“What the f” – I rescinded the rest of the word so as not to be delayed by any objection the woman might raise – “what do you mean by that?”

“Mr Semple, this kind of situation is best handled face to face. That’s why we’ve been trying to ascertain your address, which doesn’t seem to be on here.”

My rage was growing nervous. “Which situation? Just tell me what you mean.”

“I’m sincerely sorry. I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”

“An accident.” When this prompted no expansion I said louder “Yes, go on.”

“The car the lady was travelling in.”

“With my father. He’s driving today.” If I thought this would bring more information or at least speed us past a delay, it appeared I was mistaken. “What about it?” I demanded.

“I’m afraid it was involved in a collision.”

“Oh God,” I heard myself say so conversationally that it sounded horribly uncaring. Had I witnessed the moment of the accident, when the phone had gone dead? Could I have been even slightly responsible for distracting my father? These thoughts were among the reasons why I found it suddenly so hard to speak. “How are they both?” I said.

Although the woman’s pause was brief, it left her words close to redundant. “I’m very sorry to have to tell you they’re gone.”

“Gone.” I didn’t want this expanded; my repetition felt like a pitiful bid to change its meaning. “Where are they?” I was scarcely aware of saying.

“Where you leave the motorway for New Brighton.” As though to head me off she said “We’ll send someone to you if you’ll give us your address.”

I did before covering my face with my hands. I felt as if the fingers clamped to my forehead were caging my brain, locking up its function. I couldn’t think what to do next, even to the extent of finishing the call, and so I heard a man in the background. “There were three of them,” he was insisting. “I don’t know if it was a man or a woman, but there was somebody else in that car.”

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Out of the Background

“At least they’ll be peaceful now, won’t they, dad? It’s all they can be.”

“Roy, perhaps we ought to be a little bit more careful of your father’s feelings.”

“Don’t worry, Julia. I mostly feel as if they haven’t quite caught up with me.”

“Do you think it will help to talk?”

Once upon a time I would have known if she meant this as an invitation. Not knowing whether she was telling me I shouldn’t talk about my parents reminded me how far apart we’d grown. “It might,” I said.

“Say whatever you need to say, Patrick,” Bella said. “We’re listening.”