‘My goodness, they must be trained in stock phrases at copper school!’ Phil remarked when he’d gone. ‘What are you going to do, Joe?’
‘I haven’t a clue. They seem to think that I should be sorting out the flat and everything, all that talk about when the “crime scene” is released. It’s the same bloody roundabout all over again, isn’t it?’ Joe was close to tears.
‘I wouldn’t count on that, mate. Perhaps you should seek legal advice; surely no one can force you to take responsibility for their affairs, especially in the circumstances.’
‘Don’t get in a state about it, Joe,’ Helen chipped in. ‘I should think the investigation will take some time, there must be some protocol for these situations, or if nothing else you could just put the flat in the hands of house clearers, or leave the landlord to do so.’
‘I’ll have to arrange a funeral for him. It’s a hell of a way to die and he was family...’
‘You should wait a few days, see what this Armstrong comes back with. There’s no urgency and you’re not in any fit state to be arranging anything at the moment.’ Joe could tell Phil was concerned for him.
‘You’re right,’ Joe agreed. ‘It hasn’t really sunk in yet. I can’t believe that she could actually do that to her own husband, it’s barbaric.’
‘Now, no arguments, you’re coming round to ours for some lunch,’ Helen insisted, ‘and Liffey too. It’s only cold ham and salad but you don’t have to stay. Come back home when you want to, you need to rest.’
Joe was in no mood to argue and accepted his friends’ ministrations, glad of their presence. He would do as they suggested, think things over, and then talk to the detective when he felt better. Nothing he could do would help his brother now.
CHAPTER 25
The lethal combination of freezing rain and wind battered the windscreen so hard that Hannah feared it might shatter, the violent pounding was deafening, frightening. Suddenly, the car seemed to shift of its own volition, it veered ever so slightly to the left and she tried to counter the shift by turning the steering wheel to the right. But the car had taken on a mind of its own; she was no longer in control. Fear swelled inside her, cold as the ice outside, as the momentum gathered and Hannah was carried along inside the prison of her car, utterly helpless as it descended the gradient, sliding uncontrollably towards the inevitable. She saw an articulated lorry approaching from the right and her car suddenly fishtailed, like a ride at a fairground. There was an explosive boom, the horrified faces of a man and a woman, and the piercing sound of Hannah’s own voice, an impotent scream, and then nothing. Dark, interminable silence.
Hannah couldn’t breathe; it was as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. She sat up, her nightdress soaked with perspiration, her jaw stiff and twisted, and her fingers clawing at the sheets. On one level she knew that she was awake and in her bedroom but in the disorientation which so often follows sleep, she was inside her little Ford Focus. The room was hot but she felt as cold as the ice had been on that fateful day.
Was she dreaming, or was she actually remembering those events which her mind had so stubbornly blocked from her consciousness? Looking at the clock, the digits flashed 4.30am and she knew there would be no more sleep that night. The house was silent; the twins must still be sleeping, so the scream, which had been so real to her only moments ago, had probably just been in her head.
When Hannah’s breathing slowed and the blood stopped pounding through her temples, she reached for her prosthesis and pulled it on. She made her way downstairs and into the kitchen where she occupied her trembling hands with the mundane task of making coffee. A shiver ran through her body, and even though the early morning sun had already warmed the kitchen to a comfortable temperature, it was as if ice was running through her veins.
Wrapping her hands around the hot mug soothed her and she began to think rationally, analysing what had just happened. Had it been a dream, or was she remembering the accident? How the hell was she supposed to know the difference? Could it be what they call ‘false memories’ or just a dream based on other people’s accounts of what occurred that day? Her mind was spinning, and she was unsure what to think, what to believe.
As the caffeine reinvigorated her body, her mind began to clear. The images had been too vivid to be only a dream and now as they again played through her mind, Hannah became convinced that she was experiencing a memory.
In her mind’s eye, she saw herself leaving for work that morning, exchanging a few words with Rosie and hurrying into the car, out of the bitter cold weather. These were things no one else could have told her, they must be genuine memories. Up until this ‘dream’ she hadn’t even remembered speaking to Rosie that morning but now she could even recall what their brief exchange had been about and how bad she felt at letting her friend down.
A mental picture of herself, down to what she was wearing that morning, lodged in her mind; she couldn’t have heard that at the inquest. She remembered it all, the panic of being thrust towards the motorway, the unresponsive brakes of the car and the sheer terror of being powerless to prevent the inevitable. The movements of her car felt like a ballet being danced in slow motion, a deadly choreography which she was powerless to stop, but the approaching vehicles on the motorway were travelling at speed.
Hannah braced herself for the collision, her little Ford Focus spinning round as it reached the motorway, and smashing into the back of a lorry. For a split second everything was still. She became suddenly aware of the terrified faces of a man and a woman heading straight towards her, and then everything went black.
It was a memory, a sombre, mournful memory but also a relief. It hadn’t been her fault! The more Hannah thought about it, the more she could see that there was nothing at all she could possibly have done to prevent the sequence of events that had occurred that morning. The control of her car was irrevocably taken out of her hands; she was at the mercy of the elements, as was everyone else involved in the collision. Fate took over, remorseless fate, cruel, harsh, severe.
Hannah couldn’t possibly have prevented the accident and there was nothing she had done to cause it either. It was as if a weight was suddenly lifted from her as she sat at the kitchen table and actually smiled. For the first time since the accident she knew with certitude that she had no culpability in the awful events of that day, a certainty she’d longed for. The knowledge brought with it freedom and she knew that she could now go on living without the burden of guilt and shame which had haunted her since the accident. She was at last released from such debilitating emotions.
Hannah had no idea how long she had sat there but when Sam appeared in the kitchen doorway she grinned at him.
‘It’s only six o’clock, Mum, what are you doing up?’
‘Couldn’t sleep; what’s your excuse?’
‘I’m on early shift at the centre. Any chance of a lift, seeing as how you’re up?’
‘I can think of nothing I’d like to do more than give my handsome son a lift to work! Grab some breakfast while I get dressed!’