Don’t do anything stupid. Wouldn’t want anyone to have an accident, would you?
A river of ice-cold fear runs through my veins. I fumble with the phone, but somehow manage to hit the call function. The unknown number rings only once. There is silence.
‘Who is this?’ I demand, my voice shaking. ‘Who are you?’
There’s a muffled sound of laughter. I can’t hear it clearly and there’s no way of telling if it’s male or female.
‘Leave my family alone! Don’t you fucking touch them! Do you hear me? Leave. Them. Alone!’ I’m aware with each word I say I’m becoming more and more hysterical. I can’t help it. It takes another moment before I realise the line is dead. And then, almost immediately, another text message comes through.
I’m being DEADLY serious. Don’t involve the police either. You’ll regret it if you do.
I grapple with the door handle and hang my head outside of the car. I think I’m going to be sick but I retch instead and only bile comes. I spit it out onto the tarmac, taking a moment to allow the blood to rush to my head and bat away the wave of dizziness. I sit up and look at my phone again.
My hands are shaking as I scroll back through the messages. I want to have imagined it all, but I haven’t. It’s there in front of me. I stop at the picture of Hannah and Luke, zooming in on the detail. I can’t tell when this was taken. It could be any morning. There’s nothing in the picture to give any indication if this is today, yesterday or even sometime last week.
I throw the phone onto the seat and shove the keys in the ignition. The engine roars as, heavy-footed, I speed out of the car park, heading for Little Dray. It’s going to take a good hour to get there, but if I put my foot down I should be able to make it before the school run.
Fortunately, I’m going in the other direction to most of the rush-hour traffic and I miss the bulk of it as I hammer down the A23 towards home. Soon the countryside I pass slips into the familiar landscape of open fields and undulating hills that I associate with Sussex. I check my watch as the ‘Welcome to Little Dray’ signpost comes into sight. I ignore the ‘please drive carefully through our village’ part. I swing off to the left, taking the lane that leads to the house. The hedges smudge into various shades of green as I push the accelerator further down. I check the clock on the dash. It’s eight twenty-three. In two minutes’ time, Luke will be leaving with Hannah. I press even harder on the accelerator and almost over-cook it on the next bend, the back end of the BMW giving a little step-out. I manage to correct it, avoid skidding off into the ditch and stamp on the brakes, but in doing so also manage to stall the engine.
‘Come on!’ I shout at the car as I twist the key in the ignition. It starts straight away and, with no thought to anything around me, I rev the engine and wheel-spin away, dust and dirt kicking up behind me from the rear wheels.
I’m nearly there, the flint wall that surrounds the grounds to the house is in sight. I’m vaguely aware of a dark saloon car parked on the side of the verge and at the last minute I swerve to miss it. I hear a crack and as I glance to my left, I see my near-side wing mirror hanging off. I don’t care.
I can see the gates and I swing the car round like some sort of stunt man, as miraculously, I slip through without making contact with the flint piers.
I don’t see her.
One minute the driveway is clear, the next she has launched herself in front of me. I slam on the brakes so hard I’m practically standing on them. I make eye contact. For a fraction of a second I think she’s standing there just waiting for me to hit her, but then I see she’s moving. Her arms are outstretched. She’s trying to move something out of my way. She looks at me and I see my own abject fear reflected straight back at me. Time stands still until I realise what, or rather who, she is trying to move from the path of the tonne of metal bearing down on them.
I throw the steering wheel to the left to try to avoid them.
Somewhere, someone has screamed. I don’t know where or who. Or maybe we all screamed, but then the God-awful thud of impact comes, all other sound being sucked up. Her head makes contact with the windscreen and the glass both splinters out like a spider’s web and bulges in towards me at the same time. Another thud. This time the roof.