Let Me Lie(90)

‘What is it?’

‘There’s a black Mitsubishi behind us.’ She presses hard on the accelerator and the burst of speed pushes me against my seat. ‘It’s following us.’





FIFTY-THREE


When you spend your life selling cars, you learn how to handle them.

Foot hard against the floor. Sixty. Sixty-five. Seventy. Seventy-five …

A sharp corner. One, then the other. We’ve both taken it too wide. I see the terrified look of the oncoming driver, the jerk of his hands as he swerves from our path.

Into the next bend, tapping the brakes but using the gears. Changing down, down, down. Spinning the wheel and then flooring the accelerator till it feels as though the back end of the car is going faster than the front.

The gap narrows.

My pulse races so fast I can hear it above the roar of the engine, and I lean forward as though the movement will make a difference.

Cat and mouse.

Who will win?

Driving fast means thinking fast. Reacting fast. Not skills that an alcoholic has – even a high-functioning one – and it’s just another reason among many that I’m glad I quit drinking.

It was easy, in the end. No AA meetings, no therapy, no intervention from well-meaning friends.

Just you.

The look in your eyes when you fell to the floor that night. It meant nothing at the time; it was just another fight. Another punch, another kick. It was only afterwards, when I remembered your face – saw the disappointment, the pain, the fear – that I finally understood what the drink had made me do to you.

No. What I’d done to you.

I’m sorry. It’s not enough, and it’s too late, but I’m sorry.

I’ve slowed down. I need to focus. I grip the steering wheel; force my foot back down.

How did it come to this?

I want to rewind; undo my mistakes. I’ve messed up. Spent our entire marriage thinking about me, and now look at us.

What am I doing?

I can’t stop. I’m in too deep.

Anna.

She’s there – in the back seat. Ducking down, trying to stay hidden. I catch a glimpse as she peers up to look out of the back window. Trying to see without being seen.

Failing.

I never wanted to hurt her.

It’s too late.





FIFTY-FOUR


ANNA


I twist in my seat. Behind us is a brand-new Mitsubishi Shogun, a steady hundred yards away, but gaining. The windows are tinted – I can’t see the driver.

‘Is it him? Is it Dad?’

I’ve never seen my mother like this. Shaking with barely controlled fear. ‘You should have got out. I tried to make you get out.’ She looks again in the mirror, then yanks the wheel to the right to avoid a discarded piece of bumper lying in the road. My stomach lurches.

‘Concentrate on driving.’

‘Keep down – he might not have seen you. I don’t want him knowing you’re with me.’

I respond automatically to my mother’s instructions, the way I always have, unclipping my seatbelt, pulling my legs to one side and leaning over Ella’s car seat. Mum pulls a sharp left and I brace myself against the car door, sliding across the top of Ella’s seat. She lets out a cry of alarm and I try to soothe her, but my heart feels like it might seize up, and my ‘shhh, shhh’ is more hysterical than her own wails. The backs of my knees are wet with sweat, my palms hot and clammy.

‘It’s still following!’ Gradually, my mother’s air of control is disappearing, cracking to reveal the same blind panic I feel surging inside me. ‘And getting closer!’

Ella’s cries intensify, each scream building in volume and pitch as she tunes in to her grandmother’s hysteria. I have one hand planted on the inside of the door, the other on the back of the driver’s seat. Within the semi-circle of my arms is Ella, screaming inches from my ear. The sound finds my left eardrum and departs with a ringing that offers no let-up as she draws breath for another cry. I pull my phone from my pocket; swipe to unlock it. There is no option left but to call the police.

‘Drive faster!’

Another lurch to the left, swiftly followed by a right turn that loosens my grip around Ella’s car seat and sends me into a painful heap on the floor on the opposite side of the car. My phone shoots under the passenger seat and out of arm’s reach. Mum floors the accelerator and I crawl back up to wrap my arms around Ella’s seat. I move my head up, not wanting to see him, my father, but unable to stop myself from looking.

Mum screams at me. ‘Stay down!’

Ella stops crying, jolted into silence, then draws breath and screams again.

In the rearview mirror I see tears stream down Mum’s face, and like a child who only cries when she sees her mother’s mask slip, I lose it too. This is it. We’re going to die. I wonder if Dad will ram the car, or push us off the road. If he wants to kill us, or keep us alive. I brace myself for impact.

‘Anna.’ Mum’s voice is urgent. ‘In my bag … When I knew I’d been found, I was so scared I …’

Another sharp turn. Squealing brakes.

‘I never planned to use it – it was insurance. In case …’ She stumbles. ‘In case he caught up with me.’

Still half lying across the back seat, my feet braced against the passenger seat and the door, I open the bag by my feet, root around in the clothes I saw her packing just an hour or so ago. It feels like a lifetime.