‘Um, you just missed them. Lizzie and Dylan left just a couple of minutes ago. That girl is a treasure. She works so hard. She’s often the last to leave. You might be able to catch them if you’re quick.’
‘Thank you,’ I blurt, speeding towards the car park.
‘Are you okay?’ she calls after me. ‘Lizzie said you had a hospital appointment?’
I reach the gate just in time to see Lizzie Hamlyn bundling something into the boot of her Mini.
In the back seat I can just make out the shape of a child. He’s just a shadow, a black silhouette. I can’t see properly, the low sun is glaring, bouncing off the window into my face. I hold up my hand to shield my eyes. But I know instinctively that it’s him. It’s Dylan.
My heart leaps with hope and fear. ‘Dylan!’ I call out, running towards the car.
He doesn’t hear me, but Lizzie Hamlyn turns and stares at me, her pale face jerking upwards, grim determination stamped all over it.
‘Wait! Stop!’ I shout desperately, but she completely blanks me, and she walks quickly but calmly round to the driver’s door and ducks inside.
‘Dylan!’ I scream – a primal sound of outrage and terror that comes from deep in my guts. ‘Dylan!’ I break into a sprint as she starts up the engine.
I arrive in the car park just as she approaches the exit and I throw myself in front of the car, trying to block her way. But she just speeds up and swerves around me, missing me by a hair’s breadth. She’s so close I get caught in the slipstream and am nearly pushed over by the force of the air. I recover my balance and watch with helpless rage as the car roars past me out of the gate. As it turns, I catch a glimpse of Dylan looking out at me through the rear window, his pale face frozen in surprise and alarm.
Fuck fuck fuck. This can’t be happening. Please God let this not be happening. There’s no time to think. I tear across the car park to my car and leap inside. All I know is that Lizzie Hamlyn is unstable, Dylan is in danger and I can’t afford to let them out of my sight. My heart is thumping, adrenaline coursing through my body. I start up the engine and screech out of the school gates, just in time to see her turn left on to Cotswold Street. I veer left after her, narrowly missing the SUV parked on the corner and we bump down the narrow, cobbled road. Then she swerves left on to the high street and I follow, close on her tail, determined not to lose her.
Where are you taking him, you crazy bitch?
On the high street she runs a red light, ignoring the cars from the other direction hooting and screeching to a halt. Then she heads out on the ring road towards Swindon. The road is straight and nearly empty. I stamp my foot flat on the accelerator, the speedometer approaching 80 miles an hour, then 90, then 100, 120. I’ve never driven so fast. This car is not made for speed. It rattles along the highway as if it will fall apart at any second, hurtling along, hedgerows whizzing past, but I’m gaining, and slowly but steadily the distance between us decreases.
Then suddenly, Lizzie swerves off the main road and on to another smaller road.
‘What the . . .?’ I mutter to myself as I brake sharply and screech round the corner after her. We’re on a narrow country lane now, bumping over potholes. There’s a tractor up ahead, crawling along at a snail’s pace. Lizzie speeds up and overtakes. I start to try to pass too, but a car hurtles towards me in the other direction and I tuck back behind the tractor just in time.
My God, that was a near miss, I think, my heart hammering in my throat, but I can’t afford to lose them. As soon as the other car has passed, I roar past the tractor just in time to see the red and white mini, far up ahead, racing round a bend. I press my foot flat to the floor. I’m absolutely determined not to let them out of my sight.
My phone is ringing loudly in my bag.
I’m rooting around in my bag, glancing down to see who’s calling, when out of nowhere, a truck looms out of a side road.
I stamp on the brakes and wrench the steering wheel, but it’s too late. It’s rushing towards me. I don’t have time to think. Everything is instinctive. I’m going to die. Please don’t let me die, I pray. And I think of Dylan. I can’t leave him. Not now. Not yet. He’s too young. He needs his mother. Dylan is the last thought in my head, filling my mind so I can’t think of anything else. Then I hear a crack and with a violent jolt I’m thrown up into the air and somehow I’m flying. Then there’s another violent thump and searing pain as I’m slammed against hard concrete.
The last thing I hear is the screech of tyres and a door slamming.
Thirty-seven
Am I dreaming? Am I dead?
The sun is setting behind those trees, casting golden streaks of light up into the blue sky. It’s beautiful and serene and I am not in any pain. In fact, I could be floating on a cloud. It must be the shock. Or maybe I’m in heaven. But when I raise my head, I see to my horror that there is a shard of glass poking out of my thigh. I move my arm experimentally and try to pull it out, but it is stuck there, wedged deep in my flesh. And I realise I’m not on a cloud. Instead, I am lying on hard, unforgiving concrete and there are pieces of broken glass all around me. I’m in the middle of the road. The
