The Accident: The bestselling psychological thriller

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‘Leave.’ She takes a step back into the hallway and begins to close the front door.

I press my hand against it to stop it being slammed in my face. ‘No, Judy, wait. Listen!’

‘No! You listen!’ The door swings open again. ‘I’m sorry about what happened to Charlotte, really I am but it’s not my fault and it’s certainly not Ella’s. Perhaps you should look a bit closer to home instead.’

I stand on the doorstep open-mouthed. And not just because Judy slammed the door in my face.

Sunday 15th October 1990 (#ulink_f84d9938-72c6-531a-b8e8-32320bb0af0e)

James and I had our first argument this evening. He and the rest of the theatre group popped by the bar, as they do every Sunday after rehearsals, and James took up his customary stool at the end. I said hello, got him a pint, gave him a kiss and got on with my job, just as I always do – having a bit of banter with Maggie and Jake, catching up on gossip with Kate and taking the piss out of Steve – but I could sense that something wasn’t right. Whenever I looked across at James, instead of reading his script or his book, he was staring at me with a sour expression on his face. I shot him a smile then pulled a face. When that did nothing to crack his frown I went over during a quiet spot to ask what was wrong.

‘You know,’ he said.

‘Know what?’

‘I shouldn’t have to tell you because you already know.’

‘If I knew I wouldn’t be here asking!’

He shrugged like I was an idiot and, thoroughly pissed off, I went off to serve someone else.

The next time I turned round to look at James he’d gone. I asked the others if he’d been in a bad mood during rehearsals. Far from it, they said. He’d been in fine form, practically bouncing across the stage.

‘I think someone’s in love,’ Maggie had winked.

I thought he was too; he’d been hugely affectionate this morning and had insisted on shagging me not once but twice before he’d let me get out of bed to have a shower. He’d even replied ‘soon’ when I’d asked him when we were going to spend an evening in his place instead of mine.

So what had changed?

I couldn’t wait for kicking-out time so I could put all the glasses in the dishwasher, wipe down the tables and get home to ring James. He didn’t pick up for eight rings and then:

‘Hello.’ His voice was devoid of emotion.

‘James, it’s Suzy.’

‘Hello Susan.’

That stung. He never called me by my full name.

‘Why were you so off with me in the bar tonight?’

‘You know.’

‘Actually no,’ I fought to keep the hurt out of my voice. ‘I don’t. That’s why I’m ringing because I’d like you to tell me.’

‘If you don’t know there’s no point discussing this.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake. Could you be more exasperating? James, please tell me why you were in such a bad mood or I’m going to put the phone down.’

‘Go on then.’

‘Fine.’

I slammed down the phone then stared at it, waiting for him to ring back. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. By twenty I was fuming and snatched the receiver back up.

‘Hello.’ Same flat voice from the other end.

‘What was it? Something I said? Something I did? Someone I talked to?’ James sighed and I knew I’d hit the nail on the head. ‘Who? And if you say “you know” one more time I’ll never talk to you again.’

‘Steve.’

‘Steve Steve? Steve MacKensie?’

‘Yes.’

‘You were in a mood with me because I spoke to Steve MacKensie? That’s ridiculous. Why would you be jealous of him?’

‘No one said I was jealous, Susan.’

‘Then why—’

‘You were flirting with him. I saw you, leaning across the bar so he could look down your top.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t try and deny it. Everyone saw and I won’t allow the woman I love to make a laughing stock of me in front of my peers.’

‘Allow? What is this, the 1930s? And I wasn’t flirting with him, we were just bantering, like we always do.’

‘Then why was his nose in your cleavage?’

‘It—’ I let out a deep sigh. ‘This is ridiculous, James. Absolutely ridiculous. We were in bed this morning, lying in each other’s arms after the most amazing sex ever and I was telling you how much I love you and now you’re accusing me of …’ I shook my head. ‘Forget it. If you think I’d jeopardize what we’ve got, what we had to flirt with a second-rate actor then you’re more than a fool, you’re a …’ my eyes filled with tears. ‘Forget it, James.’

I slammed down the phone.

Less than a second later it rang. I let it ring nine times then picked it up. When I didn’t say anything James sighed.

‘I’m sorry, Suzy-Sue. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I’ve just had a lot on my plate recently. I’ve got a few … personal things … I’m working through at the moment, things I haven’t talked to you about.’

‘Well, that’s no reason to take it out on me.’

‘I know and I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that. You looked beautiful in the pub tonight. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you in that red top, your cleavage looks amazing, but it made me angry – when I saw other people admiring you too – because they have no right to ogle you like you’re a cheap piece of meat and—’

‘So you don’t want me to wear low-cut tops anymore? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Yes. No. No, that’s not what I’m saying. What I’m trying, clumsily, to say is that it was obvious to me that Steve was flirting with you because you looked gorgeous, and that made me angry – that your physicality was all that he could see. I’m not just in love with the way you look, I’m in love with the woman inside.’

I said nothing. I was still trying to make sense of what he was trying to say. I think he was finding fault with Steve rather than me so why did I feel bad, like I’d done something to encourage him by wearing the wrong thing or being overly friendly.

‘Suzy?’

I didn’t say anything.

‘Suzy?’ James said again. ‘Please don’t be angry. Please don’t hate me.’

‘I don’t hate you. I just don’t understand you sometimes.’

‘Let me rectify that.’

‘How?’

‘Let me take you home. Let me show you where I live.’

Chapter 8 (#ulink_cd7b2219-ccd1-546c-8392-94bfc547375a)

‘They’re teenagers, Sue. What did you expect?’

‘I know.’ I dip a piece of cotton wool into the bowl of warm water next to the bed then wring it out and dab it gently across Charlotte’s forehead. Three days have passed since I went to speak to Liam and Ella and I’m still smarting from Judy’s parting remark.

‘Show me a teenager that opens up to adults and I’ll introduce you to Santa,’ Brian adds. ‘Honestly Sue, would you have spilled your secrets to some middle-aged woman when you were in your teens? I know I wouldn’t.’

‘No.’ I meet my husband’s concerned gaze and shake my head. ‘I wouldn’t. I just thought they might open up to me because Charlotte …’ I tail off. Neither of them showed the least interest in helping our daughter.

Brian shrugs. ‘I don’t know why you’re surprised, Sue. Kids fall in and out of love all the time and they switch their friends like they’re going out of fashion. Teenagers are fickle, darling. Surely you know that?’

‘I do but …’ I place the cotton back in the bowl of water and pick up Charlotte’s hairbrush. ‘… she’d been friends with Ella since primary school and they’ve had their spats but they always made up before. And as for Liam,’ I tease the brush through Charlotte’s long dark hair, ‘she’d have done anything for him. She adored him. And I’m supposed to believe she dumped him because she’s a fickle teen? It doesn’t make sense.’

Brian turns another page of his newspaper then shuts it, folds it in two and rests it on his lap.

‘Sue …’

I continue brushing Charlotte’s hair, smoothing it down with my hands so the ends lie flat over her shoulders.

‘Sue, look at me.’

‘What?’ I don’t look up.

‘You don’t think you’re getting a bit …’ he pauses. ‘… obsessed, do you?’

‘Obsessed?’

‘With Charlotte’s accident, acting like there’s some big conspiracy when the truth is …’ he pauses again. ‘… it was just an accident. A terrible, unpreventable accident. I understand how helpless and powerless you feel – I feel exactly the same way – but giving her friends the third degree isn’t going to make her magically wake up.’

‘You don’t understand,’ I start, then fall silent. I still haven’t told him what she wrote in her diary. I nearly told him about it a couple of days ago but then he snuck out of bed at six o’clock in the morning. At first I thought he was in the toilet but when he hadn’t reappeared after half an hour I got up to look for him. He wasn’t anywhere in the house, neither was Milly. It was the second time in as many years that he’d taken her out for a walk.

Something’s going on and there’s only one person I can talk to about it.

Mum’s sitting in her favourite place, by the window in the hard-backed armchair I covered with a lovely Laura Ashley print a few years ago. She doesn’t look up when I walk into the room.

‘Hello Mum.’ I move a pile of towels and laundry onto the floor and perch on the edge of her single bed. There’s nowhere else to sit.

My mother doesn’t acknowledge me so I try a different tack. ‘Hello Elsie. How are you today?’

This time she turns around. Her forehead creases with confusion. ‘Who are you?’

My heart sinks. She doesn’t recognize me. Mum has good days and bad days. Today, it seems, is not a good day.

‘I’m Sue,’ I say. ‘Your daughter. I bought you a present.’