Free Skin by Mo Hayder Page B

here.’
    ‘ It was an accident ,’ he whispered. ‘ An accident .’
    ‘Let me in.’
    ‘It was an accident – I didn’t mean it to happen. She just stepped out of the trees. It was a fast road. I didn’t have a chance.’
    ‘We’ve got to talk. Let me in.’
    ‘Mandy’ll be home soon.’ He pulled a handkerchief out of the top pocket of his shirt and rubbed it against his eyes, his mouth. ‘She’ll be wanting her tea . . .’
    Flea pushed open the door, stepped inside and went past him. ‘I don’t care about Mandy. We’ve got to talk. Now. Come on.’
    She walked into the sitting room with its vase of plastic flowers, its glass ornaments on the little table, everything neat, dusted and in its place – you could see the reflection in the TV screen, it was so highly polished. Not like Mum and Dad’s careless house. Thom wasn’t like a Marley at all.
    After a while, when he saw she wasn’t going to leave, he followed.
    ‘Sit down,’ she said.
    He sat obediently on the edge of the armchair. ‘Well? Are you going to dob me in?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because I’m an idiot. A soft touch. Stupid enough to give a crap about you, you useless piece of shit.’
    ‘I deserve that.’
    ‘Yes. You haven’t even got the comprehension for the can of shit you’ve opened.’
    He shifted in his chair, not meeting her eyes. He was dressed in his smart corduroy trousers, a chequered shirt under a sensible brown pullover. He was very blond and pale, and his ears stuck out just enough to give him a vaguely nerdish look. It was impossible to imagine he could have killed a woman, even accidentally, and not told someone: that he could coolly have picked her up, put her in the boot and driven all the way back to Flea’s house.
    ‘Did you know her?’
    ‘I told you, she stepped out in front of me. I was driving along and the next thing it was all over. I panicked, Flea. I just panicked.’
    ‘But you know who she is, don’t you?’
    ‘I’ve been watching the news. Every second of every day I’ve been watching it.’
    ‘Then you know they’re never going to stop looking for her. Not until hell freezes over.’
    ‘I know.’
    She sighed. ‘I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.’
    ‘I’ve got no idea, no idea , what to do next.’
    There was a taste in her mouth she didn’t think she’d ever get rid of. She sat on the sofa opposite and, arms folded, looked at him steadily. ‘OK. Here it is. Like I said, I won’t go to the police.’
    ‘No?’
    ‘No. But you will.’
    Thom sat back in his chair. He let all his breath out.
    ‘Listen.’ She held up a hand. ‘I’m going to remind you of what happened, OK? You’ve been depressed. Since Mum and Dad died you’ve been really unwell. We’ve got doctors’ records to prove it.’
    ‘I’ve been better since I’ve been with Mandy. Things were getting better.’
    ‘You’ve been depressed . And that night you borrowed my car because everything had got too much. You wanted to drive somewhere, just to get your head together. You weren’t drunk but you were crying – you admit that. Hysterical, even. You hit something on the road. At the time you thought it was an animal, but then, when you thought about it, when you saw the headlines, you started wondering if . . .’
    ‘Oh, Christ.’
    ‘Thom. It’s the only way. Your papers are all up to date, aren’t they? Your driving licence?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘My insurance is watertight for you driving and the car was in perfect nick, MOT only a month old. We’re in a strong position. We’ll get a psychiatric evaluation, plead diminished responsibility or recognized medical condition or whatever they call it these days, and there’s not a judge in this country would automatically bang you up. It’s more likely they’ll hand you a hospital order. Keep you in the psychiatric-evaluation tumble-drier until eventually the sun goes down and someone spits you out of the system.’
    Thom lifted