Free Days Like These by Miranda Barnes Page B

with parked cars. One car, a couple of houses away, had lights on and the engine was running. She couldn't see any other signs of life.
    The door bell rang again, making her heart flutter. She glanced at the clock on the bed-side table. It was just after three.
    She wasn't sure what to do. She called Jamie's name, but she knew he wasn't there. She went out onto the landing and called again. Still no answer. He wasn't in the house. He hadn't been home for a day or two. She would have to go to the door herself. Whoever was there wasn't going to give up.
    She put on a couple of lights and began to make her way downstairs. Halfway there the thought came to her that it might be an emergency with her parents. Something had happened! Something terrible.
    She opened the inner door to the hall.
    'Who is it?' she called.
    'Police officers, madam!' a woman's voice replied. 'We need to speak to you.'
    She put the outside light on. Through the narrow glass pane beside the door, she saw two figures in uniform. A man and a woman. The woman stepped up close, announced herself and held up a badge in a folder.
    'What's wrong?' Meg asked, opening the door as far as the safety chain would allow. 'What's happened?'
    'Mary Anne Armstrong?'
    Meg hesitated and then nodded.
    'I'm sorry, Mary. We need to speak to you. May we come inside?'
    'It's very late,' Meg said, confused, worried.
    'I know, dear. But it really is urgent. Please?'
    She unlatched the chain, opened the door, turned and led the way into the lounge. She switched on the light. Nobody sat down. The three of them stood around awkwardly. They were too big for that small room. Too close together.
    The woman was short and artificially blonde. Forty-ish. She seemed lot older than her colleague, and senior to him. The young police constable smiled but spoke only to confirm his name.
    'Mary ….' The woman began.
    'Meg.'
    'Excuse me?'
    'I'm known as Meg, not Mary. Always have been.'
    The woman nodded. 'Meg, then. I'm sorry to have to tell you, Meg, but we have bad news. It might be better if you sat down.'
    Meg stood quite still, ignoring the suggestion. 'What is it?' she demanded. 'Is it Dad? My mother?'
    The woman shook her head. 'Your husband, I'm afraid.'
    Meg gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. She hadn't thought of that possibility.
    'Jamie?'
    The woman nodded. 'I'm afraid he's dead, Meg. He was killed in a car crash tonight. Last night, I mean. On the A1, in Durham. I'm very sorry, dear.'
    Jamie? Dead?
    Panic overtook her. She began to gabble questions even as the tears began to flow. Her body lurched with fear and shock. She felt faint. Dizzy. The man caught hold of her and lowered her into a chair. She bounced straight back up and began to cannon between furniture and walls. No, no, no! It couldn't be true.
    The craziness passed. The panic subsided, giving way to piercing hurt. And anger. Rage. Then that, too, passed and she was just numb. The woman, the police officer, sat her down on the sofa and spoke to her slowly, calmly. Saying things that for a moment she couldn't hear, never mind understand. Nothing made sense. Her baby! What would she do? Without Jamie!
    'All we know, Meg, is that his car left the road not far from Durham City. It was travelling north. It seems to have spun at an intersection and cut across onto the other side of the road. A lorry travelling south hit it head-on.'
    Meg stared at her blankly, wanting more, wanting her to keep talking and to tell her it wasn't true, that Jamie would be coming home.
    'Your husband was killed instantly. I'm sorry,' the woman added.
    Meg's gaze shifted to the floor, as if she might see more sense there.
    'Do you know where he'd been?' the woman asked.
    Meg shook her head. How could she know that? 'Had he been drinking?' she asked.
    The woman hesitated. Then she gave a little nod. 'Probably,' she admitted. 'We believe he had.'
    Meg bowed her head. Oh, Jamie! she thought with despair. My poor, dear Jamie. His face filled her eyes,