‘I’m going to leave you for a few minutes,’ said Steph Bowles. ‘I’ll be back with the doctor. Be quick.’
She left. Hammill furrowed his brow and Beck blinked at me and tried to smile.
‘So Rick’s dead,’ I said.
‘That’s right,’ said Hammill.
I stopped shivering but only because I suddenly felt even colder, as if the temperature in the whole hospital had dropped. The colours had drained away too.
‘His wife’s here,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘Karen. His wife. She was injured this morning. She’s in a bed somewhere here. You’ll have to go and tell her what’s happened.’
There was a long silence. Hammill started to speak but stopped before he had said anything intelligible. ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘Wait.’ He sounded dazed, as if he had received a blow to the head. ‘She’s here? I don’t understand.’
‘She had an accident,’ I said. ‘She had too much to drink
this morning. She fell over and broke her arm. Rick had to bring her here. They kept her in. She’s still here.’
‘How do you know about it?’
‘It happened in my house,’ I said. ‘That was the thing. He needed to get back to Charlie, if only to kill her. But suddenly he had to take Karen to hospital and stay with her. Then when he got back on to the island, I met him and gave him Jackson to look after.’
‘What?’ said Beck.
‘It’s almost funny, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘He had one of my children and I gave him the other to look after.’ I thought for a moment. ‘But there’s more. I can see now why he came to my house for the party. It makes sense.’
‘No,’ said Hammill, in a croaky, uncomprehending voice. ‘No. It doesn’t.’
‘Yes,’ I said slowly. ‘He had Charlie, he was probably panicking, and he wondered what to do next. Then I phoned him, asking if he’d take a look at my car.’ I gave a little laugh. ‘Maybe if it hadn’t been for the rattle in my car, Charlie would be dead now. It was a kind of alibi for him. It seemed that she went missing when Rick was with me. And then he must have remembered he was going to my house anyway, for the surprise birthday party that Charlie had organized. If he could do anything to make it look as if Charlie had run away, a serious police investigation would be delayed until he had killed her and disposed of the body.’
As if a photograph had been put in front of my eyes, I remembered walking up the stairs at the party and meeting Rick coming down. Coming down, as I now realized, with a few things he had seen in Charlie’s room and grabbed to make it look as if she had left in a hurry.
‘Yes,’ I murmured, more to myself than to the two detectives. ‘He stole those things from her room and, if he had been lucky, we might not have looked properly for a day or two and he could have – have done it and dealt with her and got rid of Olivia Mullen’s body and never been caught.’
DI Hammill shook his head. ‘But I don’t understand how Olivia Mullen is connected with your daughter.’
‘No –’ I began.
‘The style of assault is different,’ he continued, interrupting me. ‘There is no link between the victim and Rick Blythe.’
It was all so tiring. By now, Hammill and Beck were like two annoying wasps buzzing around keeping me from sleep. I just wanted to swat them.
‘Stop this,’ I said to Hammill. My voice seemed to come from someone else, a stranger telling a story that had already started to seem unreal. ‘Just think about it. The death of Olivia Mullen is connected in every sort of way. Rick knew her. He taught her kayaking in the summer and they had a relationship, a fling that nobody must know about – he was a teacher, for God’s sake, and she was only a teenager. He probably didn’t mean to kill her – he throttled her in anger when she finished their affair. But then Charlie discovered what had happened. That was why he grabbed her. Charlie knew Liv, she knew about the relationship, she even met her on the day she died, and knew she was on her way to see Rick to break off their affair. When she saw her photo in the paper this morning, she must have realized what had happened. Then, when she was delivering the papers, she met Rick and probably she said something and he panicked and grabbed her. If you wait until tomorrow, Charlie will be able to tell you. We’ll all know the truth.’
‘Right,’ said Steph Bowles, coming into the ward. ‘Dr Marker is on her way to see you. She’ll be here in a few minutes.’
It was a cue for Hammill and Beck to leave. They made an awkward exit. Then Steph Bowles turned back to me. A watch hung from her starched breast pocket. I saw that it was past six o’clock.
‘We would be taking off now,’ I said.
‘What’s that?’
‘I was going to Florida today.’
‘Oh.’ She picked up a chart and looked at it, tutting. ‘Now then.’
‘And it’s my birthday.’
‘Many happy returns,’ she said. ‘Pop this under your tongue.’
I opened my mouth. The cold tip of the thermometer slid under my tongue and made me want to gag.
‘Don’t talk for a few minutes. Can I get you a cup of tea?’
‘I’d like that,’ I said. It came out in a thick jumble.
‘Just nod or shake your head. Milk?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Sugar? Sugar’s good for shock.’
‘Hate sugar in tea,’ I tried to say. ‘I’m very cold.’
‘Cold?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Hold on. That’s it. Now, let’s see.’
She removed the thermometer, frowned, looked at me as
if I’d done something wrong, and wrote on the chart with a pencil that she had whipped out of her pocket.
‘I’ll get some more blankets in a minute. Tea and blankets. Do you want a biscuit with your tea?’
‘I’m forty today. I had a birthday party,’ I continued, although I wasn’t really talking to anyone in particular. My voice was fuzzy. I could hear how the syllables slipped and elided, but I needed to keep awake. I needed to see Jackson, my little boy who’d been wandering around all day like a lost soul. ‘Charlie gave me a party. It was a surprise party.’
‘Digestive biscuit?’ Steph Bowles wasn’t interested in my story: she wanted to know about my temperature and blood pressure and heartbeat. She wanted to put me back together again. I closed my eyes and the room swung round in my skull.
‘It wasn’t a success,’ I went on. ‘Surprise parties rarely are. They’re good in theory, but – well, I wanted to pack and get ready and there were people I didn’t know swarming all over the place and Karen fell down the stairs and Renata took to my bed and then I couldn’t find Charlie. She wasn’t anywhere.’ I squinted up at her face, which was going in and out of focus. ‘That’s when it all started. No biscuit, thank you. I feel sick. I think I might be sick. Maybe you should fetch a bowl for me, just in case. Eamonn was at the party. Poor Eamonn, what’ll become of him now?’
I opened my eyes and Steph Bowles was gone. I was talking to myself. It didn’t matter.
‘I wonder where Christian is,’ I said, through the waves of nausea. ‘He’s been stuck in traffic all day. The M25 was closed in both directions. I’ve been running and running in circles, never stopping, and he’s been sitting quite motionless. If I think about it, I still feel scared. Probably it will take time for that to go.’
‘Ms Landry,’ said a voice. ‘I’m Dr Marker. How are you feeling?’
She was slim, cool and blonde in her white coat, a stethscope round her neck.
‘Not at my very best,’ I said.
‘Here.’ She sat beside me on the bed and held my wrist between her two fingers, feeling my pulse. She looked at my chart. She put her stethoscope to my chest, then my back. She ran her fingers down my leg, probing my knee and finding the pain there. She took my foot in the palm of her hand and rotated it to see where the ankle was injured. She pushed the hair back from my forehead and pressed her fingertips against the bruises on my temple and cheek while I tried not to cry out.
‘I think you’ll get away without stitches. This must hurt.’
‘A bit,’ I croaked.
‘Do you feel sick?’
‘A bit. Quite a lot, actually. I think I may be sick.’
‘The nurse is bringing a bowl. Cold?’
‘To my bones. But it’s getting a bit better.’
‘Dizzy?’
‘Just tired, I think.’
How’s your memory? What’s your name?’
‘I’ve done this. Nina Landry.’
‘Do you know what day it is?’
‘It’s Saturday, December the eighteenth, of course,’ I said. ‘Because it’s my fortieth birthday. Never to be forgot.’ I smiled at her. Her face swam in and out of focus.
‘Good. How many fingers am I holding up?’
‘Three.’
‘Fine.’ She stood up. ‘You need warmth and rest, but I think that’s all. You’ve been concussed so we need to keep
an eye on that. One of my colleagues will be back later to check on you.’
‘Tea,’ said Steph Bowles, putting a large green mug on the table beside me. ‘And I’ve got a nightgown for you. Let me help you with it.’
Dr Marker left. With surprising gentleness, the nurse half raised me and, as if I was a tiny child, pulled the thin nightgown over my head, then tugged it down my sore, chilly body. It smelt of soap. She pulled the sheet and all the blankets back over me and withdrew. I lay back on my pillow and gulped at the tepid, milky tea. My hands shook so that I slopped it down my neck.
Then I heard Bonnie’s voice. ‘Can he just go in?’
And another voice saying, ‘Mum?’
Jackson stood in the doorway, a small, bulky figure wrapped in a quilted red anorak so much too big for him that it came down almost to his knees and both his hands were hidden. He stared at me with beetle brows.
‘Hello, my hero,’ I said. I sat up and held out my arms, but he didn’t move.
‘What on earth’s happened to your face?’
‘It’s only a bruise. Come here and let me tell you how proud I am of you.’
‘It’s all blue and lopsided.’ He wore an expression of faint embarrassment.
I grinned at him, my heart galloping with bruised tenderness. ‘Soon it’ll be yellow and lopsided instead, then I’ll look even weirder. Are you all right?’
‘Bonnie gave me hot chocolate with marshmallows in it. Where’s Charlie?’
‘She’s here,’ I said.
‘Is she alive?’
‘Yes.’
‘You promise?’
‘I promise.’
‘Can I see her, then?’
‘I think she’s sleeping. Why don’t you wait until tomorrow?’
‘I want to see her.’ His voice quavered, then righted itself. ‘If you’re telling me the truth and she’s really all right.’
I looked at his puffy face, the violet stains under his eyes, his ridiculously large padded jacket. ‘I don’t think I can move right now, but as soon as a nurse comes, I’ll get her to take you there.’
‘Bonnie can take me. She’s waiting by the lift.’
‘All right, then. Can I have a hug before you go?’
He edged forward. ‘Where was she, anyway?’
‘Charlie?’
‘Yeah. Did she run away?’
‘No.’
‘Are we going to Florida?’
‘Not today.’
‘Can we go another time?’
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘I don’t know.’
There was a pause. He sat down by the bed and I put a hand into his sleeve, found his small, warm fingers. He didn’t take them away, and I felt him soften gradually. After a few moments, he said, ‘Sludge will be going mad all by herself. She’ll have chewed half the house down.’
‘I expect so.’
‘But you won’t be angry with her?’
‘No. I won’t be angry.’
‘Will you have to stay in bed for ages?’
‘Of course not. I’m just a bit tired.’
‘Bonnie said I’d have to look after you.’
‘Nonsense.’
‘That’s good. It’s Christmas in six days and a bit less than six hours. I’m starving.’
‘In a bit Dad can take you to the café and buy you something.’
‘Do they do chips?’
‘Probably.’
‘Shall I go and see Charlie now?’
‘Go on, then. Don’t stay long, though. She needs rest, remember.’
‘Do you promise you’ll still be here?’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
He wriggled off the chair, gingerly planted a reluctant kiss on my bruised face, then turned to go.
Nurse Bowles returned, almost invisible behind the pile of extra blankets she was carrying. She spread them over my bed in layer after layer. I lay back with my eyes closed, heard her leave the room and return in less than a minute. I felt a rummaging in bed, as if she was reaching for me. Then there was something against my feet, something warm. The heat spread through my toes, my feet, my ankles and up my legs.
‘A hot-water bottle,’ I said sleepily.
‘Don’t shout about it,’ Nurse Bowles said, ‘or everyone will want one.’
I didn’t reply, or even open my eyes. She went and I was alone. I knew that for the first time that day I wasn’t needed
and I let myself go, as if I were on a boat, releasing the painter and letting myself be carried out to sea.
‘Hello.’
I didn’t know if I had been asleep, if any time had passed. I opened my eyes. They hurt in the harsh light of the hospital room. A middle-aged man was standing by my bed, holding a clipboard. He looked tired, like a man at the end of his shift.
‘Are you the doctor? I’ve just seen a doctor and she said I was all right.’
‘I’m Dr Siegel. I’m sorry if I woke you. I need to check on you. You were hit on the head so I’m afraid you’ll be woken regularly all night. Just to make sure you’re not unconscious.’
‘I know I look terrible,’ I said.
He wrote something on the clipboard. ‘You wait until tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Then you’ll look as if you’ve been in a fight and lost.’
‘I have been in a fight.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s what it says here. But you won, didn’t you? And I’ve just seen your daughter.’
‘You have? How is she?’
‘She’s not too bad,’ he said. ‘But mainly, I’d say she’s very lucky to have you. You can tell her that tomorrow.’
‘I don’t think I will,’ I said. ‘She’s had enough to put up with.’
Dr Siegel frowned. ‘I’m meant to check your comprehension and responses. How do they seem to you?’
‘Not too bad,’ I said. ‘I don’t know.’
He grunted and wrote something more on the clipboard. ‘You live on Sandling Island.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve never been there. Isn’t that funny? I work just a few miles away and I keep meaning to go, to walk along the coastal path and eat oysters and do the things you’re meant to do there. Would you recommend it?’