‘Fate and retribution—aren’t they the same thing?’
‘No, they’re not,’ she said. ‘And you know it. None better. Fate you can’t control, can you? Retribution you can.’
‘God helps them that helps theirselves,’ he said.
‘He wasn’t going slow, was he? Police after him or not, he drove like a demon, always did. Came blinding round that bend, didn’t he? And you’d have said so. But when it come out that it was his own car, not stolen, no need for him to be driving fast—well, then it was going to be his word against yours, and you her Dad and the baby’s Grandad. With a doubt like that in their minds they’d never have dished him out a long sentence, they couldn’t. And what was a few months to that one? In and out of prison like a jack-in-the-box, his home away from home. That wasn’t going to be any punishment, that wasn’t going to be enough. You were going to have to take it into your own hands.’
They had come to her gate; it wasn’t very far—Jenny had been walking it that evening, pushing her baby in the pram. ‘She never did run into the road, did she?—poor little love. In the push-chair, like some of them gave evidence, only they all contradicted one another. In the push-chair—why would her mum be walking her home, that time of night? He came round the corner, didn’t he, driving like a maniac, as always; took the bend too sharp and just—just mowed them down.’
Two tears trickled down her withered old cheeks; she made no attempt to wipe them away, they were welcome there. Her thin fingers, noded like bamboo, rested on Evans’ heavy hand gripping tightly now on the steering wheel.
‘You’re safe with me, Bill. Nobody else will know. But I saw her go off with the baby in the push-chair, didn’t I? So I realised. You’re not so green as you’re cabbage-looking, old Bill, are you?—and you thought quick and acted quick; and all I’m saying is, right or wrong, you’re safe with me.’
‘I made up my mind,’ he said. He had switched off the engine; the car stood, an oasis of warmth and privacy, at the little gate. ‘All in a minute I made up my mind and I never changed it again and I haven’t changed it now. I had to make him pay, and anyone who couldn’t understand that—they didn’t see my pretty ones die; they didn’t hear them die.’
‘He’s paid,’ she said. ‘With his life.’
‘And with every hour to the end of his life,’ said Bill. ‘You should have seen his face when I said he was driving slow. What’s he up to, he was thinking to himself, he knows I wasn’t driving slow. And then when I said about—about the baby running to meet me, running out into the road! She was in her pram, he knew she’d been in her pram, Jenny was wheeling her in the pram, right on the verge, on the grass. So why was I saying different, why was I saving his neck? He was frightened then. But what was he to say? I’d got him trapped, hadn’t I—he couldn’t contradict me. Whatever way he played it, I’d gotten him trapped.’
‘That’ll be why he took the drink so much?’
‘That’s right. I couldn’t know what way it would take him, I just had to wait and hope that the chance would come. I wouldn’t want to get copped for it; for myself, I didn’t care—you can understand that, old lady, can’t you?—but there was the missis, and your boy, too, I wouldn’t want more pain for him. But Jellinks started drinking hard and I knew that was going to be a help—night after night, drinking himself silly to shut out the fear of the threat—he knew some threat was there and there was nothing he could do about it. Short of confessing to perjury, short of admitting to have killed them through reckless driving, what was he to do?’
‘He might have done that in the end. Rather have gone to prison.’
‘Even Jellinks wouldn’t like the sort of sentence that would have got him, him having perjured himself and all. And it wasn’t the first accident he’d had and he hadn’t stopped for the last one. But like you say, he might do it—I had to go careful. So I watched him. Night after night—the missis thought I was out alone somewhere, brooding. Well, so I was; but I was watching him. Out by the pub, sitting quiet in my car, watching out of the darkness, under the trees. Till I knew exactly, as time went by, how long he’d last before they chucked him out. And then one night, when things were right, I’d cop him. And so I did.’
‘All planned?’
‘Like I said,’ he said. ‘And nothing left to chance.’