Felix Francis - Guilty Not Guilty

Mind you, I still drove with my eyes almost as much on the rear-view mirror as they were on the road ahead and, when I arrived at Waitrose, I parked in one of the large parent-with-child spaces near the main door.

There were six such spaces and only one other was filled. I know that more room around the car makes it easier to get toddlers out and pushchairs in, but it also means it would be more difficult for someone to hide unnoticed when I came back.

No one gave me an accusing stare when I collected a trolley and walked into the shop without a small child in tow; indeed, no one took much notice of me at all, which was a huge improvement over my last excursion out in public.

I pushed the trolley up and down the aisles, collecting the items on my list from the shelves and much more besides, all the while being careful not to leave myself alone in the dark recesses of the beers, wines and spirits department, or in some quiet corner behind the shampoo and toothpaste section.

I had broken the cardinal rule of weekly food shopping, which was that one shouldn’t do it while hungry. Hence, by the time I had finished, I had a huge load of food that included, in addition to the ready meals, many things I didn’t really want or need, such as a large pack of freshly dressed Cornish crab, something that Amelia had absolutely loved but I was fairly indifferent towards. It was another example of me trying to make my life go on, if not quite as before, then in some sort of ‘normal’ fashion.

And it was not that I was unaccepting of the fact that Amelia had gone for good, it was more that I found some comfort in familiarity. To that end, I also bought some flowers to put in a vase on our hall table, as she had always done.

By the time I had put everything through the checkout and bagged it all up, it was getting dark outside. The clocks had now gone back and the long months of dark winter evenings had begun in earnest. How I wish I could have put the clocks back, not by just one single hour, but by two whole weeks, and thus prevented all this suffering.

I hung around in the well-lit entrance to the store until a group of other shoppers were also on the way out, and then I joined them as they walked back to their cars, keeping a keen lookout for any black Nissan lurking in dark corners of the car park.

Nothing happened and I managed to load everything onto the back seat of the Fiat without being attacked. But I was worried that getting it all out again safely at the other end might be a different matter. At home there would be no security in numbers.

I set off and thought about calling Nancy and asking her if she would come over and help me unload. Or would she think that I was a bit of a wuss, unable to carry a dozen or so shopping bags in on my own.

It would be completely insane for Joe to attack me, right?

Everyone would instantly know who was responsible, right?

It would be utter madness, right?

But I firmly believed that Joe was indeed mad.

So should I call Nancy?

Was it better to be a safe wuss or a brave corpse? Or was I just being over-dramatic?

All of these thoughts were going through my head as I drove out of Banbury.

Hanwell was to the right-hand side of the Warwick road, going north, and, whereas it had once sat isolated in the middle of the countryside, the village was now almost a part of Banbury itself.

Ever since Amelia and I had first arrived here just five or so years ago, the building of a thousand new homes on the northern edge of the town had gathered apace and now just a solitary green field stood between the new housing estates and the old village. It was only a matter of time, and a very short period of time at that, before the whole place was swallowed up by the tide of red brick sweeping up from the south. It was something we all, as village folk, were doing our best to resist, but with about as much chance of success as King Canute.

The closer I got to home, the more nervous I became, so I decided that I would call Nancy after all.

I reached down for my phone in the car’s central console at the same time as I was slowing down to turn right into the village.

Only then did I notice a pair of headlights coming up very fast behind me. It was sadly not an uncommon occurrence at this particular junction due to the speed de-restriction signs just a short distance before.

Stupid man , I thought, can’t he see that I’m indicating to turn right?

Only at the very last moment did it register in my crowded thinking that it wasn’t stupidity that was causing the lights not to slow down. It was a deliberate act and I should get out of the way.

But I was too slow. Much too slow.

Before I even had a chance to engage a gear, the vehicle behind ploughed into the back of Amelia’s car, shunting it forward fast across the road. The Fiat then hit the raised grass verge and took off.

My very last thought before the car hit the tree was that my neck had been broken before and it was about to happen again, and I really didn’t want to be paralysed from the shoulders down.

‘How are you getting on?’ asked Detective Sergeant Dowdeswell.

‘Slowly,’ I said. ‘Rehab is a very lengthy and painful process.’

‘But I see you’re now walking,’ he said.

There was no wheelchair.

‘After a fashion, but only with the help of these damn things.’ I indicated towards the pair of crutches that were leaning up against the wall to my side.

‘They might be a help,’ he said with a forced smile. ‘You may get more sympathy from the jury, and we could certainly do with all the help we can get.’

‘Why?’ I said with concern. ‘Don’t you think we have a strong case?’

‘I’ve seen much stronger cases than this fail before now. Most of what we have is only circumstantial. There’s not a lot of meat on the bones. It will all depend on how the jury react to it in its totality.’

I was sitting on a blue metal seat in the witness services suite of the Oxford Combined Court building. It was the third day of Joseph Bradbury’s trial and I had been summonsed to appear for the prosecution.

I thought back to all the things that had happened to me since I’d hit that tree in October.

There had been plenty of them.

My first sensation was an itch on the side of my nose.

I tried to move to scratch it but I couldn’t. Something seemed to be preventing my hands from working properly.

I began to panic.

Where was I?

In hospital , I thought. I could tell from the smell.

I’d been in hospitals before, too often, due to racing falls.

So where had I been riding this time? And on which horse?

I couldn’t remember. It seemed that it was not only my hands that weren’t working properly, my brain wasn’t either.

And the itch wouldn’t go away.

No matter. Amelia would be in to see me soon and she could scratch it, as she always did.

I opened my eyes.

Definitely a hospital. I could see privacy-curtain rails hanging from the ceiling and square lights. The curtains were pulled round my bed. Why did I need privacy?

I tried to turn my head to look at my right hand but it wouldn’t move either, and I realised that I was wearing a very tight surgical collar that was squeezing into my chin. That wasn’t a particularly good sign , I thought.

It must have been a heavy fall.

A face came into view looking down at me. Female, but not Amelia.

The face turned away briefly.

‘He’s awake.’

The face turned back to me.

‘We’ve been worried about you,’ she said. ‘Glad you’re back with us after so long.’