Dillon was furious with himself. Why was he such a coward? Why couldn’t he just come out with it and tell Sarah what had happened in the White Horse? It wasn’t as if they weren’t close. Or as close as they could be. Dillon didn’t fool himself that Sarah thought of him as an equal. Of course she didn’t.
He’d talked to Brian about the Hugh thing, in the pub.
‘I don’t understand why he didn’t get done. You saw how much they’d all been drinking, and he was partying with them.’
Brian chuckled. ‘You are a bit green sometimes, Dillon.’
‘What do you mean?’
Brian tapped his nose.
‘What does that mean?’
‘He’s a little bit fond of the old Bolivian marching powder, isn’t he?’
Dillon still looked puzzled.
‘Didn’t you see how many times he nipped off to the toilet?’
‘For a slash?’
‘No, idiot. For a line of cocaine.’
Dillon blinked. ‘Cocaine? Bloody hell.’ He thought about it. ‘So he wasn’t drunk?’
‘No. Just high as a kite.’
‘How come the police didn’t notice?’
‘He’ll have charmed them, won’t he?’
‘You mean they turned a blind eye?’
Brian shrugged. ‘Just gave him the benefit of the doubt when he passed the breathalyser. They wouldn’t suspect him, would they? He’s marrying a Basildon.’
‘So the bastard got away with it.’
‘Yep. And it’s too late to grass him up now.’
‘Do you think Alice knows what he gets up to?’
Brian shrugged. ‘Probably not. She’s a nice girl. He wouldn’t want to blot his copybook with her.’
‘How do you know, anyway? That he takes cocaine?’
Brian scoffed. ‘You ask Pogo. That’s where all Hugh’s money goes – in Pogo’s pocket. Pogo supplies him and all his mates.’
Pogo was the local drug dealer who skulked about in the dodgier pubs in Peasebrook and thought he was a bit of a gangster, with his dreadlocks and gold front tooth. Dillon had been at school with him and thought he was an idiot. He wasn’t going to lower himself to ask Pogo for corroborative evidence to incriminate Hugh. Pogo would say anything if he thought it would save his own sorry arse.
‘Why haven’t you told me this before?’
‘I thought you knew.’
Dillon shook his head. He felt shocked. He hadn’t thought much of Hugh in the first place, but this was even worse. But what could he do?
If he told Sarah that Hugh had been off his head on cocaine the night of the accident, Hugh would deny it. And no one would believe Dillon over Hugh, because Hugh had passed the breathalyser test. They’d just think Dillon was trying to cause trouble. They wouldn’t want to think anything bad of Hugh, because he was the saviour of Peasebrook Manor. The one with the deep pockets. And one of them.
Yet if he said nothing, Alice was going to end up marrying him – a manipulative, amoral coke-head.
He kicked a clod of earth into a flowerbed. It was frustrating, being the lowest of the low. When it came down to it, he was just a nobody.
He walked back to the garden room. He felt angry with Sarah, even though she had done nothing wrong. But he was hurt she didn’t want him to go and visit Alice. It wasn’t as if she was whiter than white. What would Ralph say, if he knew the truth about her and Julius Nightingale? Not that Dillon would ever say anything, not in a million years. But that made it worse, not better. And Ralph himself was no role model. Dillon had worked out what had been going on years ago. Which was why he was so cross with himself for not seeing through Hugh.
He clenched his teeth. What was the point in behaving with loyalty to people, when they showed you none? He pulled off his wax jacket and put the kettle on. Was he the only person in the world who wasn’t a bloody hypocrite? Well, him and Alice of course. If anyone was the innocent party in all of this, it was Alice.
Dillon sat and drank his tea, and as he drank, he came to a decision. He’d go to the hospital and see Alice himself. He didn’t need Sarah’s permission. If Alice didn’t want to see him, she could tell him herself. He swilled out his cup and picked up his jacket. There was no time like the present.
Dillon had been to A&E often enough. As a gardener, it was an occupational hazard and tetanus injections and stitches were par for the course. But he’d never been onto one of the wards. The hospital was a maze, of arrows to different floors and places with different colour codes and letters, of lifts that went to different sections.
Eventually he found his way to the right area. He pushed open the double doors and asked for Alice at the nurse’s station. They pointed him towards a private room off the main ward.
He knocked gently and heard her voice. As he peeped round the door his heart leapt as he saw her. She was bundled up in bed, her leg in a cast outside the sheets, her face bandaged up, the one eye he could see still black with bruising.