A Question of Guilt(89)

Porton it was then. I racketed on, checking my mirror every few seconds to make sure Josh wasn’t following me, and expecting to reach a junction with the main road around every bend. But I didn’t come across one, only high hedges on each side of the lane and turnings that didn’t look as if they led anywhere. Panic began to stir inside me once more, reducing me to a quivering wreck.

I was lost. Hopelessly lost. I’d have to risk stopping somewhere to programme the satnav. But I didn’t dare pull into a gateway; if Josh was following me he could box me in and I’d be trapped. I ground to a halt right in the middle of the lane, took Dawn’s diaries out of my bag and thrust them out of sight under the passenger seat. As a hiding place it wasn’t great, but if Josh did catch up with me, I didn’t want to hand them to him on a plate. Then I grabbed the satnav to programme in Porton.

It was then that I noticed the fuel gauge was flashing a warning, and my heart sank. Why, oh why, hadn’t I filled the tank yesterday? Now I wasn’t sure I’d make it all the way to town before it ran out. What the hell was I going to do?

Jeremy. Out of the maelstrom of my racing thoughts he popped into my mind like the answer to a prayer. Jeremy wouldn’t let Josh do me harm. Jeremy would know what to do.

Home was already programmed into the satnav; I punched it in. Once I was on familiar roads I could easily find Jeremy’s farm. Then, while I was waiting for the satnav to work out where I was and give me instructions, I fumbled in my bag for my mobile. Thank goodness I’d put Jeremy’s number into the directory when he’d been ferrying Mum and me to the hospital to see Dad. I clicked on it and waited for what seemed interminable moments while it connected, then rang.

Please, please don’t let it go to voicemail. Please let him have it by his bed and switched on . . .

‘Hello?’ Jeremy sounded puzzled and a bit sleepy, but at least he’d answered!

‘Jeremy!’ My voice was shaking with relief as well as tension. ‘Oh, I’m really sorry . . . at this time of night . . . but please . . .’

‘Sally? Is that you? What on earth . . .?’

‘I have Dawn’s diary,’ I gabbled. ‘The last one before she died. And I’m in shock. Look . . . I’m on my way now . . .’

‘On your way where?’

‘To you.’ I was checking my mirror all the while – no lights yet – but I was afraid to delay here any longer. ‘I can’t talk now, but I really have to see you.’ The satnav had planned a route; it was there on the screen in front of me. Unbelievably I was only a few miles from home. ‘I’ll be there in about ten minutes,’ I added, and disconnected. Then, still shaking from head to foot, I stuck the gear lever into ‘drive’ and sped away.

In no time flat I was in familiar territory and had no more need of the satnav. I could scarcely believe I’d been lost so close to home, but I suppose at night all lanes look alike, and in my panic I’d been heading cross-country without realizing it.

I reached the entrance to Jeremy’s farm and turned into it – a wide private road with his fields, which would soon be planted with barley and sweetcorn, on either side. Then I turned off on the track that led to the barn he’d converted into a residence for himself. Lights were burning at the small, evenly spaced windows, and a larger rectangle of light showed the front door, standing open. As I drew up, Jeremy came out to meet me. He was wearing a thick Aran jersey and jeans – presumably he’d got dressed after taking my phone call.

‘Sally!’ he greeted me. ‘What on earth is wrong?’

‘I . . .’ Words failed me.

‘Come on, let’s get you inside.’ Jeremy helped me out of the car, and, not bothering with my crutches, supported me to the front door.

‘I think a stiff drink is called for. No . . . don’t even try to talk until you’ve had one.’

‘I really don’t want . . .’

‘You, young lady, will do as you are told.’

The barn conversion had been very tastefully done, the vast interior kept as an open-plan living and dining room, with the kitchen, also open-plan, on a little mezzanine above it. There was a central log-burning stove, its chimney creating a focal point to the room, a glass dining table and chairs of a modern geometric design, and leather armchairs and sofas in natural shades. Had I not been so preoccupied I might have thought it looked like a show house; as it was, I was simply glad to be here, and safe.

Jeremy installed me on one of the dining chairs – easier for me than the soft, deep sofas, and poured me a whisky.