Page 24 of Close to You
‘Why?’ one of the kids ask. I’d guess he’s about thirteen or fourteen.
‘Because I said so.’
‘So?’
‘This is a crime scene. Can’t have anyone interfering with the investigation.’
‘You’re on the other side. How do we knowyou’renot interfering?’
The officer rolls his eyes as if he’s heard all this backtalk before. I can imagine my mother saying that it wasn’t like this in her day. Kids would get a clip round the ear, and all that. ‘Never did me any harm,’ she’d say.
‘Just move away,’ the officer repeats.
‘What happened?’ the boy asks.
‘What do youthinkhappened?’
‘Is anyone dead?’
I look to the blood and the bent sign. If the pedestrian was hit in anything close to a direct way, then I can’t see how someone would survive. The speed limit going out of the village is fifty mph and this isn’t the type of road where people drive at twenty – let alone in a stolen car. I’m not sure why they didn’t before, but things suddenly feel very serious.
‘On your way,’ the officer says.
The kids finally get the message and head over to their bikes. A few seconds later and they’re cycling back towards the village.
The officer turns to me and sighs. There’s a freshness to his features and he doesn’t have any of the harshness of Sergeant Kidman from the interview room.
‘You’ve got to go, too,’ he says.
‘I am, it’s just…’
I think about telling him it’s my car but can’t see how any good will come of it. He’s not going to let me pass – and I’m sure it won’t look good that I’m here. Instead, I turn and head back to Jane’s car, before getting into the back.
‘Do you want to go?’ she asks.
‘Yes.’
‘Is it definitely your car?’
‘Yes.’
She starts the vehicle once more and swings around in a U-turn.
‘They say whoever was hit is in intensive care,’ she says, momentarily catching my eye in the mirror.
I have to look away: ‘Are there any other details?’
‘Someone in the Facebook comments said it’s a man from their road, but that’s about it.’
She drives in relative silence for a minute or two. It’s only Norah who doesn’t notice how awkward things have become. She babbles away happily to herself. There are a handful of words among the gibbering, which I suppose gives her a greater grasp of the English language than the forty-fifth President of the United States.
It’s another minute or so until Jane breaks the impasse with a breezy-sounding: ‘Any news after winning the award?’
It feels like such a long time ago that I was on stage.
‘Like what?’ I ask.
‘I didn’t know if you might’ve had any job offers…?’
