Nirvana Bites (17 page)

The file containing her medical notes made sickening reading. Seeing her injuries written down was somehow even more shocking than seeing their physical manifestation. Both her legs were broken, as was one arm, all ten fingers and several ribs. She had a ruptured spleen, damage to one kidney and a fractured skull. One eye had been displaced from its socket, her nose was smashed and her jaw had to be pieced together like a jigsaw and held in place by wire. Most of her teeth were missing. Even if she was conscious, I couldn't imagine she'd be able to communicate.

I put the files back and stood there for another moment or two. I went to the head of the bed, bent down and whispered her name in her ear. There was a tiny mewling sound. I'm looked for some part that was Della that I could touch that wasn't covered by bandages. I settled for stroking her swollen cheek with one finger.

‘Della?' I murmured again. ‘It's me, Jenny.'

One eyelid flickered and opened to a slit. There was another newborn-kitten sound. I was aware of a presence behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. The cop was hovering like a uniformed bird of prey, his pencil poised over his notebook.

Della's single eye fixed me with a riveting gaze.

Then she said something. It was muffled. It was indistinct. It sounded like a trainee ventriloquist with a mouthful of ice cubes. But it was clear enough. Della said my name.

Before I had a chance to respond, the cop elbowed me out of the way.

‘Ms Courtney?' he said in an unnaturally loud voice, as though speaking to someone hard of hearing. ‘Is there anything you can tell us about your assailants?'

Della rolled her head a fraction on the pillow. She swivelled her laser gaze from the cop back to me. She closed her eye very deliberately and then opened it again. The cop didn't pick it up, but I did. It was a wink. Della, for all her trauma, was communicating with me. But the cop's presence was inhibiting any further attempts. I nodded to show her I understood.

I crouched down and, ignoring the cop's grunt of protest, laid my head next to hers on the pillow.

‘I'll come again very soon, sweetheart,' I murmured. ‘You just hang on in there.'

A single tear rolled from the outside corner of Della's eye. I wiped it away with my finger and kissed her with the touch of a butterfly before straightening. We stared at each other for another moment before the swollen lid closed over her eye.

I thanked the cop, walked out of the room and back through the labyrinth. I emerged into grey drizzle and a chill wind. I stood on the Embankment and stared at the greasy river and thought about how life really stinks sometimes.

I spent the rest of the day wandering along the South Bank. Della's condition had dealt a fatal blow to my optimistic theory that our bad guys were all bluster and no substance. I needed to speak to Della on her own, which meant I had to find a way to get rid of the cop for a while. And we needed to move fast. The sight of Della's battered body left me in no doubt as to what these people were capable of.

If Della was involved, did that point to the connection being someone on the Scene? But then how did Koi Korner fit in? If it did… The guys who had tried to abduct Stan knew he had an appointment to collect his aquarium, and that suggested a connection. And who were the weirdos Frank and I had seen going in and out – one of whom had had a pop at Frank? They weren't my idea of your average tropical-fish enthusiast. And what about Meacham's Meat Products – a possible source for pigs' blood and a management with a nasty line in thug tactics? And, if there is no such thing as coincidence, what should I make of Nick's disappearance while checking out the Mafia? All of these things felt significant. But I had no way of knowing how – or even if – they were linked.

I allowed the questions to seep out and fill up every nook, cranny and crevice of my conscious mind. That way there would be no space left to be filled with the image of Della in that bed.

It was late evening by the time I arrived back home. I was relieved to find both Frank and Ali in. I had to tell them a bit about

Della, though I kept the details sketchy. I don't know why I was holding back. It wasn't that I didn't trust them, but I wasn't ready yet to share certain details of my pre-Nirvana past. I explained their part in my plan to get to speak to her alone.

‘Your mission, if you choose to accept it…' I said in mock-theatrical tones.

Frank was quite excited. He tends to accept situations – and people – at face value. If I was able to lark about, as far as he was concerned things couldn't be that bad. Ali wasn't convinced by my performance, I could tell. He was watching me very closely. I think he was still reassessing our relationship in the light of our unscheduled romp earlier in the week. Anyway, he agreed to do his bit. He asked if I'd like to stay for something to eat. I told him I wasn't hungry.

Stan went to bed soon after I got home, frozen out by my refusal to engage in conversation. We were no longer bothering with rotas to watch him. If he hadn't left the other day, when Mags had bitten chunks off him and spat them out, he was unlikely to move at any other time. There was a message on my answer-machine from Kate demanding I return her call. Fuck that.

I spent the night fighting sleep for fear of my dreams.

19

THE FOLLOWING DAY
I was back on the number 12 – this time accompanied by the Almost Dynamic Duo. Frank was garrulous, Ali was taciturn – no surprises there then – each displaying the qualities that had resulted in them being hand-picked from thousands of hopefuls for these particular roles.

We arrived at St Thomas's and only got lost twice on the way to Della's ward. Things were looking up. I left my cohorts out by the lifts, having pointed out the direction to Della's room. We touched fists for luck and I set off alone. Same lino-floored corridor, same closed doors on either side, same cop on same chair outside Della's room. And, at the end of the corridor, the same big sash window. Closed. I prayed it wasn't nailed shut.

The cop looked up. ‘Oh. Hello. You again.'

‘Yeah,' I replied. ‘I couldn't stay away.'

He snorted. ‘You must lead a very empty and boring life then.'

If only he knew.

He jotted down the time in the spiral-bound notebook and scanned the entries. I upside-down-read that the only other people through the door since my last visit had been hospital staff.

‘Jennifer Stern, 101 Woodlands Crescent, right?'

I nodded assent. He turned round on his seat, opened the door, lumbered to his feet and followed me into the room with a theatrical sigh.

There was no sign of the flowers I'd bought the previous day. The smell of decay was stronger than it had been before. I stood for a moment at the end of the vast bed and took a few deep breaths through my mouth before allowing my eyes to focus on Della.

‘Horrible bloody job, this is,' said the cop in a gloomy voice. Starved of conversation and bored beyond belief, he'd decided to open up to me. Just my luck. ‘You wouldn't believe it, would you? I chose Serious Crimes Squad cos I wanted to see action. Huh! I might as well have gone for a desk job. At least I'd have had some paper to look at, instead of the opposite wall of that bloody corridor.'

I could almost have felt a teensy bit sorry for him. If he'd have stopped there.

‘Instead I get a job babysitting some pulverised pansy pervert.'

The alliteration took me by surprise and held my concentration long enough to divert my initial instinct to head-butt him. Even so, I wondered if it would be possible to let Frank and Ali know they should feel free to provide him with some more long-term distraction than the original plan. Something like constant pain maybe. I shook myself. I couldn't allow myself to get distracted. With an effort that may have shaved ten years off my life, I ignored him.

I walked over to the head of the bed and crouched down.

‘Della?' I murmured. ‘It's me. Jenny. Again.'

There was no response. Not even a flicker of a bulbous eyelid.

‘There's no point, y'know,' the cop said. ‘They just topped up her drugs. You'll get nothing out of her today. She's away with the fairies.' He spluttered and honked like a seal at his own supposed wit.

I was filled with fury. At this moron, for being the only constant face in the nightmare that was Della's life now. And at myself, for not having checked the timings on Della's drugs chart yesterday when I'd had the chance. I wondered if I was too late to stop Frank and Ali. The plan only had one chance of working – and it looked like we were doomed to failure if we went ahead today.

Ear-splitting yells of panic from the corridor outside told me postponement wasn't an option.

‘Help! Help! For Christ's sake help me! Quick!
Quick!!!'

The cop was out of the door in a single bound. I didn't need to follow him. I knew what he would see.

What I hadn't reckoned on, insensitive little cow that I am, was the possible effects of my orchestrated drama on someone in Della's condition. Somehow the pandemonium and cries of horror from the corridor – which even I had to admit were impressively blood-curdling – must have punctured the diamorphine haze. Such is the power of the mind. And such was the extent of the damage to Della's tortured psyche.

The single eyelid flipped open, the eye itself radiating terror. Her body went rigid and a gurgling animal noise issued from deep in her throat. I launched myself at her.

‘Della! Della! It's OK. They're friends of mine. Della – look at me! It's Jenny. Della. It's OK! It's OK!'

Gradually her eye with its massive dilated pupil focused on me and her body relaxed a little. Only a little, because outside the room there were now two voices raised in panic. And an alarm. I strode to the door, shut it and returned to the head of the bed.

‘Della. Please. Listen to me. Who did this to you?'

Della opened her mouth a fraction and licked her cracked lips. She tried to speak but no sound came. I knew we had limited time. My heart pounded and every muscle of my body was taut as I willed her to communicate.

‘Narth-tee-thcuh,' she croaked.

Narth tee thcuh? Narth tee thcuh? What the fuck was that? OK, Jenny. Calm down. Think. Think. With no teeth, you lisp. Assume every ‘th' is a ‘s' and what do you get? Nars tee scuh. My mind raced like a claustrophobic hamster in a very small cage.

Of course! Trust Della. Unaware of the critical nature of her injuries, she was most concerned about her appearance. She was worried she'd have a ‘nasty scar'.

‘Darling. Don't worry about that. It won't be bad. Just enough to make you interesting and mysterious,' I lied.

Della closed her eye – though whether in exasperation at my clumsy attempt at comfort or from some deeper frustration, I couldn't tell. Outside in the corridor, I could hear racing feet. Time was running out.

‘Della,' I tried again. ‘Is Stan connected to this?'

Wow! The eye snapped open and pierced me with an intensity that rocked me back on my heels.

‘Tell – Thtah – narth-tee.'

Ohhh shit. Tell Stan he's nasty? Tell Stan ‘they' are nasty? Thanks, Della, I think we could have worked that out for ourselves. I sighed. This was pointless. Della couldn't really help – except to confirm that somehow Stan was connected to what had happened to her. I looked at the door. Shouts and thumps continued behind it. It sounded as though the lads were putting in an Oscar-winning performance. Shame it was all for nothing.

‘Jenny.' The voice from the bed was strong and urgent. ‘I – don – wan – to – lih – like – thith.'

Oh fuck. Della. Darling Della. How could you say that so clearly? So that there was no possibility I could say I misunderstood? Don't you know this moment will be with me every other moment of the rest of my life?

‘Jenny. Pleath. Hel me.'

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The commotion was still going on in the corridor. It could be done. I might have time. I could raise her head – oh so gently – with one hand. And ease the pillow out with the other. I could rest her head – oh so gently – back down, kiss her, then place the pillow over her face. Oh so very, very gently. How long would it take? Not long probably. I might even get away with it. The cop would walk back into the room and I would say, ‘You were right. She's totally out of it.' If she'd just had a drugs top-up, it might even be some time before anyone realised she was dead.

I stood and gawped as Della's future hung on the thinnest of threads between the twin chasms of death and living death. In the end, I hesitated too long. The door opened. The cop lurched in, red-faced and rumpled. Della stared at me with her single eye for another moment before the swollen lid closed again.

I'm so sorry, Della.

‘Bloody hell!' gasped the cop. ‘You won't believe what's just happened. Some nutter tried to jump from the window at the end there. This other bloke had hold of him and was hangin on to him out of the bloody window. It took four of us to haul him back in, and no sooner is he back over the sill than he's harin off down the corridor with the other bloke in hot pursuit.' The cop wiped his brow with the back of his hand. ‘Better report it, I suppose. Weird bastard. He never said a word the whole bleedin time. Anyway, I expect Hospital Security will catch him. Needs lockin up, I should think. And I'm no bloomin doctor. Still, there's more out than in, as my old man used to say.'

He looked flushed and excited from the adrenalin rush. I'd probably done him a favour. Which was more than I'd done for Della.

I crossed over Westminster Bridge and made my way along the Embankment. I kept my head low to avoid engaging with the bustling tourist trap the area had become. The Aquarium rubbed shoulders with the Wheel, hamburger stands with frothy-coffee bars, vendors with panhandlers, buskers with skateboarders. I hugged the Thames close as I passed the concrete carbuncle of the South Bank and made my way to the gardens next to Gabriel's Wharf.