He’s right, Anna can see that. She’s in an area of scrub that runs alongside the road, behind the bus stop. She shakes her head, not sure how much she wants to say to him, the blaze of the headlights still lingering in her mind.
‘I bet they thought you were dead,’ he says.
‘Maybe that’s why they did a runner. Could have been a drunk driver.’ The words stick to her tongue. This will be the moment he shows his contempt for her, for what he learned about her in the police interview.
‘Maybe,’ he says. Nothing else on the subject. ‘There’s some smashed glass there – the impact must have taken out their headlight. Not much for the police to go on.’
‘No police,’ Anna says.
‘But—’
‘No, I don’t want to speak to the police. I’ve talked to them enough today to last me a lifetime.’
Tom opens his mouth as if to argue, closes it again. Anna takes a couple more steps, surprised to find that most of her is still working, bruised as it might be. He keeps his hand held out to her as if worried she might fall at any moment.
‘So what do you want to do?’
‘I don’t know. I guess I want to go home,’ she says, laughing, though it’s a sound devoid of humour. ‘But I don’t have a home. Not anymore. I have an assortment of cardboard boxes somewhere, and a family that’s disowned me. So what I want to do now is to get to a station and from there to London, to the hostel where probation has booked me a place for the night, and then get some sleep. That’s as far as I can go right now.’
Tom shifts his weight backwards on to his heels, rocking slightly from side to side. His mouth twists. ‘A hostel?’
‘Yes, a hostel. They’ve done well to find me a place. Do you know how stretched resources are?’
‘Yes, true. It’s very late, though. There’s nowhere else you can go?’
‘There really isn’t,’ Anna says. ‘But it’s not your problem. I’ll sort myself out from here. Please stop fussing over me.’
‘I’m sorry . . .’
‘Don’t be sorry. I don’t need an apology. I need to sort myself out from here. Thank you for picking me up. And thank you for representing me earlier. You can go now, though. Your work here is done.’
With as much dignity as she can muster, Anna brushes down her jeans, dislodging various bits of earth and dead leaves that have stuck to her arse and her thighs. She looks around for her bag, gripped with a sudden fear that it might have been stolen in the drama, but it’s still lying by the pavement where she dropped it. She picks it up and settles herself down by the bus stop to wait.
‘What are you doing?’ Tom says. For a supposedly intelligent man, he’s slow on the uptake.
‘I’m waiting for the bus.’
‘I’m not letting you go off on your own,’ he says. ‘You’re not thinking straight. You might have a head injury.’
Anna puts her hand up instinctively to her head, traces the bump she can feel above her forehead. He’s probably right, but she’s finding it very hard to care. She just wants to get on to the bus and rest her face against the cold glass of the window.
Tom reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Anna lurches towards it again.
‘I’m not calling the police,’ he says. ‘I’m getting a taxi. You’re staying at my house tonight.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘What about the hostel? They’re expecting me.’
‘I’ll call them, let them know that your legal representative has made a new arrangement.’
He’s got an answer for everything. Anna looks at him closely, trying to make out his features in the dark. He’s keen to help. Instead of this making her trust him more, her suspicions harden. She can’t even be sure that someone has tried to run her down – she doesn’t have any clear memory of what happened. Even the details she thought she had are slipping away.
While this all loops round her mind, ever increasing circles of paranoia, Tom’s been tapping away at the screen of his phone. He could be contacting anyone. She scrabbles for her bag and moves away from him, ready to run.
‘What are you doing? I’ve got a taxi on the way,’ he says.
