The Breakdown(55)

He comes to a stop in front of me. ‘It might be a good idea,’ he says, looking relieved. ‘It’s still a bit of a way to the house.’

I take one from my pocket and hand it to him. ‘It’s clean.’

‘Thank you.’





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Sitting the child down next to me on the bench, he crouches in front of her and shows her the tissue.

‘See what this nice lady has given me? Shall we see if it makes your knee better?’

He presses it gently on the graze, soaking up the blood, and her tears miraculously stop.

‘Better, Lottie?’ her sister asks, looking anxiously at her.

‘Better,’ she says, nodding.

‘Thank God for that.’ Jane’s husband looks solemnly up at me. ‘Imagine what it would have been like if she’d fallen onto concrete, like we used to when we were kids.’

He removes the tissue. ‘All gone,’ he says.

His little daughter peers at her knee and, seemingly satisfied, scrambles down from the bench.

‘Play,’ she says, running over to the grass.

‘And now they don’t want to go home,’ he groans, straightening up.

‘They’re lovely,’ I say, smiling. ‘Beautiful.’

‘Most of the time,’ he agrees. ‘But they can be a bit of a handful when they want to be.’

‘They must miss their mother.’ I stop, appalled at what I’ve just said. ‘I’m sorry,’ I stammer. ‘It’s just that…’

‘Please, don’t apologise,’ he says. ‘At least you don’t pretend not to know who I am. You can’t believe the number of people who come to Heston, hoping to bump into me, as if I’m somebody famous. They strike up a conversation with me, usually using the girls as a starting point and then they ask me about their mother, asking The Breakdown





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if she’s at home making the lunch, or if she has blonde


hair like the girls. At first, before I got wise to it, I’d find myself having to tell them that she’d died, and then they’d probe further and I’d end up telling them that she’d been murdered. And they’d pretend surprise and say how sorry they were and how awful it must have been for me. It was only after one woman went a step too far and asked me how the police had broken the news to me that I caught on to them.’ He shakes his head in disbelief. ‘There must be a name for people like that but I don’t know what it is. At least the village shop and the pub get a roaring trade out of it,’ he adds, giving a rueful smile.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say again. I want to tell him who I am, that I received his letter this morning but after what he’s just said he might think that, like all the others, I came to the park hoping to bump into him, especially as I have no real reason for being in Heston. It’s not as if he invited me to come and see him. I get to my feet.

‘I should go.’

‘I hope it’s not because of what I said.’ In the bright sunlight I can see streaks of grey in his brown hair and I wonder if they were there before Jane died.

‘No, not at all,’ I reassure him. ‘I have to get back.’

‘Well, thank you for coming to the rescue.’ He looks over to where the girls are playing. ‘It’s all forgotten now, thank goodness.’

‘You’re welcome.’ I try to smile but the irony of his words make it difficult. ‘Enjoy the rest of the afternoon.’





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‘You too.’

I walk away, my heart hammering in my chest, his words about me coming to his rescue ringing in my ears. They mock me all the way to the gate and out to the car and I wonder what on earth had possessed me to come here, unless it was my need for absolution. What would happen if I went back and told him who I am, and that I saw Jane in the lay-by that night? Would he smile that sad smile of his and tell me that it didn’t matter, that it was just as well I hadn’t stopped because I might have been murdered too? Or would he be appalled at my non-intervention and point his finger at me and tell everyone in the park that I had done nothing to help his wife. Because I have no way of knowing, I turn on the engine and drive home, but all I can think about is Jane’s husband and the two little daughters she left behind.

Although I drive as slowly as I can, I’m home

by five. As I go in through the gate my anxiety comes rushing back and I know I’m not going to be able to go into the house, not until Matthew comes back, so I stay in the car. Even in the shade it’s hot so I open the windows to try to get a bit of a draught going. My phone beeps, telling me I’ve got a message, and when I see it’s from Mary I switch my mobile off. I’m so busy worrying about the work I still haven’t done that I don’t notice the time passing, so when I see Matthew’s car turning into the drive I think at first that he’s come home early. A quick check of my watch tells me it’s already six-thirty.

He pulls up alongside me and I take the keys from the The Breakdown

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ignition and get out of the car, making it look as if I’ve just arrived.

‘Beat you,’ I say, smiling at him.