than Dan was when—
When the same thing happened to me .
Eager for a diversion, he pulled out his phone and dialled Robbie’s number. Tough luck if it woke him.
Robbie answered with a bleary, ‘What?’
‘Day off, is it?’
‘Gotta go in later.’
‘We need to discuss what happened last night.’
‘Nothing happened last night. Nothing worth talking about on the phone , if you get my drift?’
Dan frowned. Surely it was paranoia to believe their call would be monitored by the security services – MI5 or GCHQ or whoever it was?
Then it occurred to him that Robbie had a far shrewder concern: a fear that Dan was recording the call, trying to entrap him.
‘So let’s meet up.’
‘Yeah. I’ll ring you later.’
Dan sighed, put the phone away and continued down the hill. He pictured the country road they’d driven along, now bathed in a soft morning light, farmers and postmen and early commuters making their regular journeys. How soon before a driver, perhaps in the cab of a truck or high on a tractor, spotted something that didn’t look quite right?
Once found, the body would tell its own tale. Hit and run. A pedestrian knocked down by a vehicle and left to die in a ditch.
You were driving, Dan. Not me .
That was undeniable. Even though Robbie had grabbed the wheel, Dan couldn’t prove that, and no one would believe it for a second. So if he was going to hand himself in, it had to be with the certain knowledge that he, and he alone, would be taking responsibility for what had happened.
As if emerging from a daze, Dan found he had reached the busy Fiveways intersection. He paused, gazing absently at the small parade of shops across the road. An ideal location for his dream cafe, this: an affluent part of Brighton, with plenty of small commercial properties to rent or buy ...
Except that it was never going to happen. The banks wouldn’t lend to him and neither would Robbie’s mum. Dan’s future had been precarious enough before last night. Now it lay in tatters. Even the most lenient of sentences would put his ambitions beyond reach for ever.
And without the business there was little prospect of owning property, of getting married. Everything had rested on Dan and Hayley striking out on their own.
But it didn’t have to be this way. Did it?
He stared at the shops, a row of recycling bins lined up outside the Co-op; at the cars queuing impatiently at the lights, the drone of their engines like white noise. There was a definite moment when he felt the tension ease, and he understood that in the depths of his primitive subconscious mind, programmed over millennia for survival against the harshest of odds, a crucial decision had been made and would not be reversed.
He wasn’t going to take the punishment on Robbie’s behalf.
He wasn’t going to own up to the crime.
CHAPTER 13
Robbie would have gone back to sleep but for the text he received while he was playing stress counsellor to Dan. It said: Jimmys in cab 2 gatwck 4 day at haydock & overnite. Cum c me pleeese! Xx
Bree.
Robbie sighed. His head said no, he had better things to do. Another hour’s sleep, a decent breakfast to soak up last night’s booze, and then some actual work. He had calls to make, clients to sweet-talk, a new property to view somewhere near Lewes.
He was still lying there, debating it, when she texted again: Like NOW hun. Im wet 4 u xxx
At which point another part of his anatomy made the decision for him. He tried to argue against it, because it wouldn’t just be sex. There was a power play at work here. He’d been guilty of indulging her, especially while he was trying to rustle up the three grand to pay O’Brien. But now that cash was back where it belonged, stashed in his floor safe, so he had no reason to waste time with Bree and her stupid bloody schemes.
But it was no good. On matters like this, rational thought was no match for his libido. He shot back a text: 20 mins. Stay wet . Then dragged himself
When the same thing happened to me .
Eager for a diversion, he pulled out his phone and dialled Robbie’s number. Tough luck if it woke him.
Robbie answered with a bleary, ‘What?’
‘Day off, is it?’
‘Gotta go in later.’
‘We need to discuss what happened last night.’
‘Nothing happened last night. Nothing worth talking about on the phone , if you get my drift?’
Dan frowned. Surely it was paranoia to believe their call would be monitored by the security services – MI5 or GCHQ or whoever it was?
Then it occurred to him that Robbie had a far shrewder concern: a fear that Dan was recording the call, trying to entrap him.
‘So let’s meet up.’
‘Yeah. I’ll ring you later.’
Dan sighed, put the phone away and continued down the hill. He pictured the country road they’d driven along, now bathed in a soft morning light, farmers and postmen and early commuters making their regular journeys. How soon before a driver, perhaps in the cab of a truck or high on a tractor, spotted something that didn’t look quite right?
Once found, the body would tell its own tale. Hit and run. A pedestrian knocked down by a vehicle and left to die in a ditch.
You were driving, Dan. Not me .
That was undeniable. Even though Robbie had grabbed the wheel, Dan couldn’t prove that, and no one would believe it for a second. So if he was going to hand himself in, it had to be with the certain knowledge that he, and he alone, would be taking responsibility for what had happened.
As if emerging from a daze, Dan found he had reached the busy Fiveways intersection. He paused, gazing absently at the small parade of shops across the road. An ideal location for his dream cafe, this: an affluent part of Brighton, with plenty of small commercial properties to rent or buy ...
Except that it was never going to happen. The banks wouldn’t lend to him and neither would Robbie’s mum. Dan’s future had been precarious enough before last night. Now it lay in tatters. Even the most lenient of sentences would put his ambitions beyond reach for ever.
And without the business there was little prospect of owning property, of getting married. Everything had rested on Dan and Hayley striking out on their own.
But it didn’t have to be this way. Did it?
He stared at the shops, a row of recycling bins lined up outside the Co-op; at the cars queuing impatiently at the lights, the drone of their engines like white noise. There was a definite moment when he felt the tension ease, and he understood that in the depths of his primitive subconscious mind, programmed over millennia for survival against the harshest of odds, a crucial decision had been made and would not be reversed.
He wasn’t going to take the punishment on Robbie’s behalf.
He wasn’t going to own up to the crime.
CHAPTER 13
Robbie would have gone back to sleep but for the text he received while he was playing stress counsellor to Dan. It said: Jimmys in cab 2 gatwck 4 day at haydock & overnite. Cum c me pleeese! Xx
Bree.
Robbie sighed. His head said no, he had better things to do. Another hour’s sleep, a decent breakfast to soak up last night’s booze, and then some actual work. He had calls to make, clients to sweet-talk, a new property to view somewhere near Lewes.
He was still lying there, debating it, when she texted again: Like NOW hun. Im wet 4 u xxx
At which point another part of his anatomy made the decision for him. He tried to argue against it, because it wouldn’t just be sex. There was a power play at work here. He’d been guilty of indulging her, especially while he was trying to rustle up the three grand to pay O’Brien. But now that cash was back where it belonged, stashed in his floor safe, so he had no reason to waste time with Bree and her stupid bloody schemes.
But it was no good. On matters like this, rational thought was no match for his libido. He shot back a text: 20 mins. Stay wet . Then dragged himself
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