The Accident Read Online Free PDF Page A

hand.
    When we visited Charlotte yesterday evening, the consultant told us they’d be running more tests on her and we wouldn’t be able to visit until the afternoon at the earliest. He was very sorry but there would be no morning visits today.
    ‘Mrs Jackson?’ Mark’s voice is so faint it’s as though he’s a million miles away. ‘Mrs Jackson, is everything okay?’

Wednesday 6th September 1990
    I haven’t heard from James for three days and I’m starting to worry. He left the hotel room before me on Sunday morning because he had to go home and get changed before rehearsal and I haven’t heard a word from him since.
    I keep running the time we spent together over and over in my head but I can’t find anything wrong. I did ramble on a bit over dinner about how excited I was that Maggie had given me the opportunity to design costumes for the Abberley Players and how the bar job meant I’d finally be able to ditch TEFL and sew in the daytime but I asked James plenty of questions too. And I didn’t smoke once. Not even with my coffee.
    Sunday morning, before he left, he leaned over the bed and kissed me on the lips. He said he’d had the most amazing night of his life, that he couldn’t bear to leave me and he’d ring that evening.
    Only he didn’t.
    And he didn’t ring on Monday evening either.
    By Tuesday night I was so stressed I called Hels. She talked me down off the ceiling and said there were all kinds of reasonable explanations why James hadn’t called and he’d ring when he got the chance. She told me to relax and get on with my life. That’s easy for her to say. She hasn’t been single for years. She can’t remember how torturous it is, sitting in, trying to watch a film but all the time staring at the phone, wondering if it’s working – then getting up to test it to find that it is.
    Oh God. The phone is ringing right now . Please, please let it be him.

Chapter 4
    I’m curled up on the sofa when Brian gets home, a book in my hand, a glass of wine on the coffee table and my feet tucked up under my bum. It’s a familiar scenario, and one that would normally signal a happy, relaxed Sue, but I’m on my third glass of wine and I’ve read the same paragraph at least seven times.
    ‘Hello, darling.’ My husband pops his head around the living room door and raises a hand in the same easy manner as his son, twelve hours earlier.
    I smile in acknowledgement but my body is tense. It’s not the thought that he’s having another affair that’s tearing at me, it’s the fact he’s been using our daughter’s accident to cover his tracks. I’ve been torturing myself all day – poring through my diary and the one in Brian’s study (there was nothing in the drawer, just some headed notepaper), looking for anything to back up, or even discount, my suspicions – but I found nothing. If it wasn’t for the phone call with Mark this morning I wouldn’t have a shred of evidence.
    ‘You okay?’ He raises a hand as he strolls into the room with Milly at his side. When he reaches the sofa he kisses me gently on the lips and sits down. ‘How’s your day been?’
    ‘Okay.’
    He reaches for the cushion behind his back, throws it onto the armchair, leans back with a sigh and then looks at me. ‘Just okay? I thought you were going to go into town and treat yourself to a new dress?’
    ‘I …’ For a second everything feels normal – my husband and I, having a chat about our day – but then I remember. Everything is far from normal. ‘I didn’t go. I was too busy.’
    ‘Oh?’ He raises an eyebrow and waits for details but I change the subject.
    ‘Oli popped by, this morning.’
    ‘I missed him again?’ He looks genuinely gutted. ‘What did he want?’
    ‘Nothing in particular. He was on his way to Southampton for a field trip. I think he’s going to call in again on his way back.’
    ‘Oh, good.’ Brian brightens again. His relationship with his son is different from his