If He Wakes Read online

  If He Wakes

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Tuesday

  1

  2

  3

  Wednesday

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  Thursday

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  Friday

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  One Year Later

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  If He Wakes

  Zoe Lea

  To Stephen

  Tuesday

  Cloudy skies with a cold wind and periods of rain.

  1

  Rachel

  My world fell apart on a cold, rainy Tuesday afternoon in November.

  I didn't make a sound when it happened. Sitting outside the cheap hotel I was close enough to see it, but too far away to be involved. I was trying to get a better view of him, craning my neck and cursing the long line of cars in front of me. I'd never followed my husband before and wasn't used to hiding.

  I'd lost him when we entered the retail park. Took a right and got caught up in the traffic coming out of the hotel. Queuing for the exit, I’d watched his car go over to the fast food restaurant fifty metres away.

  And then the hit and run happened.

  It was over in seconds. If I hadn't been stationary and staring so hard I would've missed it.

  A car suddenly speeding.

  A body flying over a windscreen and landing in a crumpled mess on the ground.

  The sound of the engine screeching as it left the carnage and went towards the dual carriageway.

  I took in a shocked breath and held it. I’d stared at the figure on the ground, which now looked like a discarded pile of clothes and asked myself if it had really happened. Did I just see that?

  The windscreen wiper blades scraped against the glass as I watched the aftermath in horror. People in the vicinity dropped their shopping and ran forwards. Someone began to perform first aid, falling to their knees and putting their hands on the body. Figures ran in and out of the restaurant and a growing crowd quickly surrounded the scene and obscured my view. Staff darted about in their red caps and aprons accompanied by screams and shouts as the blades of my wipers grated through the scene. The hot air blowing from the fan heaters was suddenly stifling and I couldn't catch my breath. I needed air.

  Those around me began to get out of their cars and I went to get out of mine. I undid my seat-belt and turned toward the door, but I'd forgotten my car was in gear with the engine still running. As my foot released the clutch, my other foot caught the accelerator and the car rushed forward in a shocking way straight into the back of a silver Mini.

  My chest hit the steering wheel hard making the horn sound continuously and my head connected with something sharp, but it was my foot that made me scream. The heel of my shoe had broken on one of the pedals, as had something inside my ankle.

  A man in a crumpled suit opened the passenger door, his eyes still on the commotion at the opposite side of the retail park.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he said as he eased me off the steering wheel, releasing the horn, ‘you alright?’

  He pulled on the handbrake and his eyes went to my ankle.

  ‘Good God!’ he shouted turning around. ‘We need an ambulance over here!’

  I went to say how that wasn't necessary but was sick all over the passenger seat instead.

  * * *

  Because of the hit and run that had happened minutes earlier, everyone treated my minor accident with much more attention than it deserved.

  The man in the suit barked instructions to the other drivers who had been queuing for the exit. Cars were moved. The young woman I'd rear ended needed someone to look at her neck. The hotel staff were informed, hot tea and a useless first aid kit was brought out.

  There was much discussion about whether I should be moved whilst waiting for the paramedics, but when I started to get out of the car myself, they all jumped into action.

  I insisted that I was taken into the hotel. I wanted to be out of my car with its stench of vomit and as far away as possible from the horror of the hit and run and its aftermath. People were watching as if it were a show, shivering in the cold, blatantly rubbernecking.

  I was carried in by a man wearing motorbike leathers that creaked heavily as he moved. He placed me down on a wicker chair in the reception area and another one was hastily brought over for my ankle. I screamed loudly as they raised my leg to rest on it.

  An elderly couple by the reception desk, in the process of checking out, stared at me. The expression on their faces told me how bad I looked. Vomit on my chin and blouse, make-up running down my face and one leg of my suede trousers hoisted up around my knee, and my damaged ankle, bloody and bruised and an odd shape. I wiped my face, tried to pull at my trousers, hide my bare leg, but it was useless. I was shaking too much to do anything.

  A few of the hotel staff insisted they stay with me until the ambulance arrived, an older lady and a teenage boy with a shiny chin. They gave me sympathetic looks and offered me tea, coffee, water. I'd shaken my head. The thought of drinking, of consuming anything was ludicrous. I could barely speak and I was cold; in my rush leaving I'd left my coat at home. But I couldn't tell them that, I couldn't form a single clear thought.

  The older lady who had been by my side, left to help with the growing congregation of tourists that were gathering around the reception desk and I was glad. I wanted to be left alone. I prayed the teenage boy would wander off. I listened as she informed everyone that there would be a delay if they needed to get their car. Someone asked if the ambulance had arrived for the person hit over at the fast food restaurant. Someone asked if it was a hit and run. Someone asked if the person hit had been killed and a cold sweat broke out over me, making my shaking pronounced. Had I just watched someone die?

  ‘I'm guessing you saw it then,’ the teenager asked as the tourists dissipated from the reception area, ‘that's what made you go into the back of that car. You saw it all.’

  He was looking out of the glass doors, toward the direction of the restaurant where the crowd was. He started to bite his thumbnail as a galloping panic overtook me.

  ‘I didn't see anything.’ My voice came out in fits and starts, it sounded alien. ‘I wasn't looking out of my window.’

  He stopped biting and stared at me.

  ‘I was fixing the radio,’ I told him. ‘I had my head down.’

  ‘You didn't see?’ he frowned. ‘You didn't know it had happened?’

  I tried to turn away from him, to change position, the action sending shooting pains to my ankle. I made a low groan but was glad of the pain, glad of the distraction.

  ‘Didn't know what had happened?’

  The woman I'd crashed into was young. Pretty. Her face was impeccably made up, her hair groomed as if she were on her way to a film set when I'd gone into the back of her. Since the accident she’d had a mobile to her ear and she stared down at me with a kind of disgusted pity. I had a fourteen-year-old daughter that looked at me much the same, it was all hair flicking and rolling eyes. The thought of my daughter, Katie, brought a fresh wave of adrenaline that hit my stomach and rolled up through my chest and for a second I thought I might fain
t.

  ‘The hit and run,’ the teenager said as I struggled to gain control, ‘she didn't see it.’

  She looked down at me and I took a deep breath. My chest shuddered.

  ‘I'm sorry,’ I said quietly. ‘I'm so, so sorry.’

  They stared at me a moment in silence, both of them, then she gave a little shrug.

  ‘I'd have crashed into the back of someone if I'd have seen that,’ she said. ‘Don't beat yourself up.’

  ‘I didn't see it!’ the loudness of my voice surprised us all and I raised my hands slightly in shock. ‘I'm sorry,’ I said. ‘I'm sorry.’ I began to cry, losing my battle to stay in charge of my emotions, ‘So sorry, but I didn't see anything. I wasn’t watching. I just want to go home.’

  I tugged at my trouser leg, I wanted to hide my ankle that was changing shape. It had increased in size since I'd been sitting, a large bulge to one side. It looked like somebody else's ankle, it didn't belong to me. I didn't belong in the hotel lobby, I shouldn't have been there. I should be at home in my warm kitchen, listening to the radio and filling the kettle. This was all wrong.

  The young girl put her hand on my shoulder and I flinched at her touch.

  ‘It's my sister’s car anyway,’ she said, her voice soft, ‘and she won't care; she's in Tenerife.’

  I looked up at her sympathetic face. She gave me a small smile, squeezing her eyes to convey a kind of visual hug, before taking her attention back to her phone. I watched her expertly navigate the screen, swiping and tapping and ran a hand over my wet cheeks.

  ‘Could I use that?’ I asked. ‘It's just, I need to call home. I’ve not got my mobile and I need to call them.’

  She paused for a moment, her finger hovering over the screen.

  ‘I need to speak with Della, to see if…’ I took a breath, swallowed down a lump of panic, ‘to tell her what's happened. I don't have my phone and the ambulance will be here soon.’

  She paused for a moment, the teenage boy to the side of us shifted his weight and she felt at her neck. She looked out of the window toward the fast food restaurant where the drama was still being played out, and then handed me her phone.

  ‘I'll need your insurance details,’ she said as I took it from her, ‘and your name and address.’ I nodded as I tapped. It was answered on the fourth ring.

  ‘Della?’

  ‘Rachel?’

  I closed my eyes at the sound of her voice and took a moment to steady myself.

  ‘Della, I've been in an accident. It's not serious, but I can't drive and they've called an ambulance.’ My voice wobbled. ‘In fact, I think I may have broken something.’

  There was a shocked silence.

  ‘Oh Rachel!’ Della's voice was high. ‘Are you alright? Where are you?’

  ‘The retail park,’ I told her. ‘The one near Grosvenor Square.’

  ‘Shall I come?’ Della asked. ‘I could speak to…’

  ‘No,’ I said quickly, stopping her, ‘you don't need to. The ambulance will be here soon. It's just,’ I paused, rallying myself. ‘Della, are you alone? Phil? He didn't come back, did he? He's not…’

  There was a moment of silence.

  ‘Phil's in London,’ she said and relief flooded through me. Phil was in London. ‘Do you want me to call him?’

  ‘No!’

  The young woman in front of me flinched at the sharpness of my voice, her hand reaching for her neck as she did so.

  ‘Don't bother Phil with this. No, but could you give Jessica a call and tell her what’s happened and be there when Katie…’ I took a sharp intake of breath as I remembered, ‘Katie’s coming home early! I wrote her a note this morning, she didn't want to do hockey so I wrote to the school saying she had a dentist appointment. She'll be catching the two thirty bus, could you…’

  ‘You've told me,’ Della said. ‘Katie's catching the early bus and then dropping in at the library. She's walking from there.’

  ‘I did?’ I closed my eyes. A distant memory of hastily made arrangements discussed over breakfast amidst the busy morning rush came back to me. Katie pleading with me to miss games, Jessica running around for her course work, Phil leaving early for London as Suzie phoned to tell me of an exciting meeting. I remembered saying goodbye to him, how he kissed me breezily on the cheek before he left, a piece of buttered toast in his mouth, Katie singing something annoying as he drove away.

  ‘Rachel?’

  I opened my eyes.

  ‘You still there?’

  ‘Della.’ My voice was thin. I squeezed the phone, took a deep breath, concentrated on what needed to be said. ‘Would you call Suzie for me?’

  ‘Suzie?’

  ‘I haven't got my phone. Could you…’ I paused, wiped my eyes. The teenage boy produced a tissue and I took it gratefully. ‘Could you ask Suzie to meet me at the hospital?’

  ‘Suzie?’ I could hear the surprise in Della's voice. ‘Of course. I'll call her. You sure you don't want me to call Phil?’

  ‘No. No, don't bother Phil with this, not when he's in London.’

  The young woman stepped forward. ‘Oh and Della, could you get my insurance details and give them to this woman? I drove into the back of her car and can't remember what company I'm with. They're in the office, in the cabinet by the window.’

  I passed the phone back and watched the young woman walk to the reception desk for a pen and paper. I shivered, speaking to Della had made it real, made it harder and I put my arms around myself. A few Spanish tourists had gathered at the side of us, small rucksacks in their hands, staring out of the glass doors, over to the restaurant. Over to where it had happened. They were speaking quickly to each other, rapid little words and I followed their gaze.

  From where I was sitting, I couldn't see the fast food restaurant, I could only see people looking at it. Small groups gathered on the car park, shaking their heads, hands in their pockets. Some were in cars, waiting to get on with their day, impatiently moving forward past my broken car that had been moved into the disabled spot by the hotel doors.

  ‘My mate broke her ankle,’ the young woman said as she came back toward me. ‘It was twelve weeks before she got rid of the crutches. She did it in six inch stilettos.’ She looked at the court shoe on my left foot with the small kitten heel.

  The glass doors opened sending an icy blast of air over us and a man with a name tag and the same uniform as the teenager walked through.

  ‘Police have arrived,’ he said as he approached the reception desk. ‘Ambulance should be here any second.’ He went over to the Spanish tourists and started to explain something to them, a map was brought out and he pointed to it.

  ‘I heard they were thrown into the air,’ the teenager said in almost a whisper and my shaking increased. ‘They were caught head on. So either the driver didn't know someone was there, or whatever, but he just like… BAM!’

  I lifted my hands and looked at them, my wedding ring catching the light, the tremors apparent in my fingers. I made my hands into fists and put them up to my eyes.

  ‘Who would do that?’ the young woman asked, almost absently. ‘Who would do something like that and just drive off?’

  The image of the body flying over the windscreen played out in my mind. The way it flew up and over. I wasn't anywhere near enough to have heard it, but in the replay I heard a soft crunch as it hit the windscreen. The breaking of bones. My stomach curled in on itself.

  ‘CCTV'll get him,’ the teenager said and my shaking threatened to turn into convulsions. I put my arms around myself again, tight. I tensed my muscles against the movement.

  ‘It's all recorded around here,’ he pointed vaguely in the air. ‘The police will have that driver before the end of the day. They probably already know who it is.’

  Saliva filled my mouth, my heart began to speed dangerously. I needed to get home. I needed to get away. I needed them to be quiet, to stop talking, to shut up. To just shut up.

  A droning sound began and got louder and lo
uder.

  ‘They should throw away the key,’ the teenager said, sounding much older than he was, warming to his theme, ‘someone who does that.’

  ‘And then just speeds off!’ the young woman agreed. ‘To just leave. If the police want to talk to me they can, I didn't see it happen but I saw the car as it left. It was a BMW. A black BMW.’

  My throat constricted as she said it.

  I couldn't breathe. The more I tried, the harder it became and my heart started to beat fast. I screwed my eyes tight against the image but it wouldn't leave my mind.

  A black BMW. She'd seen it. He'd seen it. I didn't imagine it. It was real.

  I'd been watching him. I expected him to stop. To get out. That was the type of man Phil, my husband, was. He was caring. He did the right thing. He didn't throw bodies over windscreens and drive away.

  Except he had.

  It was Phil's black BMW.

  It was my husband’s face behind the wheel.

  I expected to see him with another woman. What I saw was so much worse.

  2

  Suzie

  Suzie had been running alongside the River Dee when she got the call from Della. In her tight black pants and fitted fleece, her small muscular frame slowed to a jog as she fiddled with the armband that held her phone. She had reached the favourite part of her route and with the November sun low in the sky, it was beautiful. The Groves, Chester's riverside promenade with its Edwardian bandstand overlooking the water stretched out before her, the shadows of the trees lengthening, the cobbled stones glistening in the pale light.

  Suzie ran three times a week and it was this part of the run that motivated her to do it. Lying just below the sandstone wall to the south-east of the city, she’d jog along the steps leading to the Roman gardens, which was where the beauty really began. The sudden change in space and atmosphere always amazed her, it was the thing she liked most about Chester, the fact that she could leave the busy, traffic-filled streets and be alongside history within seconds.

  Here she jogged amongst building fragments taken from a Roman fortress. Columns from the bathhouse and ruins from military constructions dotted her path, and as she breathed in great gasps of air, filling her lungs, she admired her surroundings and never felt more alive. It was as if the history of the place somehow energised her.