1

Before the accident

MRS MITCHELL’S HIGH HEELS went clatter clatter along the promenade. Her breath was coming in painful gasps because she was running, running, running. She didn’t know what the time was, but it must be very late because it was getting dark – and darker and darker as she ran. And there might be a train to London or there might not, but let there be a train, she thought. Oh, please let there be a train so I can get back to Nicky and Roy tonight!

She should never have left them. It was mad and wicked to leave two children alone all night, and she saw that now; but when Tony came round, and said there was this caravan at Southbourne, and they could have it all weekend, just the two of them – well, there was this shining picture in her mind’s eye of the funfair, and the lively seaside pubs, and the bright sea, all clean and sparkling in the sunlight. And Tony said the kids would be all right, they weren’t babies; Nicky was turned eleven, for heaven’s sake! And there wasn’t time to ask somebody to keep an eye on them, and who would she have asked if there had been time?

Mrs Williams perhaps, next door – old Polly Pry. Oh yes, she’d have done it all right! She’d have loved the excuse to come in and poke her nose where it didn’t belong. And then the whole of Gilbert Road would hear that Mrs Mitchell’s bedroom was a tip, and there was no food in the house to speak of.

Or that fat frump the other side, with the dowdy clothes and the glasses – Aunty Four-Eyes! Her name was Mrs Morris really, but Mrs Mitchell called her Aunty Four-Eyes once, when she was feeling specially bitchy, and the kids got a giggle out of it so the name stuck. Aunty Four-Eyes wasn’t as bad as Polly Pry, but the trouble was, she was so judging. She’d be scandalized at the very idea of a mum leaving her kids all night just so she could go to the seaside with her boyfriend. And it was all very well for her! She had a good husband to look after her, with a good job so she didn’t even need to go to work. How about if she had had the bad luck to marry a bully, how about that then? And had got left with two kids to bring up on her own?

True, Aunty Four-Eyes had her good points, and, fair’s fair, she had minded Nicky and Roy with her own two a few times in the school holidays, and after school as well when they were younger. But Mrs Mitchell couldn’t ask her to do it this time because they’d had a row, and they weren’t speaking; and, come to think of it, Mrs Mitchell admitted to herself, come to think of it, she had used some rather strong language that time, when Aunty Four-Eyes opened her mouth about mothers who stayed out late at night, not because they were working, even, but just to enjoy themselves. And Four-Eyes had been shocked to bits by the language, or pretended to be, though she must have heard all the words before. So now when they met at their front doors, or passed each other going up the road, Four-Eyes turned her head away, as though there was a bad smell somewhere. And Mrs Mitchell laughed, because who cared what a dull cow like that thought?

But staying out late was one thing, and leaving the kids all night was another, and she never should have done it, Mrs Mitchell knew. Tony had been very angry when she decided to go home after all; they had had a big row about it, and said some nasty things to each other. In the end, Tony had said she’d better take all her things, because he had no intention of bringing them back to her, or seeing her again, ever! Anyway, they were only her overnight things; they weren’t important. She could run much better without her overnight things. And she didn’t think she’d bother with boyfriends any more, after this. It was the kids that were important, wasn’t it!

And it wasn’t her fault what she did, you couldn’t really say it was her fault. It was a big temptation, wasn’t it – a whole weekend by the sea! Anybody could make a mistake. And anyway she was going home now, only please let there be a train, and she was running as fast as she could along the ill-lit seafront, with the black and silver water beyond the dark sands below. Across the road were the cafés and the amusement arcades, but Mrs Mitchell ran by the sea because there were fewer people that side; fewer people to get in her way, and slow her down, and make her miss the last train back to London.

Her bag swung from her hand; her everyday bag with all the everyday bits and pieces in it. All day she’d felt sore about that bag, when she’d stopped to think about it; but Tony had been so impatient, shouting up the stairs at her was she going to waste the whole day getting ready? And that made her nervous, so she just picked up her old bag, instead of stopping to change everything into one of the new ones. And the old bag didn’t go so well with her seaside outfit; she was conscious of that even now, running so frantically to catch the train, swinging the old bag from her hand.

She did not notice the idle youth as she passed him; the youth who looked at the swinging bag, and at Mrs Mitchell’s pretty, preoccupied face, and back at the bag again. She did not hear the boy’s footsteps, as he ran on soft-soled shoes behind her. When she felt the tug she didn’t, at first, grasp what was happening. Only when the tug came again, harder now and without mercy – only then did Mrs Mitchell realize she was being robbed.

She screamed. A powerful young arm tugged at the handle of Mrs Mitchell’s bag, and Mrs Mitchell fought to hold on, though she felt her own hand was being torn right off. No one came to help. The strolling groups of people on the other side of the road did not seem to hear Mrs Mitchell’s screams; and the cars streaked blindly past, their occupants not seeing, or not caring.

One last almighty wrench dragged Mrs Mitchell to the ground, and ripped the bag from her hand. Screaming with rage now, as well as fear, Mrs Mitchell pounded the ground with her fists, and yelled the worst words she could think of at the rapidly disappearing back of the thief. She sobbed and cried, and a young couple did stop then, to help her to her feet. ‘What happened?’ said the young man.

‘He took my bag, he went that way!’ said Mrs Mitchell.

‘I’ll get him for you,’ said the young man, and he ploughed off gallantly, delighted at the chance to show off to his girl.

Mrs Mitchell was shaking, and her knees felt weak. She was bruised, and the side of one leg was all grazed and bleeding. ‘He’s got all my money!’ she wept. ‘What am I going to do? I’ve got to get back to London, I’ve got to! And he’s got all my money!’

‘You poor thing,’ said the girl – but she didn’t offer to lend Mrs Mitchell enough for the fare.

The young man came back, puffing and disappointed. ‘Disappeared,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t catch up with him. Sorry.’

‘He’s got all my money,’ wailed Mrs Mitchell. ‘What am I going to do?’

‘Find a copper,’ the young man advised her – but he didn’t offer to help.

‘That’s right,’ said the girl. ‘You find a copper.’

‘Where?’ said Mrs Mitchell, piteously. She was shaking so much now, she felt she could hardly stand.

‘Oh – over there somewhere,’ said the girl, pointing vaguely across the road. ‘Sure to be one somewhere around.’

‘You’ll be all right,’ said the young man, losing interest now he’d lost his chance of showing off.

‘Yeah – you’ll be all right,’ said the girl, who didn’t want to have to lend Mrs Mitchell any money.

They left her, and it was like a nightmare. Now she had stopped running, Mrs Mitchell could feel the cold night wind coming off the sea, and she shivered in her thin jacket. She was alone and cold, in a seaside town miles and miles from home, and no money to buy her train ticket. And the last train was going, going, going! She saw it in her imagination, chugging heartlessly out of the station.

Desperately, Mrs Mitchell’s eyes scanned the pavement on the other side of the road. Was it . . .? She thought so. ‘Police, police!’ she tried to call, but something had happened to her throat and she couldn’t shout properly. She must get across the road! She must, she must, oh quickly, before she lost sight of this one last hope!

She heard the squeal of brakes, and that was the last thing she did hear, before the whole world went black.