‘Gone?’
He nodded. ‘Gone outside. I could see them in the car park.’
In Shazia’s mind’s eye, she saw her son standing, abandoned, in the middle of the brightly lit McDonald’s. She felt his confusion and his sense of humiliation. Later she would feel some small bitterness at them excluding her son, but at that moment, deep within her bruised heart, she was grateful. But for their cruelty, Mo would have been in the car. He would have been in the crash. He would, at this very moment, be in hospital. Or worse. ‘They drove off and left you?’ Shazia’s voice held both her anger and her relief.
Mo took another drink, then glanced at her, his expression unreadable. ‘No, not straight away.’
Chapter 16
IN THE hospital lobby Dom pushed his credit card into the machine to pay for his parking. He was tired and – though he didn’t want to admit it – stressed. He wanted to pick up Martha, get home, shut the door, then sit Harry down and get him to talk properly. They needed to talk. Silence was not a normal reaction, nor probably a wise one in the circumstances.
As Dom entered his PIN number into the keypad, he got a call. He glanced at the caller ID, expecting a work call. It wasn’t. It was the police. With his phone clamped under his chin, Dom dealt with the payment, grabbed his validated ticket and stepped to the side. He turned his back on everyone milling around the lobby, not wanting his conversation to be overheard.
They enquired after Harry, but that was only the warm-up. The real reason for the call was to ask – in fact, to insist – that Harry come to the station to be interviewed, as soon as possible. Dom wasn’t surprised, but he immediately went on the offensive: pointing out that Harry was badly shaken, sleep-deprived, and that his son needed some time to recover. As he talked, Dom started skimming through his mental Rolodex of friends and contacts, thinking who might be best to ask for advice about solicitors, and who, just as importantly, he could trust to handle such a request with discretion. He was so distracted by his thoughts that he nearly missed the comment about the test results.
‘Sorry, can you repeat that?’
The officer didn’t react to his sharper tone. ‘I was saying that the blood-test results should be back in about a week.’
‘You took blood? From Harry?’
‘Yes. With his consent.’
Dom’s heart rate kicked up a notch. The idiot! ‘Surely you should have waited for me to be present?’
‘No. There was no need for a parent to be present. Harry is eighteen.’
‘He was injured and in shock. He can’t possibly have given informed consent, in the state he was in.’
The officer chose to ignore Dom’s objections and carried on regardless. ‘It is standard practice, Mr Westwood. Anyway, as I was saying, we need to book a time for the interview. I also want to remind you that Harry is still under caution.’ It went from bad to worse.
The act of straightening his shoulders helped Dom recover some of his usual authority. He pushed back, in defence of his son. ‘I’m afraid I can’t confirm a time right now. Besides, it sounds like we need to sort out legal representation before we attend any interview.’
The tone at the other end of the line remained resolutely professional. ‘That’s your call, Mr Westwood. But it is a matter of some urgency that we speak to Harry again, to take a formal statement. We’ve scheduled the interview for one p.m. tomorrow.’
Dom refused to allow them to bounce him into agreeing anything. ‘You’ll have to leave me a number, and I’ll call back to let you know.’
A number was provided, goodbyes were exchanged, then the officer repeated the time and the address of the station, and their expectation of attendance at the interview. The call ended.
Dom took three deep breaths before turning round. They needed to get home, now. They needed to start preparing a defence, and the first step in that defensive strategy was going to be Harry telling him exactly what had happened.
But Harry was not standing by the lifts, as they’d agreed. Dom’s heart rate ticked up another notch as he set off in search of him.
Chapter 17
HARRY WAS drifting aimlessly through the waves of patients, staff and visitors. When he came across a block of largely unoccupied plastic chairs near the cafe, he sat down. He didn’t want to leave, felt he couldn’t leave – not without knowing what was happening to the others. He would refuse to go. His dad couldn’t actually drag him away from the hospital, could he? Harry looked up at the boards listing all the different wards and wondered where his friends were. They were ‘badly hurt’, that’s all he’d been told. Where would they be being treated? Orthopaedics? Thoracics and General Surgery? The Intensive Care Unit? Major Trauma? It was a long, long list of terrible-sounding places.
‘Harry?’ He recognised Fran’s voice instantly.
He had just enough time to stand up before her arms were around him, hugging him tight. So very tight. It was good to be held. He bent his head low and rested it on her shoulder. She smelt of sweat and stale perfume and something else – a medical, antiseptic smell. The wave of emotion that washed through him was strong and, for a moment, such a relief, after all the anxiety that had been coursing through him since the accident. He hid in her embrace, letting her take the strain. It was so good to feel love. But it only lasted for a few moments, then the balance shifted and she gently pushed Harry back onto his own two feet. She held him at arm’s length, studying him intently, and immediately the shame returned.
‘My God. I’m so glad that you’re all right. Are you? All right, I mean?’
He nodded and felt his face flush red. She noticed. Of course she did. Fran was the one person who could see straight through him. That’s why he’d been staying away from the house lately. He hadn’t wanted her to look at him and see the lies; hadn’t been able to bear the scrutiny. Now it was a hundred times worse.
Fran smiled, fleetingly. ‘I’m so relieved. The police wouldn’t tell us much’ She made him meet her eyes, reassuring him that she meant it. ‘Where’s your dad?’ she asked.
Harry pointed across the lobby. Dom was on his phone, his back to them. The question was pressing against Harry’s skull, but now that he had the opportunity to ask it, he found that he couldn’t. His dad turned, phone in hand, and started scanning the concourse. Harry didn’t wave. Dom spotted them and starting walking over. Harry had to ask his question now, before his dad steam-rollered his way into the conversation. In his panic, it came out bluntly. ‘What about Jess? How’s Jess doing?’
Fran let her hands drop from his arms. She sat down abruptly. Harry sat beside her. ‘She’s…’ She seemed unable to get any words out.
Harry’s fear sharpened.
Fran tried again, ‘She’s…’
Dom arrived and broke into her answer. ‘Jeez, Fran. Are you okay? What’s going on with Jess?’ He laid a hand on her shoulder.
Fran wilted in her seat. ‘She’s stable.’
‘That’s good.’ Dom asserted, far too quickly. Harry was ashamed of his father’s brashness. It was the tone, as much as what he was saying. Dom was in business mode. Brisk. Polite. Assertive. ‘And she’s being properly looked after?’