might be, my commission, the plans I had for May’s house,
how they had all seemed to be coming together.
I told myself I’d set everything straight as soon as I got all the facts sorted.
So for now I didn’t say anything.
And I convinced myself I was doing the right thing.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I stayed with Patrick until the sun outside the window turned a fiery blood red, colouring everything. I would have liked to paint Patrick’s face in this light, half of
it in shade, the rest tinted gold.
Patrick murmured to me as I lay next to him, relating to me more details about what he had been doing that Friday evening when our paths were about to fatefully cross.
‘What I do remember,’ he said softly, his face just inches from mine so I could feel his breath on my cheek, surprisingly sweet-smelling, reminding me of the sugared almonds Aunty
May sometimes gave us, ‘is that we were on our way down to Southwold and we’d stopped for a drink in that pub in Blythburgh. I do remember that.’
I didn’t speak. I wasn’t going to lie. I would just let him relate to me what he thought had happened.
‘And then there was this git who was insulting me. Wasn’t there? And I was stressed at the end of a long week. I’d been working my arse off. I knew it probably didn’t
sound stressful to you, an artist – second-guessing the markets, building the portfolio, keeping my eye on the competitors. But by God it can wear you down. I was so looking forward to our
weekend by the sea. Getting away from it all. Sailing. Chilling. A couple of rounds of golf. And those guys, the big bloke with the thick neck and his sidekick Mikey, they were laying into me about
something. It was the old drink talking but I decided the sensible thing to do would be to leave. Scott gave me a lift to the road. You were going to come on later. I said I’d walk from
there. I don’t know why. It was dumb of course, much further than I realised, in my inebriated haze, but I didn’t want to drive over the limit and thought I’d go back for the car
the next day. And then. Smack!’
‘What happened? Do you remember anything?’
‘I remember an almighty thump, then . . . no, nothing. Lights, yes, that’s right, there were lights that flared up, white, then everything went black. A pain in my knee, spreading to
my lower leg, a searing, as if I’d been burnt alive, and the red tail-lights of a blue car disappearing into the night.’
‘It was blue?’
‘Silvery blue. I remember the colour because it was just light still, and I remember getting a glimpse of it. A small car, like a Corsa, a Micra maybe.’
My car was blue. Silvery blue. A Nissan Micra.
‘How hard was the impact? Did it throw you in the air?’
‘Things are a blank, then, until the ambulance came. I remember being lifted into the back but then I must have blacked out again, because the next thing I knew I was in the hospital,
tubes coming out all over the place, the hideous smell of nitrous oxide. And this appalling, indescribable pain. I tried to move my leg, Ellie, to wriggle my toes. I remember an intense itch on my
shin, and it took me some time to realise there was nothing to scratch. Just . . . a gap. So fucking weird. How can a vacuum itch?’
I wondered whether he would hear the banging of my heart. I didn’t need to know any more, but I had to, I had to work out where my responsibility began and where it ended.
‘Ellie,’ he said. He reached his hand out to me, took mine, and I felt how large his hands were, how much strength there was in them.
I couldn’t bear to think I’d damaged – maimed – this perfectly healthy man, that I was the one responsible for his losing his lower leg! It was too huge to take in. If
I’d done this then I wasn’t safe to drive! I ought to give up my licence – it would be taken from me anyway when the police knew what I’d done, before they did whatever else
they did to prosecute a hit-and-runner.
I couldn’t
how they had all seemed to be coming together.
I told myself I’d set everything straight as soon as I got all the facts sorted.
So for now I didn’t say anything.
And I convinced myself I was doing the right thing.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I stayed with Patrick until the sun outside the window turned a fiery blood red, colouring everything. I would have liked to paint Patrick’s face in this light, half of
it in shade, the rest tinted gold.
Patrick murmured to me as I lay next to him, relating to me more details about what he had been doing that Friday evening when our paths were about to fatefully cross.
‘What I do remember,’ he said softly, his face just inches from mine so I could feel his breath on my cheek, surprisingly sweet-smelling, reminding me of the sugared almonds Aunty
May sometimes gave us, ‘is that we were on our way down to Southwold and we’d stopped for a drink in that pub in Blythburgh. I do remember that.’
I didn’t speak. I wasn’t going to lie. I would just let him relate to me what he thought had happened.
‘And then there was this git who was insulting me. Wasn’t there? And I was stressed at the end of a long week. I’d been working my arse off. I knew it probably didn’t
sound stressful to you, an artist – second-guessing the markets, building the portfolio, keeping my eye on the competitors. But by God it can wear you down. I was so looking forward to our
weekend by the sea. Getting away from it all. Sailing. Chilling. A couple of rounds of golf. And those guys, the big bloke with the thick neck and his sidekick Mikey, they were laying into me about
something. It was the old drink talking but I decided the sensible thing to do would be to leave. Scott gave me a lift to the road. You were going to come on later. I said I’d walk from
there. I don’t know why. It was dumb of course, much further than I realised, in my inebriated haze, but I didn’t want to drive over the limit and thought I’d go back for the car
the next day. And then. Smack!’
‘What happened? Do you remember anything?’
‘I remember an almighty thump, then . . . no, nothing. Lights, yes, that’s right, there were lights that flared up, white, then everything went black. A pain in my knee, spreading to
my lower leg, a searing, as if I’d been burnt alive, and the red tail-lights of a blue car disappearing into the night.’
‘It was blue?’
‘Silvery blue. I remember the colour because it was just light still, and I remember getting a glimpse of it. A small car, like a Corsa, a Micra maybe.’
My car was blue. Silvery blue. A Nissan Micra.
‘How hard was the impact? Did it throw you in the air?’
‘Things are a blank, then, until the ambulance came. I remember being lifted into the back but then I must have blacked out again, because the next thing I knew I was in the hospital,
tubes coming out all over the place, the hideous smell of nitrous oxide. And this appalling, indescribable pain. I tried to move my leg, Ellie, to wriggle my toes. I remember an intense itch on my
shin, and it took me some time to realise there was nothing to scratch. Just . . . a gap. So fucking weird. How can a vacuum itch?’
I wondered whether he would hear the banging of my heart. I didn’t need to know any more, but I had to, I had to work out where my responsibility began and where it ended.
‘Ellie,’ he said. He reached his hand out to me, took mine, and I felt how large his hands were, how much strength there was in them.
I couldn’t bear to think I’d damaged – maimed – this perfectly healthy man, that I was the one responsible for his losing his lower leg! It was too huge to take in. If
I’d done this then I wasn’t safe to drive! I ought to give up my licence – it would be taken from me anyway when the police knew what I’d done, before they did whatever else
they did to prosecute a hit-and-runner.
I couldn’t
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