‘He’s awake. Please call a doctor.’ The voice was high-pitched, as if its owner had been crying. He forced himself to turn his neck towards the voice. He saw the back of someone’s head, the brown curls pulled in a long plait. Even without seeing her face he would have recognised her anywhere.
He opened his mouth to call her name but no sound came out. Panicked, he tried again, but with no success. He tried to bring his hand to his face but it was heavy, and he was unable to move.
‘Reggie, how are you?’ She was staring at him, her face close to his, her eyes kind but terrified at the same time.
Slowly and with tremendous effort he moved his head a few millimetres to the left to face her, wanting to know what happened, why he was there. Could this be a dream?
‘You had a heart attack. They found you unconscious. You’re in hospital now. They operated immediately to open two clogged veins.’
Reginald opened his eyes wide.
‘That was yesterday,’ she said, as if she knew what he needed to know. ‘You’ve been asleep for a few hours. The doctors said it’s good for your recovery.’
Her eyes were glistening but she was smiling. He wanted to reach out to her, stroke her cheek, pull her towards him and hold her tightly, but he couldn’t move his hand. Glancing down he realised why. There were handcuffs securing it to the bed rail. He looked at his other hand and realised that it too was cuffed. Did they really think that he was going to run away right after surgery?
Tanya saw him looking and averted her eyes, almost as if she was embarrassed. ‘The police insisted,’ she finally said. ‘The doctors tried to explain that you’re too weak to go anywhere but they said that you’d escaped once and they couldn’t risk it happening again.’
Reginald closed his eyes. The disappointment and fear in Tanya’s eyes were crushing. He hated seeing her like this, knowing that it was all because of him.
There was a noise and he looked up to see a doctor standing at the foot of the bed. She was young, probably in her early thirties and only a few years out of medical school. She smiled at him as she walked round the bed to stand next to him. ‘I’m glad to see you’re awake.’ Her voice was soft, gentle.
‘I need water,’ he croaked. The doctor nodded and summoned a nurse who was hovering by the door. She brought a glass of water with a straw to his mouth and encouraged him to take a few sips, pulling it back before he had quenched his thirst. ‘Just a little bit,’ she said. ‘You can have some more shortly.’
Putting the glass down on a tray, she turned and left the room. Tanya walked to the door and closed it before going back to sit next to him. She leaned forward and clasped his right hand, stroking his palm with her soft fingers. ‘How are you feeling? Are you in pain?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ He tried to focus, take stock of his body. He should be in pain but all he felt was numbness. ‘I guess I’m still groggy.’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ She looked at him and then her eyes shifted away, almost as if she could not bring herself to hold eye contact. The silence was awkward, but he didn’t know what to say, how to explain what had happened. Instead he focused on the monitor behind Tanya’s head, trying to decipher what the numbers flashing on it meant. What it was measuring and whether it was good news. He was about to ask Tanya, attempt to divert the conversation, break through the awkwardness.
‘Reggie, I’ve been thinking,’ she finally said. ‘Are you really Ronnie Moss?’
37
Sandra’s phone lit up, a number she didn’t recognise appearing on the screen. She pursed her lips and looked away, continuing to fold Julia’s clothes, wanting to finish putting away the laundry before meeting her friends for lunch. They were trying a new restaurant today, a Japanese place that Tessa had been raving about, and she was looking forward to it. She wanted to let the phone ring; whoever it was could leave a message.
But then she wondered whether it was about the children and picked up. ‘Is this Mrs Sullivan?’ came the voice on the other end.
‘Yes,’ she said, her brow furrowed, trying to recognise the caller. She clamped the phone between her ear and shoulder and continued folding the clothes.
‘Can you hold on for Detective Chief Inspector Hawkins?’
The moment she heard his name her hands started trembling, and she dropped the tiny socks she’d been rolling together. Her hand flew to her chest as panic overcame her. ‘Y…’ Her voice broke in the middle of her answer, her throat dry as parchment. Quickly clearing her throat, she tried again. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘Thank you,’ the other person said. ‘It won’t be a minute.’
‘Yeah, all right.’ Music started coming from the other end of the line, but the soothing melody was lost on her and she felt herself breaking out in a cold sweat.
Putting the still-full laundry basket on the floor, she took a few steps back and sat down on the comfortable armchair in the corner of the room. Every evening she would curl up on that same chair, Julia on her lap, and read one book after another. ‘More,’ the little girl would say when they’d get to the end of one story and Sandra would pick up another book from the nearby shelf. She looked at them now, neatly put away, organised by size. Nothing was out of place, not even in Julia’s room.
The last thing she wanted was to speak with DCI Hawkins. Since talking to the others she had felt a little better. It was only a week until John got the keys to the house and was able to dispose of any remaining evidence. She had managed to convince herself that anything Miriam said afterwards wouldn’t matter.
Her heart started beating faster as she imagined Miriam taking a sudden and unexpected turn for the better. Perhaps she’d even tell the police about Sandra’s visit, what she’d been about to do, how she was trying to hurt her. Maybe that was why the detective wanted to speak with her.
She suddenly felt dizzy. Closing her eyes, she took a few deep breaths in. With every moment that passed she started getting more and more anxious, certain that DCI Hawkins was calling her in to question her about her visit to the nursing home. She should never have gone to see Miriam, drawn attention to herself. Now she’d have to face the music. She’d have to tell him everything. About the years of abuse, Miriam’s constant cruelty. Anything to justify why she felt such an enormous compulsion to harm her. How she’d been overcome by a force greater than herself.
*
‘Hello, Mrs Sullivan.’ DCI Hawkins’ booming voice startled her. She sat upright in the armchair, holding the phone close to her ear, the other hand gripping the armrest so tightly that she could see the indent of every finger left in the soft leather.
‘Good morning.’ The room was feeling uncomfortably warm. Sandra’s hands were starting to sweat, and she loosened her grip, wiped her palm on her trousers.
The pause seemed interminable. Why wasn’t he speaking, telling her what he wanted? He could be making her wait on purpose, unnerving her to the point that she wanted to blurt out the truth just so she could rid herself of the burden.
‘I was hoping that you have some time this afternoon to come down to the station,’ he said. ‘I would like to speak with you face to face.’
The beating in her heart got so fast she could almost feel the thumping. He must have something on her if he wanted her to go down to the police station. Perhaps the nursing home had reported Miriam’s accusations to the police and they had started to draw conclusions, wanted to question her about Miriam’s claims.
‘Hello, are you still there?’ His voice was less gruff than earlier.
‘Yes, yes, I’m here.’ She licked her dry lips. ‘I’m afraid that I’m busy this afternoon, but have some time this morning. I could be there in an hour and a half if that’s OK.’
‘That will work. I’ll see you then.’ There was a clicking sound when he hung up but Sandra was still unable to move, as if cast in stone, the phone tight against her ear.
She thought back to Friday morning, the short time spent in Miriam’s room. She hadn’t
done anything that could indicate she was trying to harm her. Anyway, it was Miriam’s word against hers.
Unless there was a camera in her room. Closing her eyes, Bea tried to picture the room, remember if there was anything unusual. She remembered the bright yellow walls, the flower paintings, a few knick-knacks. But she hadn’t really looked round too well, mostly focusing on Miriam. It was a mistake. She should have known what she was dealing with before acting. As if she weren’t already in a boatload of trouble.
Realising she was still holding her phone tightly against her ear, she put it down on her lap and sat back in the chair, resting her head against the soft cushion. She needed a few minutes to compose herself, wrap her mind around what had just happened, prepare for what was next. Did she have time to call a lawyer? But what would she even say? No, she’d just have to go to the meeting and keep her mouth shut if DCI Hawkins started asking her questions. Make sure that she didn’t say anything that could incriminate her even further.
Puffing her cheeks, she exhaled, took another breath and exhaled again. She repeated the process a few times until she started feeling calmer, enough to stand up and finish folding the laundry, putting everything away, making sure that each shirt, every pair of leggings, were folded the same size. As if her life depended on the precision.
When she had finished, she headed to the bathroom. Looking at the mirror, she noticed her eyes were rimmed with dark circles, her skin sallow. Her shoulders were bunched up with tension, her lips pursed in a tight line. Opening her make-up case, she blotted a few shiny patches on her face and dabbed concealer in a semicircle under her eyes, gently smoothing the covering cream with her ring fingers. Pulling her hair out of its ponytail, she brushed it vigorously and pulled it back into a low bun.
‘Ready or not,’ she told herself as she picked up her bag.
It was raining, big drops bouncing off the pavement and splashing her legs as she hurried to the car. Quickly, she opened her umbrella and took shelter, holding it tightly against the wind as she opened the car door and slid inside, rubbing her cold hands together before putting the keys in the ignition.
Leaning back against the seat, she pulled out of the parking spot and started heading towards the police station. She knew she was going to hit traffic and this might take a while. It would have been easier to take the Tube, but she didn’t want to miss lunch.
It wasn't long before she found herself inching forward behind the other cars, the line barely moving. She thought about calling DCI Hawkins, telling him that she would not be able to make it, but there was a part of her that needed to know what he had to say, to get this over with. She couldn’t appear scared.
Unexpectedly, the traffic cleared up after a few minutes and Sandra arrived at her destination early. As soon as she’d found a parking spot, she headed into a Starbucks. ‘Venti Soy Latte,’ she told the barista when it was her turn. Her hands wrapped around the hot cup when it was ready and she took a seat at the window, staring outside, watching people speed past, going on with their day, not encumbered by the worries that she was carrying with her.
It had been almost thirty years, and yet she couldn’t seem to get away. She had allowed emotion and fear to force her to do something stupid and she was going to have to pay for it. Louis was going to be furious. ‘You’re such an embarrassment,’ she could hear him shout at her. He’d kick her out of the house, forbid her from seeing the children. Her friends would snub her, too engrossed in their own lives to bother hearing her side of the story. She’d become a pariah, shunned by everyone.
But there was nothing she could do right now. Unlike Ronnie, she was not ready to skip town, go hide in another country. Her life was here. At least for now.
Looking at her watch, she realised it was time to go. Throwing away her now-empty cup, she headed outside. The rain had turned into a mist and she didn’t bother with her umbrella, preferring to walk faster.
‘I’m here to see DCI Hawkins,’ she told the uniformed policeman sitting at the reception.
‘And you are?’ He looked bored.
‘Sandra Sullivan. He’s expecting me.’
The policeman, a young man, probably fresh out of training, with long sideburns and rosy cheeks, looked at a register, ticked something, then picked up the phone.
‘There’s a Sandra Sullivan down here to see DCI Hawkins.’ There was a short pause, then he said: ‘Yes, will do.’
‘DCI Hawkins is in a meeting right now. He should be out soon,’ the officer told her. ‘His assistant will be coming down to escort you to a waiting room.’
‘All right.’ A slight annoyance started brewing inside her. She had dropped everything to come to this impromptu meeting. ‘He might be busy, but so am I,’ she mumbled.
‘Mrs Sullivan?’ The voice came from behind her and she turned round to see an older woman, probably in her late fifties. ‘Follow me, please,’ the woman said, setting off before Sandra could answer.
The woman walked fast, given that she was wearing high heels. Sandra struggled to keep up with her. ‘The lift isn’t working, unfortunately,’ the woman said as they reached a narrow staircase.
Clutching the bannister tightly, Sandra followed her up two flights of stairs, her high heels slowing her down. She was panting by the time they got to the landing but the woman seemed totally unperturbed.
‘Here, take a seat.’ The woman stopped in front of a door leading to a tiny room with chairs lined against two walls and a table with some magazines right in front of the window. ‘I’ll let DCI Hawkins know you’re here as soon as he’s available.’
‘Uhm, do you think he’s going to be long?’ Sandra’s face started burning as her irritation intensified. ‘I have commitments this afternoon and need to get going soon.’
The woman looked her up and down and raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. ‘He shouldn’t but I can’t be sure,’ she said. ‘He’ll be with you as soon as he can.’ And with that she walked away, her heels making a staccato sound on the corridor tiles.
Sandra walked into the room and sat down. The chair was hard and hurt her back. Taking out her phone, she opened her email app, but there was little reception and no Wi-Fi. Shaking her head, she put the phone back in her bag.
A few minutes later she heard her name being called. It was the lady from earlier. ‘DCI Hawkins is ready for you,’ she said, before turning round, making Sandra scramble to keep up with her. They walked round a bend and down another corridor before the woman stopped in front of an intimidating mahogany door. She knocked once and opened the door. ‘Mrs Sullivan is here,’ she said, taking a step back and motioning to Sandra to go in.
The room was sizeable, lined with shelves that were buckling with books and files, all piled haphazardly on top of each other. Across from the door was a large wooden desk covered in files stacked so high that they almost hid the computer screen. DCI Hawkins looked up and nodded at her. ‘Take a seat.’ He motioned to the two chairs across from his desk but didn’t stand up.
Every one of the three steps felt heavier. She was dreading this conversation, worried that she would trip up while he was questioning her. Say something she shouldn’t. Or that he would see right through her, know that her intentions were not as noble as she was trying to make them look.
The rumble of the detective clearing his throat sounded foreboding. As he stared at her, Sandra felt herself starting to sweat. Despite her attempts to try to act calm, she knew that her face was starting to get redder and redder and she feared he was going to suspect that something was wrong. She was beginning to look guilty even before he had accused her of anything and she worried that she was going to have a hard time convincing him that her story was true.
He opened his mouth to speak and Sandra swallowed the lump in her throat. Here it comes, she thought, clenching her hands together to stop them from shaking.
‘So, as I mentioned in our first meeting, we want to speak to each of you face to face, get your individual testimonies, make sur
e that we have a better understanding of the repercussions of the crash. That way we can make a more convincing case.’
Pausing, he continued looking right at her. For a moment she was confused. He hadn’t said anything about Miriam. And then the seed of hope started to grow that perhaps all her fears were unfounded. This was just part of the process, nothing to do with her visit to the nursing home. He might not even know about that.
‘Yes, I remember,’ she responded quickly, not wanting to give him time to wonder why she was stalling.
‘Good.’ He frowned slightly. ‘So, shall we start?’
‘Uhm, right now?’
‘Yes, is that a problem?’
‘No, no, not at all.’ Taking a deep breath, she tried to figure out where to begin, what to say. All she could think was that for now she was safe.
38
Bea’s hand was so tight around her phone that the edges dug into her fingers. But she didn’t feel any discomfort. She was too pissed off.
‘I understand.’ She struggled to keep her voice even.
‘He’s already had surgery and is recovering well, so we’re not anticipating a major delay,’ DCI Hawkins continued. ‘But they can't fly him to the UK this week, as we had planned. Unfortunately, it’s going to take a little longer than we anticipated.’
‘Any idea of the new timeline?’
‘Not yet. It’s up to his doctors to determine when he can travel. They said it depends on his recovery. It could be as early as two weeks after surgery, but we don’t know yet.’ He paused for a minute. ‘I know this is not the news you were hoping for, but I felt it was important to keep you informed. I’m calling the others as well.’
‘Yes, thank you for letting me know.’ She wanted to get off the phone.
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