Dead Man's Grip

22

Tyler sat hunched over the pine kitchen table in his grey school trousers, with his white shirt unbuttoned at the neck and his red and grey uniform tie at half-mast. On the wall-mounted television he was watching one of his favourite episodes of Top Gear, the one in which the team wrecked a caravan. The sound was up loud.

His straight brown hair fell across his forehead, partially shading his eyes, and with his oval wire-framed glasses several people said he looked like a young Harry Potter. Tyler had no problem with that, it gave him some kudos, but he reminded Carly much more of her late husband, Kes. Tyler was like a miniature version and, as the microwave pinged, she fought back tears. God, how she could have done with Kes now. He’d have known what to do, how best to deal with this mess, how to make her feel a little less terrible than she did at this moment. She removed the plate.

‘Elbows off!’ she said.

Otis, their black Labrador-something cross, followed her across the tiled floor, ever hopeful. She set the plate down in front of her son, grabbed the remote and muted the sound.

‘Meatballs and pasta?’ Tyler said, screwing up his face.

‘One of your favourites, isn’t it?’ She put down a bowl of salad beside him.

‘I had this for lunch today at school.’

‘Lucky you.’

‘They make it better than you.’

‘Thanks a lot.’

‘You told me always to be truthful.’

‘I thought I also told you to be tactful.’

He shrugged. ‘Whatever.’ Then he prodded a meatball suspiciously. ‘So, how’m I going to get to school tomorrow?’

‘You could walk.’

‘Oh great, thanks a lot.’ Then he perked up. ‘Hey, I could bike!’

The idea sent a chill through her. ‘No way. You are so not biking to school. OK? I’ll sort out a taxi.’

Otis stared up at Tyler expectantly.

‘Otis!’ she warned. ‘No begging!’

Then she sat down next to her son. ‘Look, I’ve had a shit day, OK?’

‘Not as shit as that cyclist, right?’

‘What’s that meant to mean?’

Tyler suddenly stood up and ran towards the door, yelling, ‘I bet he didn’t have a drunk for a mother.’ He slammed the door behind him.

Carly stared at the door. She half rose from the chair, then sat back down. Moments later she heard the furious pounding of drums upstairs. Otis barked at her, two woof-woofs in quick succession. Waiting for a titbit.

‘Sorry, Otis, not feeling great, OK? I’ll take you for a walk later.’

The smell of the meatballs was making her feel sick. Even sicker than she already felt. She got up, walked over to the door and opened it, ready to shout up the stairs at Tyler, but then thought better of it. She sat back down at the table and lit a cigarette, blankly lip-reading the Top Gear characters as she smoked. She felt utterly numb.

The phone rang. Sarah Ellis. Married to a solicitor, Justin, Sarah was not just her closest friend, she was the most sensible person Carly knew. And at this moment, on the day her world had turned into a nightmare – the worst since the day she’d been told that her husband was dead – she badly needed sensible.

‘How are you, Gorgeous?’

‘Not feeling very gorgeous,’ Carly replied grimly.

‘You were on television – we just saw you on the local news. The accident. The police are looking for a white van. Did they tell you?’

‘They didn’t tell me much.’

‘We’re on our way over with a bottle of champagne to cheer you up,’ Sarah said. ‘We’ll be with you as soon as we can.’

‘Thanks, I could do with the company – but the last thing I need is a bloody drink.’