Nothing could change that, except time.
Chapter 19
IT WAS gone 4 p.m. by the time they eventually got home, having picked Martha up from Cheryl’s. Dom had been deft and assertive in defending Harry from Cheryl’s understandable questions about the crash, insisting that the priority was to get his ‘children’ home. Walking into their house and pulling the door shut was a relief. No more strangers, no more noise – the feeling of having stepped outside the nightmare back into mundane normality was calming.
But of course things weren’t normal. Martha was wired, fizzing with a desperate, oppressive need to offer affection. As they made sandwiches and drinks, she kept giving Harry little pats and squeezes on the back of his neck or top of his arm, touches that Harry knew were designed to be comforting, but in reality made him feel claustrophobic. And every time he looked up, Martha’s big eyes seemed to be there, following him around, pleading, worrying, seeking reassurances that he couldn’t give. He didn’t want touching. He didn’t want someone fussing over him. All he wanted was to be left alone.
When he snapped and told her to give him some space, Martha froze, blinked and disappeared up to her room. Harry felt bad, but he hadn’t anything to offer her. He couldn’t tell her everything was going to be all right, because it wasn’t – it probably wasn’t going to be all right ever again. Dom had disappeared ‘to make some calls’, so he, thankfully, wasn’t around to witness Harry’s insensitivity towards his sister. God, it was such a mess: Martha upstairs, on her own, probably crying; him alone in the kitchen, not knowing what to do with himself; and his dad ensconced in his study – doing whatever it was that he found so much more interesting than his own kids. They really weren’t up to much, as a family.
Harry was just about to escape to his room when the study door opened and his dad emerged. ‘We need to talk.’
Harry desperately wanted to keep walking up the stairs, but Dom’s tone stopped him. ‘Dad, please, not now. I’m knackered.’ He went up another step.
‘No, Harry, this can’t wait. We need to have a conversation, and we need to have it now. You have the interview with the police tomorrow.’ Harry felt cold. ‘You’ll have to answer plenty of questions at that. It was a bad crash, Harry. People have been hurt. It was your car. You were driving. They’re going to blame you.’
‘I know that, Dad.’
‘Good. Because I was beginning to think you hadn’t grasped how serious this is.’
Harry stared at his father. Dom really was clueless sometimes. ‘I know how bad it is, Dad. I was there. Those “people” are my best friends.’
‘Exactly. So sticking your head in the sand and hoping it will all go away isn’t going to work, is it? Harry, look at me.’
Harry did and saw a familiar sight. His dad, impressive, implacable, intimidating.
Dom went on, ‘I have to know what happened last night if I’m going to be able to protect you. You have to tell the truth – to me and to the solicitor.’
‘What solicitor?’
‘The solicitor I’ve spent the last hour sorting out. The solicitor who’s coming to the house first thing in the morning, as a personal favour to me.’
Christ, even with something as awful as this, Dom’s ego muscled in. Harry felt a flicker of anger stir beneath the heavy layers of guilt and shame. He mustered up some defiance. ‘Well, if you’ve arranged an appointment with this solicitor buddy of yours for the morning, we can talk about it then, can’t we? There’s no point going over it all twice. That’s simply not an efficient use of everyone’s time, is it now, Dad? I’ll see you in the morning.’ He didn’t wait around to hear his father’s reply.
Chapter 20
BEING IN a police station was very unnerving, but Mo’s parents had insisted that they needed to go as soon as they could, to clear up his involvement in the events of Saturday night. So instead of his normal Monday morning – upper-sixth biology with Mrs Lowe – Mo found himself in an interview room with his parents and a harassed-looking police officer, who didn’t seem overly interested in taking his statement.
‘So you’re saying they drove off and left you at McDonald’s?’ she asked.
Mo’s heart rate had settled enough so that he could concentrate a little better – at least the distracting pulse in his ears seemed to have subsided. Getting through the first half of the story without stumbling too much had helped; that, and his mum and dad’s reassuring presence. They kept nodding, urging him on. In a corner of his soul, Mo felt ashamed of needing them there, for relying on them so much – it was like being little again, running to his amii because he was scared – but a far bigger part of him was grateful for their help. He still felt very rattled.
The officer was waiting.
Mo got back on track. ‘Not straight away. I followed them outside into the car park. There was an argument going on. The atmosphere had changed.’
‘How?’
Mo remembered Harry’s voice more than anything else – the anger. The memory was sharper now, brought into focus by what he now knew came afterwards. ‘Harry was leaning into the car, trying to talk to Jess, but she didn’t seem to want to hear him out. Tish was involved as well.’
‘How?’
‘Well, I’m not sure. But she seemed part of the row.’
‘And what was Jake doing at this point?’
‘He was dancing.’
‘Sorry – what?’
‘He was dancing around, waving his arms about, in his own little world.’
‘Was he drunk?’
Mo hesitated. Jake was drunk or high most weekends. Saturday night had been no different, but somehow saying it to the police felt like a betrayal. ‘I don’t know. I wasn’t with him much at the party. He’d had a drink, but I couldn’t say whether he was drunk or not. Jake doesn’t need a drink to be daft.’ This last bit was true, at least.
The officer changed tack. ‘What was the argument between Harry and Jess about?’
‘I don’t know.’ The memory that he had been on the edge of things, yet again, made Mo feel embarrassed. ‘Harry had my phone in his hand. That’s where the music was coming from – the music that Jake was dancing to.’
‘Harry was playing music on your phone?’ The officer sounded confused, and slightly irritated.
Mo felt the sweat prickle in his armpits. ‘I think – I’m not sure – that it was the party.’ The officer’s expression grew even more clouded. Mo tried to be clearer. ‘I think it was some of the video that I’d filmed at the party, but I didn’t see, not properly, because when I walked up to the car, Harry stopped talking to Jess and he turned on me.’
‘Sorry, Mo. We need you to clarify what you mean by “he turned on me”?’
‘He started shouting.’ They waited. His mum gave a tiny nod. It still felt wrong. ‘He told me to fuck off out of it. That I’d…caused enough fucking trouble for one night. Then he rushed me. And I ran, and Harry came after me.’
‘Was there physical contact?’