It was as if I had seen it before
She was closing up the till in accounts, moving through the half-lit office with slow, measured steps, when her manager leaned from the doorway with a voice draped in velvet authority: Could you handle the supplier report tomorrow? So gentle it was almost a caress, but not something youd refuse.
She nodded automatically, though her mind reeled off a list: fetch her boy from Rosewood Primary, stop by Boots for her mums tablets, check his homework at home. Shed spent years crafting a life you couldnt reason witha life you simply lived. At work, they called it reliability; at home, it was peace.
That evening, she walked from the bus stop, clutching a Sainsburys bag against her hip. Her son, Thomas, shuffled beside her, lost in his mobile, asking every few steps if he could have five more minutes. She replied later because later, inevitably, arrived on its own.
At the junction near the shopping arcade, she paused at the green man, the white stripes beneath her feet, cars huddled in two restless rows. Someone hooted, urgent and shrill. She stepped onto the crossing, and just then, out of the right lane, a big, shadowy Range Rover spun forward, leaping through gaps, racing the amber.
The sound was dull, like a wardrobe collapsing. The Range Rover rammed into a white Vauxhall, turning it sidewise so its back swung onto the crossing. Pedestrians scattered. She could only snatch her sons sleeve and pull him close.
In a blink everything froze. Then came screaming. The Vauxhalls driver hunched over his wheel, slow to raise his head. Airbags erupted in the Range Rover; behind its glass, she glimpsed a man already reaching for his door.
She set her bag on the tarmac, found her phone, and dialled 999, voice steady as if reporting the wrong weather, somewhere else, some other day.
Car accidentby the shopping centre. Someones hurt, she said, enunciating each word. The Vauxhalls on the crossing, not sure if the driver’s conscious.
Her son stood pale, eyes big, watching her as if suddenly recognizing her adulthood as something distant and real.
While she answered questions, a teenage lad sprinted over to the Vauxhall, flung open the door, spoke softly to the driver. The Range Rover man emerged, sharply dressed, no hat, composed like a man delayed by rail travel, not violence.
Ambulance arrived, then police with reflective jackets. The officer asked, Who saw the collision? She raised her handhow could she not? Shed been standing right there.
Your details, please, the inspector said, pocket notebook in hand. And tell me what happened.
Surname, address, mobilethe words came out dry and precise. She said the Range Rover shot from the right lane, the Vauxhall was driving on its signal, youths and mothers and pensioners on the crossing. The policeman nodded, scribbling steadily.
The Range Rover man drew closer, his glance unthreatening yet jarring.
Are you certain? he murmured, almost in passing. Theres a camera, you knowit sees everything.
I said I saw it, she replied, and instantly regretted the directness.
He half-smiled, turned away. Her son tugged her arm.
Mum, lets go home, he pleaded.
The officer handed back her ID. We might call you, he said. She nodded, scooped up her bag, and led Thomas across the courtyard. At home, she scrubbed her handsthough they were clean. Thomas said nothing, then asked,
Will that man go to jail?
I dont know, she said. Thats not our decision.
That night, her sleep was riffed with the smack of impact, the way the Range Rover carved through air.
Next day, her calculations crumbled under scrambled thoughts of that crossing. After lunch, a call came from an unfamiliar number.
Afternoon. You were witness to yesterdays accident, a male voice saidcourteous but never introduced. Im from people involved. Dont worry, we just want to ease your mind.
Who are you? she asked.
Doesnt matter. Its unfortunate, but not so straightforward, these things. You understand: witnesses get hounded, dragged to court. Youve got work, a child. Is it worth it? You could just say you arent sure.
He spoke like he was suggesting a better brand of laundry detergent. That made it more frightening.
No one is pressuring me, she replied, voice trembling.
No need for that, he agreed. Just say it happened quickly. Its easier for everyone.
She ended the call, stared at the screen for a while, then buried her phone deep in her desk drawer as if hiding the very words.
In the evening, she picked up Thomas from school, dropped by her mums blockan old flat in the next district. Her mum greeted her in a dressing gown, launched into complaints about blood pressure and how the surgery muddled appointments yet again.
Mum, she said, sorting her tablets, if youd seen an accident and someone asked you to keep out of it, what would you do?
Her mums face softened, tired.
Id stay out, she said. I dont need heroics at my age. You shouldnt eitheryouve got your boy to think about.
The words were simplealmost gentle. Still, she felt stung, as though her mum doubted she could endure.
The next day, another calla new number.
Were just worried, the now-familiar voice said. You know, the mans got a family, a job. Mistakes happen. Witnesses get dragged through for years. You dont want that, do you? Maybe you should write a statementsay you didnt see the impact.
I did see it, she said.
Are you sure you want to get involved? his tone cooled. Your sons at Rosewood, isnt he?
She froze inside.
How do you know? she asked.
Small town, he replied mildly. Were not enemies, just concerned for your peace of mind.
She hung up, stared at the kitchen countertop a long while. Thomas busied himself with his books in the living room. At last, she locked the front door with the chainthough it was pointless, a chain was no defence against voices.
A few days later, a man loitered by her building in a plain jacket, as though awaiting her.
From number twenty-seven? he asked.
Yes, she answered automatically.
Its about that accident; dont be startled. He raised his hands like she was retreating. Im a friend of friends. You dont want those court troubles, do you? We can settle things, human to human. Just say youre unsure.
Im not taking any money, she blurted. She wasnt sure why.
No ones mentioned money, he smiled. Were talking about peace. Youve a childsurely you understand? Things are tense these days. School, work, all sorts can go wrong. Why bring trouble?
He spoke trouble as though it was rubbish to be tossed.
She brushed past in silence, climbed her stairs, opened her door, and only then realized her hands were shaking. Dropped her bag on the sideboard, hung up her coat, and went to Thomas.
Dont leave school on your own tomorrow, she said, striving for calm. Ill collect you.
Whats happened? he asked.
Nothing, she said. And immediately felt the lie taking root.
Monday, a summons arrivedshe was wanted at the station to give testimony and ID over the collision. The letter was heavy, official, with a stamp. She filed it with her documents, but the weight landed like a rock.
After work, her manager caught her in the corridor.
Listen, she said, closing her office door, hushed and tense. Someone came asking after you. Very polite. Said youre a witness and shouldnt be stressed. I dont like people coming about my staff. Watch yourself.
Who was it? she asked.
Didnt saybut sure of themselves, the manager shrugged. As a friend: maybe dont get involved. Weve audits, the reports. If you get calls, its trouble for us all.
Leaving the office, she felt robbed not of her voice but of the safety of slipping behind numbers.
At home, she told her husband everything. He ate soup, listened in silence, then put his spoon down.
You know how this could go wrong? he asked.
I do, she said.
Then why? He spoke softly, tired, not cruel. Weve got the mortgage, your mum, Thomas. Do you want us shaken up?
I dont, she replied. But I saw it.
He looked at her like she was a child.
Then forget it. You owe no one anything.
She did not argue. To argue was to admit there was a choice, and choices bore more weight than threats.
On the day of her appointment, she rose early, made breakfast for Thomas, checked her phone was charged. She packed her passport, summons, and notebook. Before leaving, she messaged her friend: where she was going, her expected return. The reply came swiftly: Got it. Update me.
The station smelled of paper and wet mats. She hung up her coat, went to reception. Was directed into the investigators tiny office.
He was young, tired-eyed. Offered her a seat, switched on the recorder.
You understand about false statements? he asked.
Yes, she said.
He questioned her, steady and detailedwhere she stood, what signal showed, which lane the Range Rover came from, what speed, what faces. She answered carefully, omitting anything she hadn’t witnessed first-hand. At one point he looked up.
Has anyone contacted you? he asked.
She hesitated. To tell was to admit shed been reached, to withhold was to be alone with it.
Yes, she said. They phoned, spoke to me outside my building. Told me to say I wasnt sure.
He nodded, as if hed expected it.
Got the numbers?
She showed her phone, thumbs trembling, as he wrote and asked her to email screenshots.
Afterwards, she waited on a bench for the ID parade. The door creaked open and she saw the Range Rover man with a solicitor, murmuring as they walked. As they passed, the man’s glance landed on hercalm, faintly weary, as if everything could be managed.
The solicitor paused near her.
Are you the witness? he smiled.
Yes, she said.
Its best to be cautious about wording, he said, silky still. People confuse things in stress. You wouldnt want that, would you?
I want to speak the truth, she answered.
The solicitor arched his brow.
Truth varies, you see, he said, and moved on.
Inside, she was shown photos to identify the driver. She pointed him out, signed the forms. The pen cut clear lines into papermarks that couldn’t be erased by a call.
By dusk, she wandered to the bus stop, glancing back though no one followed. On the bus, she sat up front by the driver, as those do who seek a fragile shield.
At home, her husband said nothing. Thomas peered around the living room door.
Well? he asked.
I told them how it was, she said.
Her husband sighed.
You know they wont leave it.
I know, she repeated.
She didnt sleep that night. Each sound on the stairs pressed through walls, each echo a warning. In the morning, she walked Thomas to school herself. Asked his teacher not to let him go with strangers even if they say theyre from me. The teachers eyes were searching, cautiousshe nodded without asking.
At work, her managers tone dried out. She was given smaller tasks, as if she had become brittle. Colleagues gazes flicked aside. No one said a word, but a gap grew around her.
The calls lulled for days, then a message arrived: Think about your family. She showed it to the investigator as instructed. He replied briskly: Logged. Tell us if anything else.
She didnt feel safe, but she felt her words had resisted vanishing.
One evening, the neighbour from the ground floor caught her near the lift.
Heard you got wrapped up in a story, whispered the neighbour. My husbands in most nightsdont hesitate to call us. Been thinking to fit a camera, you know, split the cost?
The neighbours voice was plainno heroics, just matter of doors and locks. The emotion caught her off guard.
A month later, she was summoned again. The investigator said the case was bound for court; more hearings, perhaps further testimony. He didnt promise justicehe spoke in terms of procedures, reports, diagrams.
Anyone else threaten you? he asked.
No, she said. But I keep expecting it.
Thats natural, he replied. Carry on as before. Anything else happens, tell us straight off.
Leaving the station, she thought natural sounded like a foreign word. Her life was changedshe adjusted route, never left Thomas alone, installed call recording, made pacts with her friend to check-in. She didnt feel brave. She felt like a person gripping onto something invisible so as not to tumble.
In court, facing the Range Rover man again, she noticed he never looked her way. That was worse than meeting his gazea reminder she was now just an entry on a page.
When asked if she was certain, anxiety rose, fleeting images of Thomas at the school gate, her boss with her pinched face, her mum whispering stay out. Still, she said:
Yes. Im certain.
After the hearing, she lingered outside on the steps; her hands were cold, though she kept her gloves on. Her friend texted: You alright? She replied: Alive. Coming home.
On the way, she stopped in the corner shopgot bread and apples, because dinner had to happen no matter what. The routine was oddly comforting: the world carried on, demanded everyday rituals.
Back home, Thomas greeted her.
Mum, will you come to parents night today? he asked.
She gazed at him and understood: the point of all this was precisely in such questions.
I will, she said. After tea.
Later, double locking the door and fitting the chainnot in panic but in new habitshe realised she had learned a new kind of calm. Its cost was in every detail of her newly careful life. There were no celebrations, no headlines, no heroics. But she carried the hard, plain certainty: she did not abandon what she saw, and no longer needed to hide from herself.
