One Split Second by Caroline Bond

Author:Caroline Bond
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atlantic Books

Chapter 43

FRAN WAS in the park, watching the drifts of cherry blossom. She went there often. It was the only place she found any respite. The compulsion to keep moving and doing was getting worse; day and night her brain whirled and raced, but never tired enough to let her sleep. Only in the park was she able to switch off. It was a relief do nothing except sit and let the hard screw of grief that propelled her through each day ease a little. Droplets of other people’s lives fell on her as she sat under the trees, swaddled in her sorrow. She observed the older couples going about their daily routines, and the young mums with their children killing time. She smiled at the sprightly progress of the old folk and the make-believe games of the families. As she sat, unobserved, she caught snippets of conversations: humour, patience, kindness and imagination – a world of caring that was lost to her.

Occasionally she was recognised. Reactions varied: some people pretended not to have seen her and took a different route across the park; others smiled and came to sit beside her. The ‘sitters’ invariably asked how things were going. Meaning well, but wanting a reassurance she couldn’t give. Their sympathy always forced her to move on. She became adept at creating fake appointments and pressing commitments. She’d walk away, take a turn round the neighbourhood until she was confident they’d gone, then she’d return to her bench.

Today the park was busy, the nice weather drawing people out, so there were plenty of other lives to watch and ponder. The burr of her phone in her bag broke her reverie. She thought about not answering it, but knew it would be Marcus, concerned about her whereabouts. He worried. But it wasn’t Marcus; it was Joe, their police liaison officer. The peaceful sadness that she’d been lost in evaporated.

He explained. She listened. He ended the call with a promise to ‘keep them posted’. Such a casual phrase.

Outrage flooded through her bloodstream.

‘Careless driving!’

It was an insult.

Careless was dropping a glass, or dinging someone’s car door in a supermarket car park. Careless was doing something through lack of attention, a lapse in good judgement, a mistake. It was something small and inconsequential. Harry had not made a mistake! He’d got drunk, climbed behind the wheel of his boy-racer car – bought for him by his indulgent father – driven too fast, lost control, crashed and killed their daughter.

Fran stood up and set off walking, fast steps, blood pumping, anger brewing inside her. There was to be no trial. It would be ‘unnecessary’. Joe had actually had the temerity to suggest this might be ‘better’ for everyone in the long run. ‘Less painful.’ He obviously knew nothing about pain, about its capacity to mutate and bloom, bruise, cut and nag in turn. No trial. Less cost. A quicker resolution. ‘Better all round.’ It was not better. It was an affront to Jess. Her death was huge and of consequence.

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