You Let Him In Read online

  I’ve always been a risk-taker.

  I love them both so much. In reality, I don’t fear that Jenny will really walk out on me but I understand her concerns. I owe her and I go through times of guilt and regret. She’s my wife and I should be there for her but I can’t let go of this deal. It could improve our lives.

  The lights are bright – full beams on – as the car races down the road. Panic overwhelms me as I see it heading in my direction. For a split-second this fear has me frozen on the spot with a heavy sickly feeling in my stomach causing my body to start trembling. I am shaking head to toe as I turn to start running towards the hotel. The loud noise of the engine screeches and the pulsating sounds of the music blasts from inside the car and thumps through my ears.

  I open my eyes to focus on the sky above; everything has happened so quickly?

  I can hear screaming and the car engine in the background. I’m struggling to breathe and I can taste blood at the back of my mouth. The darkness is all that I can see and an unbearable pain takes over my body. I’m trying to focus but the muffled sounds are fading into the sound of footsteps. I’m confused and in agony. All I can think about is my wife and son.

  Five

  Jenny

  Knocking on the front door awakens me. For the first couple of seconds I contemplate my surroundings because I am confused. I’m unsure if I’m still in a dream – but the knocking continues. This time louder. I glance across to the alarm clock on Michael’s bedside cabinet to see it’s 10.15 p.m.

  ‘All right, all right,’ I shout, pulling the quilt cover away from me and sending a draft across my thighs. ‘I’m coming. Give me a minute.’

  Michael must have forgotten his keys. I bet he’s drunk – or worse, a taxi has sent him home and the driver has had to carry him to the door. I haven’t known him to have gotten in that state for years but with our argument from earlier I was kind of expecting him to have a drink or two.

  I have a flashback memory to the weeks leading up to our wedding. I can see myself in bed with Michael after a night out with our friends. He was slightly drunk but I was pregnant and I remember what he said.

  ‘You’re my everything,’ he told me, ‘we’re going to have an amazing future.’

  This was a period where we were out with our friends a lot. We used to go out regularly and have meals out or live off takeaways. Life was very different before Daniel was born. Having a child has instantly turned us into responsible adults. I had no idea how straining motherhood would be at first – and how little help Michael would be after the first year. If I had had the chance again I might have waited a bit longer. I feel guilty for thinking it but because of him I put my career on hold. Without him I could have been more successful.

  I want to support my husband because I can see the pressure he is under right now. I accept that he is trying to work sometimes twice as hard to make up for me being part-time. It’s his way of paying me back for staying at home most days to be a mother. I wonder too if it is the responsibility of fatherhood that has driven him out of the house more. I know that Michael is trying his best – we both are – but things can’t stay this way forever. Maybe I was too hard on him tonight?

  I take my dressing gown off the hook on the back of the bedroom door and flick the light switch on. I walk down the stairs and hear the knock on the front door again – but this time louder.

  ‘Yes, Michael, I hear you. I said I was coming,’ I say, loud enough for him to hear me. ‘I thought you had your keys on you?’

  I unlock the door and pull it open, expecting to see my husband’s face but two policemen are looking back at me. One of them takes a small gulp and the other removes his hat. My heart sinks as I know something serious has happened. I raise my hand to my chest and can feel the tremble in my body as I struggle to speak.

  ‘Is everything ok, officers?’ I ask. Both give me subdued looks that suggest otherwise. ‘Do you both want to come inside for a minute or two?’

  ‘Are you Mrs Jenny Clifton?’ the taller policeman asks while the shorter one stands beside him not speaking a word. ‘Mr Michael Clifton’s wife?’

  I start to walk back a little as my body language shows signs of worry. I wrap my arms around myself and all I can do is nod. The panic has set in and I don’t want them to say the next statement I know is about to follow. I’ve seen this on television programmes but it can’t be happening to me. The chill in the air sweeps through the hallway as I stay silent for a brief moment longer. My stomach cramps with the dread and fear of what could be coming next.

  Don’t say it. Please, don’t say it. Not to me, not now, not here. No – this cannot be real.

  ‘I’m Jenny Clifton,’ I mutter. I speak so softly I can barely hear my own voice. ‘What has happened? Is everything ok?’

  I already know – I just don’t want this moment to be real. It has to be a bad dream. We have a son together. He was out negotiating a contract. My husband is at a business meeting. This is a big mistake. It has to be a terrible mistake.

  ‘I’m Police Constable Parker and my colleague is Police Constable Blackwell,’ the taller officer says. Lost in this moment of numbness, I stare and listen. ‘May we both please come inside?’

  Both the police officers step inside our house. Blackwell shuts the front door behind him as he is last to enter. They stand together in their black uniforms. The formality of their presence is unnerving.

  ‘Would you like to sit down?’ Blackwell asks. ‘We can go to another room if you’d like to?’

  ‘No,’ I reply, wanting this done as quickly as possible. My eyes can barely look up from the floor. ‘Please, can you just tell me, here?’

  I realise I am a trembling, nervous wreck. I’m staring at what they’re holding and my mind isn’t able to control the tension, or the nerves. I feel sick.

  ‘Mrs Clifton, do you recognise these items?’ Parker asks me, holding up a clear bag with a wallet and a mobile phone inside it. ‘The wallet as you can see is open with a photo of a young child. Does this wallet and mobile telephone belong to Mr Clifton?’

  ‘Yes,’ I respond, ‘that is our son, Daniel. It’s Michael’s wallet and I know that must be his phone. How? Where did you find them?’

  I’m shaking head to toe, waiting for the dreaded moment. They have my husband’s belongings so I know this must be serious. My eyes start to water as I hold back the tears. I take a gulp to clear the build-up of saliva from my throat and await the officer’s response.

  ‘I have some bad news I’m afraid, Mrs Clifton,’ Parker says, looking directly at me. ‘Your husband has been involved in an accident on the short road leading to the Taverton Estate Hotel. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you that he has died at the scene. I’m really, very sorry.’

  The shock is starting to sink in. I can’t stop shaking my head. I hold on to the wall to stop me from dropping to the floor – although I was expecting him to tell me this news because from the moment I opened the door it was like something from a television drama. Hearing the words from his mouth make it all the more real. My husband is dead. An accident?

  ‘Mr Clifton has been taken to the hospital morgue,’ says Blackwell. ‘I’m so sorry that this has happened. We have to inform you face to face.’

  I keep looking at their faces. Both officers just stand there looking at me while I have nothing to say. I’m struggling to accept the news that my husband is dead. I only saw him this morning. I made him his dinner and then we argued. He was meant to come home. That argument. I was dreadful to him.

  My tears are filled with the guilt and sadness I feel. I hold my stomach and drop to my knees. It’s like being lost, scared, unsure, guilty and hurt all at the same time. I remember the last words I said to him. Tears are now dripping down my face. Just go. I never meant it. I loved him.

  I will never get to see Michael again – speak to him or even apologise. How can he be dead?

  What about Daniel? What will I say to our son?

  How do
you explain to a three-year-old that his father is dead – that he will never see him again for the rest of his life? A whole childhood without his father to watch him grow up. All these questions flood my mind at once, driving me mad.

  I get back up off the floor, straighten my dressing gown and then wipe my eyes.

  ‘How did this happen?’ I ask both of the officers. ‘I don’t understand. I hope he didn’t suffer. Was it quick?’

  ‘We believe it was a car accident. Your husband was struck by a car going at some considerable speed. He was pronounced dead at the scene after the ambulance arrived,’ Parker replies. ‘We have a witness who claims to have seen what happened. Some of our officers are currently taking his statement. Unfortunately, we haven’t yet been able to find the driver of the vehicle.’

  ‘A car accident?’ I ask, confused. ‘Did his airbag not open?’

  ‘No, Mr Clifton was struck by a car that may have been stolen. He was walking towards the hotel entrance. He was not in his own vehicle or the suspect’s vehicle that struck him.’ Parker replies. ‘Mr Clifton’s car is still parked at the hotel car park. All we know at this time is that the driver of the car has fled the scene. We have a witness who saw him exit the vehicle unharmed and run into the surrounding fields. Our forensics team are gathering all the evidence they can. Unfortunately, the number plate on the vehicle has been tampered with but we’re continuing our enquiries.’

  ‘I know this may be difficult for you,’ Blackwell says, ‘but we do need someone to identify your husband’s body. It doesn’t have to be right now but we can arrange to take you if you agree. If you wish not to do this yourself is there anyone else we could ask?’

  ‘I want to do it. I need to see him,’ I instantly respond without having to think about it. ‘I want to see my husband.’

  ‘Would you like to come to the hospital with us now?’ Blackwell asks. ‘We will be with you every step of the way. You could bring someone with you if you wanted?’

  ‘Not right now,’ I reply. ‘Not at this moment because I need to speak to Michael’s parents. They’re looking after our son. I need to tell Daniel.’

  ‘Do his parents know?’ I ask the officers. ‘Peter and Donna Clifton?’

  ‘No,’ Blackwell answers, ‘we have only informed you as his next of kin at this stage.’

  ‘I will do it,’ I reply. ‘They’re both in their late fifties. Losing a son like this, it’s going to break their hearts.’

  I start to have a breakdown again. I walk away from the hallway and into the kitchen. Both officers follow me but Parker pulls out a chair from the table and I sit down with my hands covering my head. The tears still fall from the grief I have been hit with. Even saying it out loud still doesn’t make it seem real.

  ‘Michael is dead.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say to them both as they stand in the kitchen and try to offer me support, ‘I guess this is just part of your job?’

  ‘This is never easy,’ Parker responds. ‘It has to be done face to face. We never get desensitised to it, either. The loss of someone very close to you in these unfortunate circumstances is very tragic. We are sorry for your loss.’

  I look up, removing my hands from my face. I see Michael’s coffee mug on the rack in the corner of the kitchen. I remember how I complained about him leaving paperwork all around the house. Memories of small random moments pop into my head.

  Parker pulls what looks like a business card from his jacket pocket.

  ‘Here are the contact details for a family liaison officer,’ he says as he places it on the table next to me. ‘Please give Sharon Jenkins a call when you can. She will talk about our family support services and you can call the number tomorrow when you want to identify your husband at the hospital. She will arrange everything for you so you don’t have to worry.’

  I nod my head to accept that I will call Sharon. I don’t exactly know when but I will do it in the morning. The most important thing to do right now is call Donna and Peter.

  Should I get a taxi to their house?

  I have a sense of urgency – wanting to organise everything but not being clear what I need to do. I know I have to call Peter and Donna and I have to see my husband at the hospital. I will have a funeral to organise, work to go to and my son to sort out. Why couldn’t Michael have just stayed at home?

  I keep staring at the officers. I don’t know what else to say or what other questions to ask. I know I’m in a right state but none of it matters. Somehow I’m going to have to sit Daniel down, too.

  Both Parker and Blackwell come forward.

  ‘Is there anything else we can do for you?’ Parker asks. ‘Anything at all?’

  I shake my head while wiping my nose. Michael should have been at home tonight.

  ‘I’d like to be on my own now, please,’ I say to both of the officers as I get up out of the chair. ‘I can show you out. I’ll get straight on the phone to his parents.’

  The officers leave in silence. Not a single word is spoken between us until I am about to close the door behind them.

  ‘Take care,’ says Parker.

  I don’t acknowledge their parting words. I need to call Donna – who will think I am only checking up on her about Daniel staying over for the night. This isn’t going to be easy. I take my mobile phone and sit back down at the kitchen table. I have no idea in my head how to break the news to them other than by being direct. It takes three rings before Donna answers.

  ‘Evening, Jenny,’ Donna answers. ‘Pete and I were just on our way to bed. Daniel has been a good little boy for us all day – showing us some new dance moves he’s picked up from watching the music channels.’

  ‘Mum,’ I interrupt her, ‘this is really serious. You need to sit down.’

  I hear nothing but silence. Then breathing noises down the phone. I take a deep breath myself as my courage wavers.

  ‘It’s Michael,’ I blub. Now I can’t stop the tears as I feel the misery of my own surroundings and the absence of anyone here to support me. ‘Mum, he’s dead. Michael has had an accident.’

  I shudder – the bearer of tragic news.

  ‘What do you mean? What are you saying?’ Donna asks, struggling to acknowledge my words. ‘What accident – and where?’

  ‘The police haven’t long left,’ I continue, once I am able to catch my breath. ‘It was a hit and run near Taverton. Please don’t tell Daniel tonight. I need to do this myself.’

  For a moment there is nothing but silence as I wait for Donna to reply. In the background I can hear the television. Peter is coughing. Donna’s heavy breathing is a sign of her emotions and her realisation that Michael is dead.

  ‘I promise,’ Donna eventually replies, her voice cracking. ‘I will leave it for you to tell Daniel.’

  We cry together before Donna has to leave to break the news to Peter. Having been reassured that they will bring Daniel to me as soon as he wakes up in the morning, I hang up the phone. I leave his parents to establish the foundations of their own grief. Michael was my world, and now he’s gone I don’t know how I am going to cope without him.

  I sit in the kitchen with the silence. I look around the room and feel detached from my surroundings. It’s like I have been placed in the middle of a bad dream. A nightmare that I can’t escape from.

  ‘I love you, Michael,’ I whisper into the air. I look up as though he is looking down at me from somewhere. If only he would walk back into the house. ‘I don’t know what I will do without you.’

  I cry into my sleeve – still in shock. How am I going to explain this to Daniel?

  Six

  Jenny

  Donna and Peter return Daniel just after the crack of dawn this morning. He looks tired. My emotions are like a cyclone of mental destruction but for Daniel’s sake I need to stay focused. None of us had any sleep last night. I spent most of the early hours walking from room to room imagining all the past conversations I had with Michael in this house. I remember the laughter, the crie
s, the arguments and I keep talking to myself over and over about how I will break the news to Daniel. He must be wondering where his daddy is.

  I prepare Daniel a bowl of cereal for breakfast and hand him a spoon. He still gets himself into a mess with his food. I can tell he can sense something has happened. He must have seen his grandparents cry this morning or overheard some of our conversations. The most difficult part of the morning was trying to keep it together in front of him when he arrived home. Donna and Peter smiled at me and we welcomed each other with hugs at the door. Short sentences with minimal eye contact followed as we tried to hold back our emotions. We all knew this was going to be a struggle so Donna and Peter stayed in the lounge while I walked Daniel through to the kitchen.

  It is often said on the blogs I read that children can pick up on emotional reactions so I need to explain this to Daniel in the best way a three-year-old might understand. I watch him eat his cereal and then sit down next to him at the kitchen table. I hold his small warm hand while he looks up at me.

  ‘Daniel,’ I say, holding back the tears as I desperately struggle to stay strong-minded, ‘I have some very sad news about Daddy.’

  ‘Daddy?’ Daniel responds. His eyes light up and I know his reaction is to expect his father to be right behind him. ‘Where’s Daddy?’

  I take in a deep breath, preparing myself to tell him the news.

  ‘Daddy has been hurt,’ I reply, overcome with emotion and with the lump in the back of my throat becoming stronger. ‘Daddy won’t be coming back home, little man. Daddy has gone to heaven.’

  Death. How can a three-year-old begin to understand?

  Daniel looks at me and neither of us speak another word to each other. I bend forwards and cry into his hair as I hold him close to me. I know he has no idea how to understand what I am telling him, which makes my own emotions worse. He is both innocent and naïve but Daniel is hugging me as if he has a need to please me. He is likely wondering why I am crying but he recognises it as a sign I need comforting. It breaks my heart.