Gillian Jackson - The Accident

Rosie took Hannah to collect her mobility car and, after a brief lesson from the mechanic at the garage, her friend sat with Hannah while she drove for the first time since the accident. It wasn’t easy but the desire to regain her independence spurred her on, to be able to ferry her children around once more and for them to rely on her rather than the other way around was her goal. Rosie encouraged and applauded her, insisting that they drove on the motorway, although not yet to the site of the accident, and it paid off.

After over an hour, Hannah’s confidence returned and she began to enjoy the feeling of being in control, even if the actual driving was different from what she was used to. She liked the car and found it easy to manage and had to admit that it was going to make her life so much easier, especially as she was back working full time again. Her car had been essential to her before the accident, but now that her mobility was impaired it was even more crucial; using a bus was now an impractical option, as walking to and from bus stops was difficult and even painful at times. Hannah would enjoy her regained self-sufficiency; it was one step more to living a ‘normal’ life again.

One of the first places Hannah visited in her new car was a solicitor’s office. With more than a little reluctance, Hannah had engaged the services of a local firm who had been recommended to her. She’d begun to accept that her marriage was over for good and there was no reason for her to contest the divorce. Mike was never coming back and she didn’t want to be stubborn simply out of spite.

Hannah found a parking space with relative ease, just a short walk from the solicitor’s office, which was housed in an old Victorian building, carved up into commercial units. Thankfully, Ms Emily Cowan had her office on the ground floor. As Hannah was early, she perched uncomfortably on one of the plastic bucket seats to await her appointment, listening to the high-pitched sing-song voice of the receptionist repeating the same sentence to every caller.

Eventually, Emily Cowan appeared in the doorway and invited Hannah into her office. A plush chair and air conditioning greeted her, a welcome relief on such a hot day. Emily Cowan was younger than Hannah had expected, mid-thirties she would guess, and she had rather pinched features, but her smile softened the effect.

‘Now then, Mrs Graham, I believe your husband has filed for divorce?’

Emily Cowan opened the conversation and got straight to the point. Hannah was relieved; Rosie had spent the last evening drumming instructions into her, the most important was to be succinct as solicitors charged by the hour and she was warned not to waste time with chit chat.

Hannah fumbled in her bag for Mike’s solicitor’s letter and handed it over. Emily Cowan skimmed the page and put it to one side, on top of a manila file — Hannah’s divorce file.

‘It’s pretty standard. As your husband admits to an affair it should be a straightforward case. Have you got your marriage certificate with you?’

‘Oh, no, I never thought...’

‘Well, if you could drop it into the office some time?’

‘Yes, of course, sorry.’ Hannah then listened to her solicitor outlining the process, and wondered how many times she had done this before. What a depressingly sad job. When it came to the matter of joint property and the financial settlement, Hannah explained that she didn’t want to ask for any more than what was reasonable. Mike had his new partner and a baby to consider and she was earning a good wage.

Emily Cowan looked up from her notes to stare at her new client, one eyebrow raised, and a look of surprise. She then commenced a little speech, one which she’d probably used several times before, about how Mike had had nearly twenty years of Hannah’s life, she had looked after him and their children, and now he was discarding her, with no more thought than if she was an old newspaper.

Hannah squirmed, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl but as she listened, she became increasingly irritated. This woman didn’t know what her marriage had been like; surely divorces were not ‘one size fits all’, were they?

‘Actually, I know all the clichés, the best years of my life and so forth, but this is how I want it to be, civilized, and I’d rather err on being generous, so that our children have a good example and don’t see their parents fighting over money.’

Why did everyone think life was all about money? Hannah had enough for her needs and always considered herself fortunate. Her dignity was more important than getting what she could from a settlement.

‘That’s fine then.’ Emily Cowan’s features again softened and she abandoned the stock speech. ‘You’re the client and I’m happy to do whatever you wish.’

The air had been cleared and Hannah remained only long enough to answer all the necessary questions which would allow her solicitor to respond to the petition, then she left, promising to drop in the marriage certificate the next day.

When she got home, Hannah opened her laptop and spent half an hour reading the Facebook page for Timmy’s Farm. She couldn’t help being impressed. It was packed with photographs showing the progress to date, a visual diary of just how busy Cassie and Alan Jones had been. What they’d achieved in just a few short months was amazing, and it was apparent that their home was ideally suited to the purpose they were working towards.

Being faced with the photographs of their son was, however, difficult for her. He was a smiling boy, face covered with freckles and a mass of red hair flopping into bright green eyes. He’d had everything to live for and should have had years of happiness ahead of him. Hannah fought back tears and the now familiar, unwelcome feeling of guilt which she still could not shake off. The decision of the coroner and the opinions of her family and friends all emphasized that her guilt was irrational but until she could remember the accident for herself, it would remain firmly lodged at the back of her mind.

But would she ever remember? Seeing Timothy, so vivacious and animated, it was difficult to believe that he was dead, and if she felt that way, then Hannah could only imagine the heartbreak his parents must be battling with each day.

Timothy’s love for animals was patently obvious; there were images of him with his chickens, apparently rescued battery hens, the pygmy goat called George and various other animals and birds. The Jones’s had certainly found a fitting project as a memorial to their son, and their hard work and dedication was evident in every photograph and post.

There were also accounts of others who had helped by donating money or by various practical means. Over ten thousand pounds had been raised by the pupils at Timothy’s school, through a sponsored walk, and they had pledged to hold at least one fundraising event each year to help the continuation of the work.

Hannah found all the accounts humbling and had no hesitation in turning to the ‘Just Giving’ page to make her own generous donation; she too felt the desire to support this amazing project which would be a living tribute to a remarkable young man. Seeing the photographs and reading the accounts not only inspired and humbled her, it gave pause for thought as to her own life since the accident. True, she had lost her leg, but not her life, her husband, but not her children. When dark moods and moments of self-pity crossed her mind, Hannah vowed to think of Timothy and his parents and be grateful for the blessings she still had.

DS Ted Armstrong was a tall, wiry man, about forty years old and almost completely bald. He arrived late morning on the day after his telephone call, alone, which surprised Joe, and with an easy, almost languid manner, he began to prise out the information he wanted.