his hair. It was once as bright a shade of auburn as Oli but it’s now ninety per cent grey, what’s left of it. ‘Hideous.’

‘How was the train journey?’

He casts me an enquiring look. I’m not normally so interested in the details of his daily commute. ‘Same as normal,’ he says then reaches across the sofa and pats one of my knees. ‘You okay, darling? You seem a bit … tense.’

My fingers are knotted together. Was I twisting them while Brian was talking? It’s amazing, the little messages a body can leak. I look from my fingers to my husband. His body isn’t saying anything unusual. He looks as relaxed and calm as normal.

‘Why did you lie to me, Brian?’ So much for staying calm and logical.

His mouth drops open and he blinks. ‘Sorry?’

‘You made out you were going to work.’

‘When?’

‘This morning. You didn’t go, did you?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘That’s odd, Mark said you weren’t there.’

‘Mark?’ Brian snatches his hand from my knee. ‘Why would you ring my PA?’

‘I didn’t,’ I say. ‘He rang me.’

‘Why?’

‘He said he had something important to discuss with you. Didn’t he mention it when you went into the office in the afternoon? If you went in.’

‘Of course I did. And yes,’ he shifts position so he’s turned square towards me, ‘now I come to think of it, he did have something fairly urgent to discuss with me.’

‘Great. So,’ I maintain eye contact, ‘where were you this morning, Brian?’

My husband says nothing for a couple of seconds. Instead he runs a hand over his face and takes a few deep breaths. I wonder if he’s steadying himself, hiding his eyes from me so I can’t see the lies he’s fabricating now I’ve confronted him.

‘I …’ he looks at me, a frown creasing his forehead. ‘I was going to see Charlotte.’

‘You didn’t! We were both there when the consultant said—’

‘Sue.’ He holds up a hand and I bite my tongue. ‘I was planning on seeing Charlotte this morning. I planned it days ago. I know you can’t bear it when she’s left alone so I was going to surprise you, suggest that you take yourself into town to get a manicure or a haircut or a new dress or something while I sat with her. Then, last night, the consultant told us about the tests and that pretty much scuppered my plans so …’

‘So?’ I say the word so loudly Milly lifts her head from the carpet and looks at me.

‘So I went into town instead. I visited the library, went for a swim, did a bit of shopping and just had a bit of …’ he cringes, ‘I guess you’d call it “me time”.’

‘Me time?’

‘Yes.’ He looks me straight in the eye.

‘So you took the morning off to give me some … me time … and when the consultant told us that we couldn’t visit Charlotte you decided to have some … me time … for yourself instead?’

He shrugs uncomfortably. ‘Yes.’

‘Why didn’t you mention it?’

‘When?’

‘When you came in just now? Why didn’t you mention it?’

‘Oh for God’s sake, Sue.’ Brian slumps forward, his head in his hands. ‘I really don’t need this. I really don’t.’

‘But …’ I can’t finish my sentence. The whole situation suddenly seems faintly ridiculous and I’m not sure why I’m continuing to argue. Brian planned a treat for me and it fell through so he took a few hours to himself. That’s perfectly reasonable. So he didn’t walk through the door and tell me all about it – so what? I’m not his keeper, he doesn’t have to report his every move to me – I’d never do that to him, not after what James put me through.

I look at the hunched, tired shape on the other end of the sofa. He looked so fresh, so optimistic when he walked in ten minutes ago. He looks ten years older now.

‘I’m sorry.’ I reach out a hand and lay it on his shoulder.

Brian says nothing.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say again.

The grandfather clock in the corner of the room tick-tocks the minutes away.

‘Brian,’ I say softly. ‘Please look at me.’

After an age he peels his fingers away from his face and looks up at me. ‘I don’t want to argue, Sue, not after everything that’s happened.’

‘Me neither.’

I squeeze his shoulder and he reaches a hand around and lays it on mine. The warmth of his palm on my skin has an immediate calming effect and I exhale heavily.

‘Okay?’ Brian says, his eyes searching mine.

I’m about to nod, to pull him close for a hug, to lose myself in the warm, musky scent of him when a thought hits me.

‘Was the pool busy?’ I ask. ‘When you went for your swim?’

Brian looks confused then smiles a split second later. ‘Rammed. Bloody kids everywhere. Half term isn’t it, so what did I expect?’

I don’t know what you expected, I think as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer, but I’d have expected it to be pretty damned empty considering it closed for renovations two weeks ago.

We sit by Charlotte’s bedside in silence; Brian holding one of her hands, me holding the other. The heart monitor bleeps steadily in the corner of her room. We didn’t speak on the way in but we often keep a companionable silence in the car, particularly when the radio’s on, and Brian had no reason to think there was anything unusual about the fact I spent the whole journey staring out of the window. I was trying to decide what to do – to confront him about his swimming pool lie or bite my tongue and pretend everything is fine. I chose the latter – for now.

‘They still haven’t fixed the emergency button,’ I say. My voice sounds horribly loud in the small room.

Brian looks at the grubby yellow tape covering the red button above Charlotte’s bed. ‘Typical. I don’t suppose they’ve sorted the TV either.’

I reach for the remote control and press a button. The TV flickers to life and we watch Bargain Hunt for all of thirty seconds before the screen fills with white noise. I turn it off again.

‘It’s a bloody joke.’ Brian shakes his head. ‘I’ve campaigned for – and achieved – a three-fold budget increase for this hospital and it’s still falling down around our ears. And don’t even get me started on MRSA. Have you seen the grime on the windowsill? What do the cleaners actually do here? Mist each room with eau de bleach then go for a fag?’

‘That’s a bit harsh.’ I pull an antiseptic wipe out of the packet on Charlotte’s bedside table and wipe down the windowsill, then the frame of Charlotte’s bed and the door handle. ‘I think they’re just overstretched.’

‘They should still fix that bloody button. What are we supposed to do in an emergency? Wave a white flag out the window?’

Brian sighs and shakes out his newspaper. Sometimes he reads the more interesting or controversial articles aloud. They have no effect on Charlotte but it helps fill the visit.

With the cleaning done I turn my attention to our daughter. I straighten her sheet, untucking then re-tucking it, then I brush her hair, wipe her face with damp cotton wool and rub moisturizer into her hands then hover at the side of the bed, my hands twisting uselessly in front of me. Charlotte’s hair wasn’t tangled, her face wasn’t dirty and her hands weren’t dry but what else can I do? I could hold her hand. I could tell her how much I love her. I could beg her to please, please open her eyes and come back to us. I could cry. I could wait until I was all alone in the room, lean over the bed, gather her in my arms and ask her why. Why didn’t I notice she was in so much pain she’d rather die than live one more day? My own child. My baby. How could I not know? How could I not sense that?

I could plea bargain with God. I could beg him to let me switch places with her so she could smile again, laugh again, go shopping, chat with her friends, watch films and spend too much time on the internet. So she could live instead of me.

But I’ve done all of those things. I’ve done them so many times over the last six weeks that I’ve lost count and nothing, nothing has brought her back to me.

‘I’m sorry, we can only allow a maximum of three visitors at a time. I’m afraid one of you will have to—’

I twist round to see who’s speaking. A nurse is standing with a young couple, just outside the door. I recognize the tall, blond man she’s talking to. It’s Danny Argent, one of Oliver’s friends. I don’t recognize the girl with him.

‘But—’ His eyes meet mine. ‘Hi Sue.’

‘Danny.’ I glance at Brian. He’s frowning. ‘What are you doing here?’

He takes a step into the room. The nurse tuts loudly but he ignores her.

‘We,’ he glances back at the attractive mixed-race girl in the corridor, ‘Keisha and me, we wanted to see Charlotte. Is that okay?’

Brian clears his throat. He’s had a problem with Danny ever since we were called to A&E to witness Oli having his stomach pumped after a teenaged drinking binge. Brian went white when he saw his son lying semi-conscious on a hospital trolley, then purple when he spotted Danny leaning against the wall nearby, one grubby trainer on the paintwork, the other kicking the wheel of the trolley. He’s never forgiven him for getting his son so drunk he was hospitalized but Oli won’t hear a bad word said against his best friend. As far as he’s concerned, nightclub promoter Danny can do no wrong.

‘Sue?’ Danny says again. He jerks his head towards Keisha who smiles hopefully at me.

I look at Brian. To an outsider he looks perfectly normal but I know what’s going on behind his eyes. He’s wondering if Danny’s got anything to do with Charlotte’s accident. His protective hackles are rising just seeing him in the same room as his daughter. I’ve got nothing against Danny. He’s vain, self-obsessed and materialistic – and he’s not someone I’d choose to be Oli’s best friend – but he’s not a bad person, he’s not dangerous. He’s always treated Charlotte like a kid sister, much to her disdain, but I can’t go against Brian on this, even suspecting what I do. This is about what’s best for Charlotte, not the two of us.

‘I’m not sure …’ I start, my eyes flicking from Danny to Brian and back. ‘I don’t know if—’

Brian’s chair squeaks on the bleached lino as he stands up. ‘I need a coffee.’ He shoots me a meaningful look. ‘I’ll get you one, Sue. You stay here.’

Danny looks as surprised as I feel as Brian gives him a cursory nod and then leaves the room. Several silent seconds pass as we all wait for someone to decide what happens next.

‘Come in, come in,’ I say at last, waving my hand to beckon Keisha in. She falters then drifts towards Danny and stands as close to him as she can without knocking him over. I’ve seen Milly do the same with Brian. She’ll press herself so tightly against his knees he struggles to stay upright. With Milly it’s a sign of her utter devotion and, from the look on Keisha’s face, I’m fairly certain the motivation is the same.

Danny barely acknowledges his girlfriend’s presence. If it wasn’t for the fact he just swung an arm around her shoulders and rested a hand on the back of her neck I’d say he wasn’t even aware she was in the same room. He hasn’t taken his eyes off Charlotte for the last five minutes.

‘How is she?’ he asks.

I shrug. It’s a well-practiced response – half hopeful, half realistic. ‘The doctors say the worst of her injuries are healing well.’

‘So why …’ he frowns. ‘… hasn’t she woken up?’

‘They don’t know.’ I squeeze Charlotte’s hand. She’s so still and silent you’d imagine it to be cold but it’s not, it’s as warm as mine.

‘Really? You would have thought that they’d be ab—’

There’s a loud sniff and we both turn to look at Keisha.

‘Oh my God,’ Danny looks appalled at the tears spilling down her cheeks. ‘Stop it, would you. You’re embarrassing me.’

I tense at his tone. James was the same, cold in the face of tears.

Keisha covers her face with her hands but she can’t hide her tears. They drip off her jaw and speckle her pink top with red splashes.

I reach out a hand but I’m sitting too far away to touch her. ‘Are you okay?’

She shakes her head and swipes at her cheeks with her right hand; her left clutches the hem of Danny’s leather jacket. She must be eighteen, twenty tops, but the gesture is that of a five-year-old child.

‘It’s just,’ she swallows back a sob, ‘it’s just so very sad.’

I’m surprised by her accent. I didn’t expect her to be Irish.

‘Yes it is. It’s very sad. But we’re still optimistic. There’s no reason why she shouldn’t pull through.’

Keisha wails as though her heart is breaking and wrenches herself away from Danny.

‘Keish,’ he snaps, a muscle pulsing in his cheek. ‘Keisha, stop it.’

‘No.’ She wraps her arms around her slender waist and steps backwards towards the door. ‘No.’

‘Keisha?’ I stand up and take a slow step towards her. I hold out a hand, palm upwards as though I’m approaching a startled foal. ‘Keisha, what is it?’

She looks at my hand and shakes her head.

‘I’m sorry.’ She takes another step towards the door, then another. She’s trembling from head to foot. ‘I’m really sorry.’

‘We all are.’ I’m trying to stay calm but my heart is beating violently in my chest. ‘But there’s no need to be so upset. She really will get—’

‘That’s not what I mean. I’m sorry that—’

‘Keish!’ Danny’s voice is so loud we both jump. ‘Calm the fuck down.’

‘No.’ She tears her gaze from Charlotte’s face to look at her boyfriend. ‘She needs to know.’

‘Know what?’ What’s she talking about? ‘What do I need to know, Keisha? Tell me.’

She and Danny stare at each other, their eyes locked. His eyes narrow. He’s warning her, silently ordering her to shut up.

‘Keisha!’ I need her to look at me. I need to break whatever spell Danny has cast on her. ‘Keisha!’

‘Sue? Why are you shouting?’ Brian appears in the doorway behind Keisha, a cup of steaming coffee in each hand.

I stare at him in astonishment. How long has he been there?

‘I knew it.’ He glares at Danny. ‘I bloody knew there’d be trouble if I let you—’

He’s interrupted by Keisha who moans softly, then shoulders Brian out of the way and sprints out of the room. Hot coffee slops onto the cold, vinyl floor.

‘Keish!’ Danny’s after her in a flash.

There’s a horrible moment when he and Brian face off in the doorway and I think someone’s going to throw a punch but then Brian steps to the side to let Danny pass. I hear Keisha shriek something as her boyfriend’s trainers pound the corridor then the room falls silent again.

The heart monitor beep-beep-beeps in the corner of the room.

Brian looks at me, confusion and shock etched onto his face. ‘What the hell happened?’ There’s an unspoken accusation behind the question and he looks at Charlotte, concerned. ‘I could hear that girl screaming from the vending machine in the corridor. I’m surprised the nurse didn’t come back. Or security.’

‘What did she mean?’ He places the coffee cups on the bedside table and takes Charlotte’s other hand.

‘Who?’

‘The girl with Danny. She shouted something as she was running down the corridor.’

‘I didn’t hear anything.’

Brian fixes me with a look. ‘She shouted, “Stupid fucking girl. She trusted me, she thought I was her best friend, and look what happened to her”.’

Saturday 9th September 1990

It was James on the phone on Wednesday. He was terribly apologetic, said some awful things had happened in his personal life and asked if I’d ever be able to forgive him for leaving me hanging. I wanted to be angry, to tell him that I deserved to be treated better and that he couldn’t just expect me to forgive him because he’d deigned to pick up the phone. Instead I said, ‘Buy me a beer and I’ll think about it.’ He called me an ‘angel’ then and said it was typical of the amazing person I was that I’d be so understanding.

When we met for a beer I tried to find out more about these ‘personal things’ that had stopped him from calling but he skirted the issue, telling me he’d reveal all once we’d been together a bit longer. (So we’re ‘together’ are we? Interesting!)

Almost inevitably we ended up in bed together. Again.

We’d been to the Heart and Hand in Clapham Common and, as last orders were called, I suggested we get the tube back to my flat because I had a couple of bottles of wine that needed drinking. James jumped at the idea. He said he couldn’t wait to see my flat and what my things said about me. As it turned out all he saw as we spilled through the front door, into the bedsitting room and onto my futon was a couple of magnolia-painted walls and the white ceiling.

Afterwards, as we lay in each other’s arms, listening to ‘Monkey Gone to Heaven’ by the Pixies on repeat (we were both too lazy to get out of bed and change the CD), I asked James when I’d get to see his place. A cloud passed over his face and he said, ‘Never hopefully.’ When I asked what that meant he shrugged and said he needed the loo. When he came back he said something that made me laugh and that was it, subject changed without me even noticing.

I won’t give up so easily next time the subject comes up …

Chapter 5

‘Keisha Malley?’ Oli reaches across the table for a biscuit and bites into it. He’s only been back in the house for ten minutes and he’s nearly demolished an entire pack of chocolate Hobnobs. ‘Fit black girl? Yeah I know her, goes out with Danny.’

It’s the day after the incident with Keisha and Danny in the hospital but I’m still reeling. What did she mean – ‘She trusted me, she thought I was her best friend, and look what happened to her.’

Brian and I talked about what had happened all the way home and for hours into the night but we still couldn’t unravel it. It took all my self-restraint, and Brian’s firm hand on the phone, not to call Oli at midnight to ask him for Danny’s number so I could get some answers there and then.

‘Did Charlotte ever mention anything about Keisha being her best friend?’

‘Keisha? Her best friend? You’re kidding me, right? What about Ella? Those two are as thick as thieves.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘Or did they fall out?’

I shake my head. ‘I don’t know. Charlotte never mentioned falling out with Ella but then …’ I tail off. I’m starting to get the impression there’s a lot I don’t know about my daughter’s life.

Oli pulls a face. ‘It’s a bit unlikely, isn’t it? A fifteen-year-old and a nineteen-year-old being best friends? Or is it different with girls?’

‘I don’t know.’ I shrug. ‘But why would Keisha say that if it wasn’t true?’

‘She’s a woman. She’s mental!’ He laughs then looks contrite. ‘Sorry Sue, present company excepted.’

‘Oliver James Jackson,’ Brian bellows from the porch. ‘Are you insulting your mother again?’

He fixes Oli with a steely stare but he can’t stop his lips from twitching into a smile and giving him away.

His son doesn’t miss a beat. ‘Thought I’d give you the day off, old man.’

‘Oi!’ Brian crosses the kitchen and lightly cuffs him round the back of his head. ‘Less of the old thank you very much.’

I smile as they slip effortlessly into their roles for the father-son banter-athon. Information is swapped, insults are traded and jokes are told and never once do the grins slip from their faces. I adore watching the two of them together but a tiny, hateful part of me is jealous. Theirs is a closeness I could only dream of sharing with Charlotte. When she was born, when I held her in my arms for the first time, my head was full of happy imaginings for the future – the two of us shopping together for shoes, gossiping over manicures, cooing over Hollywood hunks in the cinema, or just sitting around the kitchen table chatting about our days. But it never quite turned out that way.