Lucy is looking at her, worry written on her face.
‘I was in prison for drink-driving,’ Anna says. ‘I got involved in an accident. My nephew was in the car.’ She stops, takes a deep breath. ‘They said he might never walk again.’
Lucy reaches her uninjured hand out towards Anna, puts it on her shoulder. Pulls her in for a hug. Anna is rigid at first, full defence mode, expecting any moment for the warmth to disappear, for the impact of her words to hit and for Lucy to reject her. But she doesn’t. The girl stands there, holding her close in a one-armed embrace, and the last of Anna’s defences melt. She collapses on the younger woman’s shoulder, sobbing.
It’s not long, though, before she pulls herself together. ‘OK. Let’s call Rachel.’
Lucy nods. ‘Can you speak to her? My head is killing me.’ She hands her phone to Anna, along with a scrap of paper Rachel had given them with her number. Anna makes the call.
‘There’s been an accident. You need to collect Lucy – she’s hurt.’
At last they get to the Travelodge by the services. Every part of her aches from supporting Lucy there. She doesn’t want to think about how much pain Lucy is in.
She gets to reception and requests a room, using Lucy’s credit card. Once secured, she collects Lucy, smuggling her past the receptionist so he won’t see the state of her, although the man couldn’t be less interested.
‘It’s not actually broken,’ Lucy says. ‘The pain is all right. I’m coming with you.’
Anna looks at her, at the tense set of her jaw, the sweat and dirt smeared across her face. ‘Rachel is on the way,’ she says. ‘It’s all sorted. You’ve got her number. You call her, you tell her where you are. She’ll be with you by tomorrow. You know I need to get up north fast, find out what the hell is happening with Marie.’
Lucy nods. She’s sitting on the bed now, her back propped against the headboard. Anna fusses round her arm, propping a pillow up underneath it.
‘Is that better?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘Write your number down for me – I’ve got a phone. I’ll take Rachel’s number too.’
She throws pen and paper to Lucy, who scrawls the digits down for her. It’s not ideal using Kelly’s phone, but Anna doesn’t have any choice. At least it’s still there, buried in her bag.
‘Now go,’ Lucy says. ‘I’ll be fine.’
Anna isn’t convinced, but there’s no choice. She looks back once at Lucy, grits her teeth, and leaves.
52
It’s easier to find a ride than she’d anticipated. She persuades a lorry driver for Rannoch Fisheries with an Inverness address on the side of his truck that there’s nothing he’d like more than to drive her back up to Scotland with him, reassured by his Aran jumper and avuncular face. He looks a safe bet, though she reminds herself again about appearances. It’s only when they’re safely sitting in the cab of the truck, breathing in the fumes of smoked fish, his usual cargo, that she stops to think about the confession she’s made to Lucy.
Forgiveness. Learning to forgive yourself and others. The core lesson of successful rehabilitation, the aspect of society that’s most lacking. Why should society take it easy on her, though? She’ll never allow herself to forget what she did, the damage that she’s caused.
‘You’re lucky you didn’t get caught up behind that crash,’ the lorry driver says. He’s been silent until now, but he’s obviously feeling more comfortable with his passenger.
‘What crash?’
‘Apparently there’s been a smash on the section leading up the exit by the services. Stationary car on the hard shoulder, hit by another. Lucky only two cars were involved, but it’s caused a hold-up.’
‘Christ.’
‘Yep. Not great. Those smart motorways have got a lot to answer for.’
‘Awful. How do you know about it? Is it on the radio?’ She glances over at the stereo, which has been burbling out pop at a low volume.
‘Mate of mine stuck in the jam behind it.’
‘Any idea why the car would have stopped?’
‘Who knows? All sorts can cause an engine to cut out.’
‘I don’t know anything about cars really,’ she says with a giggle, trying not to despise herself too much. ‘What kind of thing do you think would be most likely? A tyre bursting?’
