“Don’t you worry, missus,” Tony said, taking over the chair and pushing up his garden path. “Derek will see to it.”
DEREK WAS WAITING ANXIOUSLY FOR HIS MOBILE TO RING WITH news from the hospital. He had been busy trying to clear people away from the accident so that the ambulance could get near, and he did not really know the details of who was hurt-or worse. He had seen three stretchers taken, and that was all.
He was keeping busy, helping out wherever it was needed, dismantling the straw bale barrier, taking down the ramp, collecting up notices and so on. “Heard anything yet?” John Thornbull shouted to him from his forklift truck. Derek shook his head. “I’ll let you know, boy,” he said.
Preying on his mind was the obvious question. Had the steering failed on Rebellion? He could not now remember whether or not he had asked John to check it. So much had been going on, and he had been required everywhere at once. The sensible thing to do would be to ask John right now, when he was there in front of him.
“John!” he shouted. “Can you come down here a minute?”
They stood by the half-dismantled ramp and John thought hard. “I couldn’t swear to it,” he said, “but I don’t think you asked me. I know I didn’t look at it, and I think I would’ve if you’d asked. But honestly, Derek, there were people firing questions at me from all sides and I really can’t remember. Do you think that’s why the box went into the crowd?”
Derek frowned. “I’m not sure, of course,” he said, “but it was just at the time there was a scuffle on the edge of the track and a straw bale went crooked, leaving a gap. Seems a bit of a coincidence. We shall know a bit more when Lois rings, I hope.”
A man Derek recognized as a local journalist approached. “Can I have a word, Mr. Meade?” he said. “Just a few details to add to my paper’s big feature about the grand prix.”
Oh God, thought Derek. I know exactly what he wants to ask. “What can I tell you?” he said as pleasantly as he could. No point in antagonising the press.
“It was the accident that occurred in the final. Do you know who got hurt? A young boy driving, I believe? And two other men? Do you have their names?”
Derek shook his head. “Sorry, no, I don’t. I am waiting for a call from my wife. She took the mother of the boy to hospital.”
At this point, Derek’s mobile rang. “Excuse me,” he said, and walked away, up the garden path and into the bungalow. The old lady who lived there beckoned him in, and shut the door firmly in the journalist’s face.
“Lois? Thank God you’ve rung. What’s the news?” He dare not phrase the question he wanted to ask. Is Jack Jr. dead? But then he didn’t have to, because Lois told him the good news that he was hurt but alive, and so was his father, who had been in the crowd, disguised as a woman!
“And the other bloke?”
There was a pause, and then Lois cleared her throat. “Didn’t make it, I’m afraid. He hit his head when he fell. But there was something dodgy about him. It seems he had a knife and had gone for Jack’s father. Lucky that Rebellion went into the crowd just at that moment and stopped him. I gather he’d intended to kill.”
“Blimey! Looks like it’s more complicated than we thought.”
“I’m just leaving now. Jack’s dad has to stay in overnight, so I’m bringing Paula and Frankie, and Josie, back home.”
“And young Jack?”
“He has to stay for a while until they’re sure he’s okay to release.”
“Sounds like prison,” Derek said, without thinking.
Again a pause from Lois. “That might happen,” she said, and rang off.
CECILIA WAS SAFELY ASLEEP IN BED, AND GAVIN AND KATE SAT with a drink in hand watching the local news.
“Here we go,” said Kate, as the announcer said that a successful day in Long Farnden had been marred by an accident resulting in three people being taken to hospital. Luckily, they had some good shots of the soap boxes in action before the final race, and a great one of Mrs. Tollervey-Jones spurring on Jam & Jerusalem as she careered round the corner by the green. Then there was a shot of Rebellion turning off course and screams and shouts as the crowd tried to escape.
“Pity we can’t see exactly what happened,” Gavin said, leaning forwards to look more closely. “Mrs. T-J is in the way.”
“It still looks grim,” Kate said. “Perhaps they’ll tell us who was hurt, and how badly.”
But the item ended there, with no further details of names or the condition of the people involved.
The phone rang, and Kate went to answer it. “Josie? Are you back home?”
Josie explained she had just got in, and was ringing to say she’d picked up an evening paper in the hospital and had some news that might interest them.
“How’s the boy?”
“Ah, it’s not about the accident. But young Jack is okay, and so is his father.”
“His father?”
Josie gave her a brief account of their meeting in the hospital, and then said again that she had something else to tell them. She knew Paula Hickson had talked to Lois about things that had happened in the past, and this had something to do with where she worked once as a catering assistant.
Kate’s heart stopped. The construction development company and Tim Froot. She had forgotten all about him for one whole day.
“It’s about that building business in Tresham. You know that Dutch one? I think you said Gavin used to work there?”
“Me, too,” said Kate. “What’s the story?”
“Gone bust,” said Josie. “The boss is up for fraud and embezzlement, trafficking and God knows what else. They arrested him yesterday. Kate? Are you still there?”
SIXTY-TWO
JACK JR. HAD PLENTY OF TIME TO THINK WHAT HE WOULD SAY when the police asked him questions. It had been agreed that in view of the trauma he must have suffered, they would try to keep him resting and quiet over Sunday, and begin their questioning on Monday. He went along with this, sure that they would want his account of what had happened. He had no intention of telling them the truth, which was that he had steered straight at his and his father’s enemy, with the intention of seriously harming him. He knew he had succeeded, although when he asked the nurses they just flaffed about, not telling him.
Now, bright and early on Monday morning, he was ready for them. He had remembered that stuff about the steering not being right. The man from the garage had said so to Derek Meade, and he’d said John Thornbull would take a look at it. But had he? Jack had hardly left Rebellion’s side all day, until the final race had ended. He could not remember anybody looking closely at the steering, or anything else on the box, for that matter. If anybody had asked him about the steering, he would have denied that there was anything wrong with it. He knew it was perfect.
He helped himself to an apple from a bowl of fruit the nurses had brought him, and continued to think. He thought of possible answers to questions that were certain to be asked. It might be a good thing to blame the steering, and get Mr. Meade and John Thornbull to support him. Yes, that would be best.
To the nurse who had just come on duty, he smiled sweetly. He was determined now to get out of this place as soon as possible. He was fed up with the parents of screaming kids who looked across at him, all alone and without visitors, and came over to be nice to him. Little did they know, he thought, that he had ordered his mother to stay away and look after the others, and his father was still having tests somewhere else in this great rabbit warren of a hospital.
He needed to plan. With any luck he would be allowed home today or tomorrow, and then there would be a while before they would expect him back at school.