Thanks to those who read and especially to my kind reviewers. Before anyone is driven to freeze frame 1.1 wondering if they missed a character - no you didn't, this one of my OC inventions.
A Police Station somewhere in Liverpool approx 11.00am
The elderly woman, whose wispy unbrushed grey hair and tear blotched face, the outward indications of her confused, woebegone state, was still shuddering at the memory. The policewoman who sat with her had been professionally kind, uttered soothing words while explaining to her that her statement would help in tracing the culprits, but not even that typical British cure for all problems, a hot sweet cup of tea, could banish the memory of the explosion, the heat and noise, the flying shards of metal followed by the eerie, suddenly silenced scream of the child. The information elicited from her through careful patient questioning was now officially preserved in cold stark words upon the paper placed in front of her. Here in neat precise black typewritten characters lay the clinical description of death: the destruction of a family. Her dazed eyes roamed around the room as she sat, cocooned in a state of total disbelief: not simply that this had happened, but that it had happened in her quiet suburban street. Then half an hour ago the news had been broken, gently, but nonetheless devastatingly, that Karen Lynott was dead. As the tears had fallen she'd nerved herself to ask in a wavering voice about the fate of the child. Nothing definite she was told, but Mavis picking up on the momentary pause, followed by the warily neutral tone with which this non information was delivered, divined that the gravest of fears were entertained for Sarah. Surely no: not little Sarah, so sweet, so pretty, so lively and only seven years old. Fumbling ineptly with her chunky fawn coloured cardigan, ancient and bobbled - thrown on carelessly with a view to doing her housework, a few minutes before the anticipated mundane day had transformed itself into a real time horror movie - she leaned forward to read the translation of her experience.
Now encapsulated in formal prose as she scanned this bland description she scarcely recognised the nightmare that the interviewer had teased out of her. These were not the words she'd muttered in barely coherent sentences as she'd been forced to relive, second by second, the hardly believable events of the morning. Mavis understood that due to her continually welling eyes and the frequent bouts of shivering, through which the lingering shock had continued to manifest itself, she'd been in no condition to write down her own version of the explosion or its equally hideous aftermath, but this! These were the words of a robot, immune to all emotional impact. Blunted, shorn of any hint of feeling and impersonal. In no conceivable way did this matter of fact account come close to reflecting the raw terror that continued to dominate her memory.
Witness Statement of Mrs Mavis Riley.
I reside at No 12 Waverley Avenue, Allerton, Liverpool on the opposite side of the road to the Lynott family. On the morning of 2 May at around 7.10am I noticed a dustman in the street. Normally the bin collection takes place later in the day. Because of this I went to put my rubbish bag out. As I was doing so I noticed the man who I thought was a dustman walk past the Lynott's house carrying a black plastic bag which he placed on a pile with some others. He was wearing a high visibility jacket and dark clothing. As he walked down the road away from the Lynott's house I saw Dr Karen Lynott come out of their house dressed for work. She was carrying her handbag. She entered her car, registration number M216 CPV. She was preparing to leave when her husband, Dr Michael Lynott and their two daughters, Sarah and Clare Lynott came of out the front door. I think Dr Karen Lynott said something to them but I was too far away to hear the actual words. Leaving the two girls standing in the doorway porch Dr Michael Lynott moved towards the car and seemed to look underneath it. He said something to his wife and then moved away back into the porch area of their property. I watched as Dr Karen Lynott reversed out of the drive and then begin to manoeuvre the vehicle into the road. As she did so Sarah Lynott ran after the car. Sarah continued to follow it, waving to her mother. As Dr Karen Lynott backed the car out of the drive I noticed that the man I'd believed to be a refuse collector was still walking down the road although no dustbin lorry was present. I saw him light a cigarette and turn around as Dr Lynott began to drive down the street. As she passed the red car belonging to Mr William Deves, which was parked as usual on the roadside, there was a loud explosion. The noise and dust made me close my eyes for a moment. When I reopened them the red car was wrecked and lying upside across the road. Dr Lynott's car was still turning over and over. I did not count the number of times it turned but it finally stopped on its roof. I heard the little girl scream as the car exploded and I saw metal pieces flying across the road. I do not know if any struck Sarah Lynott but I subsequently saw her lying unconscious on the road. The dustman who had been facing the car as it exploded turned his back and walked away down the road away from the destroyed cars and the Lynott's house. A white car that was parked further down the road then drove away. I think the man I saw in the street was sitting in the back of the white car. It had two occupants in the front, a man and a woman but I would be unable to recognise them again. As far as I know the white car I saw does not belong to anyone who lives in the street. I saw no one else in the street during the time described other than Dr Michael Lynott and the two children.
Picking up the pen strategically placed beside the statement Mrs Riley signed her name and leaned back, exhausted and still incredulous. Reading the document had forced her to relive the events as detailed and she began to shiver once more, crossing her arms, as if to protect herself from the reality, as she rocked her thin body back and forth hugging her silent grief. Quietly the policewoman picked up the paper and handed it to her colleague who scanned it, and then with a small nod of satisfaction promptly exited in a swirl of activity. Before Mavis could bring herself to ask what would happen next the policewoman who'd been looking after her was beckoned out of the room by a colleague. Mavis, even in the midst of her self absorbed sorrows, registered the low buzz of conversation on the other side of the door, followed by the clipping sound of the policewoman's shoes, signalling her return. Wordlessly a further document was placed in front of her. Wiping her eyes she cast a puzzled face towards her companion and then, starting at the sudden unexpected sound of the door clanging open, turned to note the entrance of another, hitherto unseen, individual. Male, plain clothes and imbued with an unmistakable aura of authority. Unlike the officers she'd been nursemaided by to date he didn't bother to introduce himself. Despite this omission, Mavis, whose sole acquaintanceship with the interior workings of the law - until today- had been via multiple TV dramas, assumed he was a plain clothes officer.
She wasn't destined to be enlightened, even though, after clearing his throat, he addressed her solemnly, in a manner more suited to a public information meeting. "I would like to thank you for your help Mrs Riley. Your statement was very clear and has helped us greatly. Unfortunately I have to inform you that it would seem that this explosion was not the result of a faulty petrol tank as first assumed, but a deliberate attempt to murder by bomb. Under these circumstances I must ask you to sign this."
Looking at the paper presented to her red raw eyes Mavis saw that it was headed 'Official Secrets Act'. The rest consisted of jargon, making wordy demands that she could barely comprehend. "But," she began, "who would want to kill Dr Lynott, she was such a lovely woman and the little girl as well?" As the slow silent tears resumed she was struggling to take in the enormity what she was being told. She thought she saw sympathy in the faces in front of her, but she also saw something else, officialdom presenting a united front. 'Why do I have to sign this?" she persisted. She really didn't understand, surely it was important to warn people so this didn't happen again.
The male officer looked impatient but the policewoman spoke gently. 'We don't know who or why but if the press find out that this was a bomb they may print information that will prevent us from investigating properly."
"But wouldn't that help to find out. I'm sure that people would want to help. She's such a lovely woman, they are …." Halting as she remembered the suddenly changed circumstances, "were such a lovely family."
Lovely, lovely, blasted, exploded, injured, who, who, why.
The mantra ran on a permanent loop in her mind and speech. The visions scarred into her brain as she babbled endlessly, as if by talking it out she could return to the safe world she'd known, "and Dr Lynott she'd help anyone, and they were such a happy family, the little girls so bright and lively... he's such a nice man, always speaks, no one would want them dead, why would they..."
As she continued to vent her shock in endless repetition, policewoman shook her head and indicated to her unempathic superior that this might be best left to her. With just the two of them in the room she sat opposite Mavis and waited until the babbling ceased and the tears began to slow.
Choosing her words carefully she tried to comfort and inform. "I'm sure that people would but sometimes we need to select who we ask. And occasionally the press get things wrong." Leaving a short pause for thought she continued, "You've had a bad shock. Do you have anyone you can stay with for a few days, just while we investigate?"
Mavis considered for a moment. Probably her bossy younger sister would let her visit. Cast adrift mentally by the horrors she'd witnessed Joan's certainty and usual determination to relieve Mavis of the necessity for thinking, would, for once, be welcome. Joan ran a small bed and breakfast business and often needed help, and Mavis was always happy to lend a hand. A few days of being useful while she recovered was an appealing prospect.
"My sister lives in the Wirral. I could stay with her but I've no clothes and ..." at the thought of going back to the explosion scarred street she began to shake again, she wasn't sure that she'd ever be able to face walking down her front path in the future. Would she forever replay in slow motion the memory of seeing the child running, the car flying up into the air, feel the rush of hot air and exploding metal, the little girl thrown into the air like a ragdoll. The dull thud as she hit the ground. The sight of an agitated Mike Lynott running down the road screaming 'Oh God no, Karen!', before, driven back by the heat, he turned his attention to trying to revive the unconscious Sarah. Other neighbours, some screaming while others more usefully clutched young Clare to themselves, vainly attempting to console her while her distressed cries of 'Mummy, Mummy, Sarah, Sarah' rose above the general hubbub. Then, after the short pause that seemed to last an age, the wailing of sirens indicating that official help was on its way, there had been the appalling sight of her horribly burned, virtually unrecognisable neighbour being removed from the car. Even worse than of all was the knowledge that throughout this sequence of grotesque events she'd been transfixed, rooted into her front garden, utterly useless but unable to turn away, hypnotised by the horrors unfolding in front of her. The policewoman seemed to understand.
"You sign that paper and then we'll ring your sister. I'll arrange for someone to collect what you need from your house. We'll take you to the Wirral."
Relieved that she would not have to brave the street just yet Mavis scribbled her name across the second document of the day. Joan would understand and sympathise. In a few days, when she felt better, perhaps she'd be able to face going home.
No one could have told her that she would never again live at 12 Waverley Avenue.
That she'd spend the next few nights reliving the sights and would wake up screaming.
That her alarmed sister would finally insist that she attended counselling.
That the sound of fireworks or any unexpected loud bang would bring instant recall.
That in six months time she'd give up the pretence that she could return home to live on her own and would put her house on the market.
That she'd begin to shake every time she heard an emergency siren.
That while she was physically able to leave the scene of the experience the aftermath would live with her in every breath.
That the bomb had destroyed her life as she knew it just as surely as it had destroyed the life of Dr Mike Lynott and his surviving daughter.
It was perhaps as well that she did not know her future, for if she did could she have faced it on that morning when everything changed?
Thanks for reading and if you have a few minutes a review would be appreciated.