‘I stayed for a couple more hours, then I drove home, around three in the morning. I’ve admitted that – I should never have been driving – but I remember the whole journey and nothing happened. I must have driven straight past her.’ He pauses and digs into his thumbnail with his other hand so hard that he draws blood. He winces and wipes his hand against his shorts.
‘When I got home my ex-wife was here. She’s not well, has a habit of making a scene. I was too drunk to cope with her, to keep calm, and I said some stuff, some awful stuff to her. She left saying she never wanted to see me again. She didn’t corroborate my story with the police until now to make me suffer. After Lorna left, Maisie turned up at the back door. Maisie went nuts when she saw me. As soon as I opened the door, Dennis ran outside with Maisie and they wouldn’t come back when I called for them. I thought it was the fireworks freaking them out, but they went racing off down the lane, barking their heads off.’
‘They found her?’
‘They knew she was there. Maisie must have seen the whole thing. I shouted down at Cassie. I thought it was some fucked-up stunt at first; she looked weirdly peaceful, like she was meant to be just floating there. But then I saw the blood …’ Jonny closes his eyes briefly, as if he wishes he could close his mind, wipe the memory away.
‘You didn’t see anyone else?’ I ask, desperate for him to keep talking.
‘No, like I told the police, I passed an old estate car, parked on the side of the lane just near where she was hit. I remember it because whoever was driving had their beams on high; they almost blinded me in my rear-view mirror.’ My insides feel eely.
‘Could it have been a Volvo, Jonny?’ I think about Marcus heaving himself out of his Volvo when he arrived in the hospital car park. I think about him driving past Bob and me on the lane … how vacant he looked.
‘Yeah, it could have been. I’ve been over and over this. I can’t say for certain what make it was, but yeah, something like a Volvo. Why? Do you know—’
But I cut him off; I want him to keep answering my questions before I answer any of his.
‘Did Cassie ever talk about her stepdad, Jonny, about Marcus?’
‘Not much. I mean she told me he’d just completely crumbled when her mum died, that he couldn’t handle his grief at all. She said she was a bit worried about him, that he was getting confused. My nan had dementia and from what Cassie said it reminded me of when she first got ill.’ I nod at him; I’ve thought the same. Jonny keeps talking. ‘I think Cas felt guilty for not seeing Marcus more, but whenever she did see him, it kind of screwed with her head. It was obvious as well that Jack and Marcus never got on.’ Jonny pauses. I have the feeling he’s weighing up whether to tell me something or not.
‘What is it?’
He shakes his head, like his memory isn’t worth saying.
‘What?’ I repeat.
‘I was just remembering this one time when Cas was talking about Marcus, and she kept going on about how differently people cope with the shit things that happen in life. Cassie said Marcus had let his grief destroy him, but Charlotte, whose husband died when Jack was a teenager, had risen above her own grief for Jack’s sake.’ Jonny pauses. ‘She really admired Charlotte.’
I think of how calmly Charlotte handles her world, as though she isn’t spinning around on it like the rest of us. She’s easy to admire.
‘So let’s say she made the decision to leave Jack. When she said she was scared could she have been talking about him or could she have been talking about someone else?’
Jonny looks at me. He shakes his head, like he knows the terrain of these questions well.
‘She was talking about Jack. She told me Jack has a temper. He’s not used to not getting what he wants.’
‘You’ve told the police all this?’
‘Of course, but they don’t believe me. I’m a drunk driver. I’m scum to them. Me hitting Cassie was such a neat conclusion for them. It’s taken them weeks to finally get the truth out of Lorna, that she was here with me that night, that I couldn’t have hit Cassie.’
He moves closer towards me across the table, his eyes pressurised and desperate like when he came onto the ward.
‘How is she, honestly? How’s the baby? I’m not allowed to know anything apart from whatever bullshit is in the papers.’
I tell him how well the baby’s growing, how active she is. I tell him that we play music to Cas and the baby, how all the nurses are getting extra training for the arrival, that we’re planning for every possibility. He nods occasionally, even smiles when I tell him it’s a girl and says, ‘good, good’, a few times.
I want to ask him more questions, about Jack and his temper and about Marcus, but we’re interrupted by a phone in another room, the volume turned up loud, and Jonny excuses himself to answer it, his tone changing, becoming professional, with whoever it is on the other end of the line. He lets them talk for a minute and says, ‘Good.’ He breathes out, the relief in his voice palpable as he says, ‘that’s good news’, before telling them that he’s actually in the middle of something and asks to call them back in a few minutes.
When he comes back to the table, I can see the phone call has changed him. He grasps his upper arm, releases it and moves the same hand to his hip.
‘That was my solicitor. He says they’re taking Lorna’s statement. He thinks the charges will be dropped any day.’ He starts to rub his thumbs into his temple as he speaks, and his eyes glisten.
I don’t know what to say.
He raises his head as he says, ‘She says the police are looking at early statements again. I bet they’ll be talking to Jack. I have to call my solicitor back so …’
‘You must be so relived, Jonny,’ I say, and stand so he knows I’ll leave.
He shakes his head, like he doesn’t understand what’s happening, and I think he needs to be alone to let his mind work around the news, to believe it.
I want to hug him, but instead we shake hands. I hold his upper arm briefly; he’s thin and his muscles leap in surprise, as though no one’s touched him for a while.
‘Look after yourself, won’t you, Jonny?’
‘What are you going to do now?’
It’s a good question; I wasn’t expecting it. ‘I’m going to take my dog for a walk,’ I say dumbly, as though this is just a normal, pleasant day off for me, as though we haven’t just been talking about manslaughter, before I add, ‘but then I’m going to call Brooks, tell her she needs to speak to Jack again.’