The man is scanning the café area and, after a brief exchange of words, the woman peels off from his side and moves out of sight.
Melissa’s heart pounds so hard she can hear its throbbing beat in her head. She can’t breathe. Sweat slimes her back.
Wildly she looks around to see if there is any prospect of running away but there is only one entrance. The policeman is almost with her now. She is a second away from standing up and holding out her wrists for the handcuffs when he gives her a small nod and walks past. Melissa begins to tremble, hard, all over.
She can’t stop herself from glancing behind her. He has taken a seat further back and is picking up a newspaper that has been left on the table.
He clears his throat loudly and rubs his nose, his head down. Oblivious to her.
After a few minutes, in which Melissa barely breathes, the policewoman comes over with a tray laden with red and yellow McDonald’s’ packages. Melissa drops her eyes to her coffee until the policewoman passes her.
She should wait a few moments and then leave.
She knows that’s what she should do.
But as the seconds tick by, a powerfully seductive feeling creeps over her.
Maybe this is a sign?
What are the chances of a couple of coppers being right here, right now?
This is her opportunity to make it all right. She never really meant for it to get this far. Kill someone? Dispose of the body? It was all ridiculous. It was all a terrible, terrible misunderstanding and, if she can only explain, things will start to get better again.
If she got up right now, walked over to them, and said, ‘I want to report a murder’, what would they do? Would there be a moment of incredulity, maybe even laughter, at the improbability of these words being true? Maybe their training and professionalism would kick in straight away. Maybe Melissa would be over the table, hands and feet spread, while they roughly patted her down before she had time to blink.
For a moment she wants this. She downs the last of the coffee in a decisive swig. It would be so easy.
I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. Take me away now.
The cocoon of shock that has encased her until this moment is finally cracking, and the plan she and Hester had hatched in her kitchen seems ridiculous. Almost laughable.
Melissa is on her feet before the next thought seeps into her brain.
What about Hester?
She has to give the other woman the opportunity to get away first. It’s only right.
An airy joy fills her up inside as she snatches her handbag from the table and hurries out of the service station towards the car park.
At first, she can’t remember where the van is parked. She sees the police car and she clearly pictures sitting in the back of it all the way back to London. She hesitates, suddenly incapable of deciding what to do next, and she sees the van, at last, parked at a slightly skewed angle. As she gets closer Melissa can’t see any sign of Hester, then she appears suddenly from the back of the van, clutching her dog to her stout bosom.
She gives a little start when she sees Melissa. Her lips tighten and thin in disapproval.
‘I was just attending to Bertie,’ she says in a clipped voice. ‘Have you had enough of a rest? We should probably get on our way soon.’
Melissa reaches out and gently places a hand on Hester’s arm. Hester gazes down at it before looking up, blinking owlishly.
‘I’m so sorry if I offended you,’ says Melissa. ‘I truly am grateful for everything you’ve done for me, Hester. But look …’, she hesitates, stuck for a moment, and then something is uncorked in her. ‘We can’t really do this. It’s insane! Can’t you see that? I wanted to tell you just to leave, to go home. I’m going to hand myself in.’ She speaks too fast but can’t stop the words from flooding out.
Hester’s face is a pale oval in the floodlit car park. Her eyes seem to be all pupil now and Melissa can’t see any expression in them at all.
‘Melissa,’ she says, at last, very quietly. It is as though she forgets to continue for a moment. Then she says, ‘You’re still in shock and you’re not thinking clearly. You have to get a grip on yourself. This is quite ridiculous. Have you forgotten that you are a mother?’
Melissa flinches at the hissed word and blinks fast, twice. She can feel her euphoria begin to seep away like a puncture into the still night air.
Hester speaks again.
‘You have a life, Melissa. A good life. You can go back to it but we have to deal with this unfortunate situation first.’ She pauses and then gives a small, high-pitched laugh that is entirely without mirth. ‘And my number plate will have been registered the second we drove into this service station. Do you seriously think I would be able to just go home and stay out of this?’ Her voice becomes feather-soft again. ‘Darling girl, none of us meant for this to happen. But we simply have to follow through with it now we’ve started.’
Melissa’s chin wobbles and her eyes gloss over with tears. She shakes her head vehemently and takes a wobbly, loud in-breath. Hester gives a small, stoical laugh.
‘It’s quite all right, darling Melissa,’ she says gently. ‘You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. But don’t worry about anything because you can count on me.’
Melissa nods. She is cold and her knees knock together, her teeth chattering.
‘Come on, let’s get going,’ Hester says gently.
With that she climbs into the driver’s seat again, hauling the dog onto the passenger side. Melissa slides into her own seat. Four moist adoring eyes greet her inside the van.
Hester starts the engine and pulls out of the parking space and towards the exit signs. There are no other cars around. She carefully checks her wing mirror and indicates anyway.
HESTER
Before too long we are filtering onto the A303, the main route down to the West Country. I know this journey quite well from childhood holidays in Cornwall and when Terry and I used to take the caravan this way.
I must say, I am relieved to be off the motorway.
But while the good hot tea and the rest have settled me inside, it’s a mixed blessing. The jangling of nerves was keeping me alert and now I feel more sluggish.
I glance across at Melissa and see the shine of her open eyes. I cannot believe she was seriously considering handing herself in. What a silly girl she is sometimes. Her hands are twisted together in her lap, pale in the reflected dashboard lights. She looks so hunched and lost in thought, so, well … sad, I don’t like to disturb her. I think she has always been sad. I don’t know why but I sense she is a troubled girl underneath her glamorous exterior.
My eyes are becoming gritty and I think a little conversation will help me to concentrate. I clear my throat.
‘So,’ I say. My voice seems especially loud in the stillness of the car. ‘How is Mark?’ It was the first thing that came into my mind. I don’t really care about Mark. Melissa turns to stare at me. I can feel the graze of her eyes on the side of my face.
‘Why do you ask?’ she says tightly.
I can’t help but glance away from the road to look at her. Maybe I have touched a nerve in some way. I suddenly feel overcome with how difficult life can be. Why are people so hard to read?
‘I don’t really know,’ I say wearily. ‘It seems like the sort of thing people ask in these circumstances.’ I didn’t quite intend to be so honest but, to my surprise, I hear the ripple of low laughter from my left.
‘These circumstances?’ says Melissa. ‘Do you think people do this a lot then? What we’re doing?’ There is a slight edge to her voice. I don’t want to say the wrong thing again.
‘I suppose it must be unusual,’ I say, and then, ‘Although it’s a lovely part of the country. Have you been to Dorset before?’