Comeuppance

 

Comeuppance

 

One

 

 

 

“For Christ’s sake, it’s about bloody time!” Tara Carrington-Westwood spat the words as she looked at the TAG heuer on her slender wrist.  Tom Carrington-Westwood pulled the key from the front door and pushed it shut with his foot, “leave it open, I’m late as it is!” Tara rummaged frantically in her small clutch bag.

 

“Sorry, there was a pile-up on the motorway this afternoon,   three dead by the time I left the hospital, and some who won’t make–”

 

“You knew I was meeting Samantha tonight” she cut him off.  “We’ve got to book the hotel rooms in Rome yet”  Tara still looked fantastic, the pencil skirt and scarlet silk blouse showed off her slim figure and framed her white skin and long jet black hair perfectly, she could easily knock ten to fifteen years off her forty-five years.  She wobbled on the door mat while she slipped on her four inch black patent stilettos.

 

Tom admired the killer finishing touch to his wife’s outfit.

 

“I don’t know how you can drive in those things, you should keep some flat shoes in the car for driving.”  Tara straightened up and smoothed her skirt, she looked Tom right in the eye.

 

“It’s easy darling, the one on the right makes it go; the one on the left makes it stop. Even you could do it.” Her scarlet lips smiled but her eyes definitely did not. Tara could do sarcasm to Olympic standard.

 

Tom felt the familiar tide of anger rise from the pit of his stomach and took a deep breath to head it off.

 

“I said I was sorry for being late, but I am the A&E consultant- I can’t just up and leave in the middle of an incident” Tom tried to placate Tara once again, just as he had many times over the last decade but deep within he knew the attempt was futile.

 

“You may be the A&E consultant but you are not the only doctor, get an underling to do some bloody work-delegate!

 

Tom had tried to explain to Tara umpteen times that it just doesn’t work like that, he didn’t work like that. He went into medicine to help people, to make a difference.  Tara just saw medicine as a way for Tom to make enough money to keep her.

 

“Make yourself useful and get my leather coat from the cloakroom” Tara pushed Tom in the direction of the cloakroom.

 

Tom went to the small room just off the hallway and picked up one of Tara’s coats.

 

“For Christ’s sakes the leather one, the leather one!”

 

Tara swept the knee-length leather coat from Tom’s arm and tossed it over her own.

 

“You’ll have to get yourself something to eat, Sara and I have eaten already, don’t wait up”

 

With a flick of her long hair she turned on her heel and went out of the door pulling it hard shut behind her.

 

 

 

Tom stood alone in the hallway, out on the drive Tara’s Jaguar XK snarled into life and began to move almost immediately, the wide tyres chewing up the gravel as the car accelerated out onto the road and into the early evening sunlight.  Somewhere upstairs the methodical thump, thump, thump of drum and bass music betrayed the presence of a teenager in the house.

 

 

 

Tara had not always been the person Tom was now married to, at first Tom had been happy and so had Tara.  Life looked good for both, Tom was a talented young man in medical school and Tara had encouraged, persuaded, pestered and eventually pushed Tom to further his career.  Looking back Tom could now see that while Tara had not exactly thrown herself at him she had not exactly played hard to get either.  She had spotted her chance to bag a big earner.

 

Born plane Tara Westwood it was her who suggested double-barreling the names to befit her new status as the wife of a successful medical professional, Tom had to keep moving on in medicine to keep up with Tara’s demands for the bigger house, the new car, the designer clothes.  He had made consultant early on but it had come at a price- he was worn out, he needed to pause.  Tom had become aware that he was concentrating on moving on in medicine simply to earn more money and not for the fact of helping people.  Just earning big bucks was not Tom’s primary driver, but it was Tara’s and when, some years ago, Tom had expressed a desire to ease up and concentrate more on the human angle Tara had seen her pursuit of gain come under threat .  She had become more and more bitter as time went by.  Disappointment had eaten into her.  She had no doubt thought about leaving but she was not as young as she used to be.

 

 

 

 

 

Two

 

 

 

Four-year old Millie Price trundled along the pavement on her tricycle.  Her fine baby blonde hair floated in the warm evening air and her pink gingham dress flapped as her chubby thighs pumped the pedals around.  Behind her the little girl’s mother smiled as the child weaved around, carefree.  Millie glanced over her shoulder and the tricycle began to veer towards the low curb, it was only a couple of inches high but enough to upset an unstable tricycle, any mother could predict tender young skin coming into contact with rough tarmac.

 

“Can we get some sweets mummy?”

 

“Look where you’re going Millie!”

 

Millie over corrected her course with typical childhood enthusiasm and headed towards the wide grass verge instead.

 

“We’ll see, you’ll be tired after the park” the distant sound of the village children playing on the open green park just around the corner drifted on the still summer air.  Another sound cut through the summer air but this one was angry, aggressive, menacing - the sound of a powerful car accelerating hard away from the junction by the park, unease mounted as the seamless change of an automatic gearbox brought the still unseen danger ever closer.

 

“Keep in Millie!” the next second in time was one second that would live with the little girl’s mother for the rest of her life; time could not dim nor erase nor heal.  The sudden change in tone from open throated engine roar to screeching tyres told her that the driver had made a serious error of judgment when approaching the corner, the angle of attack, the attitude of the car, the direction of travel were all clearly very wrong.  The front nearside headlight caught Millie Price square in the chest sending her flying backwards through the air, the tricycle gamboled across the lane losing pieces of plastic seat as it went, finally coming to rest in the hedge on the other side of the lane.  The black monster slid sideways on the wide grass verge as it slowed almost to a standstill. A pause, then it spat grass and dirt as the engine roared again and the huge car moved back onto the tarmac and sped away.

 

 Millie Price’s chubby leg twitched involuntarily.

 

 

 

 

 

Three

 

 

 

Samantha Wilkinson sat in the fifteenth-century King’s Head gastro pub. She delicately sipped white wine from the slender glass and left almost no trace of lipstick behind, she replaced the glass on the small circular oak table.  From her vantage point in the leather wing-back armchair she could scan a good section of the car park through the small panes of the uneven window.  She had picked this table not only for its strategic value but because it had only two chairs around it, any predatory males would hopefully think that the unoccupied chair was soon to be filled by a  male companion who was temporarily at the bar or toilet.  Samantha’s agile mind was a match for any man that approached her, but sometimes she just wasn’t in the mood for the games and sitting at the bar or a table with more than two chairs was like putting up a sign saying ‘I’m alone’.

 

She checked the car park again, then checked the large round station clock on the wall against the watch on her wrist. Tara was running late. Not to worry, she rubbed her back into the leather, and breathed out deeply. A bead of condensation rolled down the outside of the wineglass.

 

Suddenly Tara came tottering across the front of the window from right to left, Samantha had seldom seen Tara move in such a way – normally Tara’s actions were always refined and dignified – she did not ‘totter’

 

Samantha’s gaze snapped to the door expecting Tara to come crashing through – nothing happened, she waited.  Finally the dark Oak door calmly opened and Tara appeared looking every inch composed and together.  Samantha raised her hand and gave a little wave to attract Tara’s attention; Tara crossed the room and gave Samantha a smile.

 

“Hello darling, you’re running a little late, I thought you had stood me up, where’s your car I didn’t see you come in.”

 

Samantha nodded towards the window.

 

“Car? No, er…” wrong footed Tara took a moment to gather herself. “I parked over at the far end of the car park, such a lovely evening I thought I would have a little walk”

 

Samantha’s brow furrowed as she digested this thinnest of excuses

 

“Wha..?”

 

“I’ll just get a wine then we can talk holidays” Tara span around and headed for the bar.

 

 

 

 

 

Four

 

 

 

The telephone was unwelcome intrusion into Tom’s world of sleep; he struggled to focus on the alarm clock display.  The telephone would not be ignored

 

“Hello” Tom’s croaky voice answered the call

 

“Hello Tom, sorry to call so early but we’ve got a few situations starting down here” the voice on the other end was Simon Jones, Tom’ right hand man at the hospital. “One of the cases from the motorway crash has deteriorated, and a young child involved in a hit and run last night is critical, we could use your input.

 

Tom glanced at the empty space beside him.

 

 

 

 

 

Tom got up and showered and shaved quickly, dressed and got a slice of toast and a large glass of orange juice, he went quickly upstairs to Sara’s room and poked his head around the door.  The lump in the bed moved slightly and the sound of a deep intake of breath broke the silence.

 

“Sara, I’ve got to go into the hospital early, are you OK on your own for a while?”

 

The meaning of the grunt that came back was impossible to translate but Tom took it as a yes.

 

“OK then, see you later”

 

He rushed downstairs and grabbed his car keys, then opened the front door onto a cool fresh morning. He was surprised to see Tara’s car on the drive, parked well over towards the bushes at the side of the driveway, the front almost in the bush.   He hadn’t seen Tara in the house but he hadn’t looked- it was a large house and he didn’t have time to look for her now.  Maybe she had fallen asleep on the sofa.

 

 

 

Tara sat alone in the quiet early morning gloom of the large family room, the sound of Tom’s car leaving the driveway faded into the distance. Lucky Tom had not come into the room as he was in a rush to get to work, she pulled the local phone book out from under the cushion where she had hidden it when she heard Tom come downstairs and flicked through the pages.

 

“Ah here we are,car body repairs” she muttered under her breath.

 

Tara made a mental note of the address of the garage, she roughly knew the area. The satnav would find it.  She went upstairs and showered and changed her clothes; she put on the minimum make-up to be presentable to the world. She doubted that she would meet anyone she knew where she was going.

 

A quick word to Sara and then she jumped into her car and headed for the garage.

 

 

 

 

 

Five

 

 

 

“Ah Tom, sorry to drag you in” Simon slurped loudly on his steaming mug of tea, “the guy from the motorway pile-up died about 30 minutes ago, you know, head and chest injuries, severe trauma lower left leg” he blew on his tea.

 

“Yes I remember” Tom flopped down in the chair next to Simon.

 

“Well don’t make yourself comfortable, we’ve got a young girl knocked down by a hit and run, we patched her up not expecting her to last too long but she is still with us but I don’t know for how much longer, she’s going downhill.”  Simon picked up a bunch of papers from his lap and thrust them at Tom.  Tom studied the medical notes; they made depressing reading.

 

“We’d better get started then,” said Tom hauling himself to his feet.

 

 

 

Tom arrived back home exhausted in every way.  Tara’s car was on the drive but parked normally. Tom went into the house and found Tara in the kitchen; he could tell her mood was not good.  She banged a cast-iron saucepan down on the black granite worktop.

 

“Hello, you’re back then” as soon as the words left his mouth he suspected Tara would take them as sarcasm. “I mean I saw your car on the drive this morning but I didn’t see you.”

 

Tara threw the contents of a jar of red wine sauce in the saucepan.  Some splashed over the black granite.

 

“Well, I was here, obviously”

 

“Why was your car parked with the front in the bush? I hope you only had one small wine”.

 

Tara slammed the empty jar down so hard it was a wonder it didn’t break.

 

“Yes, mother, I only had one”

 

Tara dumped the saucepan down heavily on the gas Aga and lit the largest ring full blast.  The noise rattled Tom’s nerves

 

“You’ll break the saucepan or the pot supports doing that; they are cast iron and very brittle.”

 

“Thanks for the bloody science lesson”

 

“So why park like that?”

 

“For crying out load Tom, you’re as nosey as that bloody mechanic…”

 

“What mechanic?” Tom could tell something was on Tara’s mind; this more than just normal bad mood.

 

“Some idiot knocked my headlight out last night in the pub car park, I had to go and get that fixed today and some greasy mechanic just kept asking questions, how did you do this?, have you hit an animal? there’s blood here ,I can’t see any other paint colours, blah,blah,blah ” Tara yanked open the cupboard door and threw the empty jar into the waiting gape of the bin, red wine sauce splatted up the inside of the door and the bin lid.  “I was supposed to be going shopping with Alice. It messed up my whole day, so if you’re just going to question me all night why don’t you just bugger off back to the hospital?”  She slammed the cupboard door.  Tom could not let this one go.

 

“You’ve had a bad day? You’ve had a bad day?  I’ll tell you something about a bad day Tara Carrington-bloody-Westwood! Do you know what I’ve been doing all day?  putting metal plates and pins into a four-year-old girls’ chest, trying to save her punctured lung and picking glass out of her smashed-in face. And was it a successful day? No it wasn’t! Do you know why? Because she died Tara, she bloody died!

 

Tara looked more shocked than Tom was expecting, maybe he had got through to her finally.

 

“A little girl…died?”

 

“Some idiot hit-and-run speeding driver ran off the road and hit the kid on her trike, then just drove off, can you even begin to image what dark place her parents are in?  Can you begin to image how their day has gone?  You have everything Tara, and yet you act like a cow, you should be thankful for what you have because it can all change in an instant.

 

The chime of the doorbell cut into the stunned silence.

 

Sara came clattering down the stairs.

 

“I’ll get it, it’ll be for me!”

 

The sound of muffled voices could be heard from the front door.

 

“Mum, there are two police officers at the door; they want to speak to you.

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2016

Rob Powell.