‘You’re incredibly lucky that you didn’t get a serious concussion,’ says the nurse, whose name badge says Emily Cheng. She is middle-aged and kind-eyed, with small, soft hands that have expertly tended to Rose’s various throbbing wounds.
Rose wonders how much worse this could have felt, considering it’s already like someone has stamped repeatedly on her face with Doc Marten boots.
She hadn’t even had time to instinctively raise a hand as she was sent hurtling into that wall, so her face took the brunt, along with ribs caught on the side of Gregory’s desk.
The bruising is coming up nicely already around her eyes in shades of red that will be a full rainbow over the coming days. Her nose is swollen at the bridge and tender to touch, but thankfully not broken. It’s given her an unpleasant congested feeling as though she has a heavy cold beneath the waves of pain.
When the nurse asked how it happened, Rose had been lost for words at first, then said she had tripped and hit the wall. But that wasn’t at all what had happened. She was flung. Literally, as if unseen hands of incredible strength had lifted her and chucked her like a rag doll. But she could hardly say that.
As she had staggered to her feet, gasping with the pain and shock, Rose had looked around wildly for her attacker. Anton maybe? She even thought of Gregory, which made no sense but she couldn’t exactly think straight. But there was no one else until the emerging, horrified faces of Becky, Moony and Gwen, who had rushed up the stairs to investigate her scream.
‘Oh my God!’ Becky had said. ‘What on earth happened?’
Rose had looked at Moony and then at Gwen, whose expression could only be described as one of utter terror. Rose had made a split-second decision. It would be of no use to this investigation to have the other woman so frightened she lost control of herself.
‘I tripped,’ Rose had said, nasally, holding her hand to where coppery blood was pouring into her mouth. ‘Always been clumsy.’
‘Right,’ said Moony. ‘We’re going straight to A&E to get you checked out.’
Rose protested but Moony’s expression told her she was brooking no argument.
Moony took the keys and when they climbed in, she turned to Rose.
‘What the hell happened in there?’ she said, her eyes wide. ‘You didn’t trip, I know that.’
‘No,’ said Rose, her voice muffled by the ice pack wrapped in a tea towel that Becky had organized for her. At that moment, Rose hated that ice pack more than anything in the world. It was so cold and hurt her face so very much.
‘Someone,’ she said, ‘or something, picked me off my feet and threw me against the wall.’
Moony let out a low whistle. ‘Bloody hell,’ she said, ‘that is one pissed-off poltergeist.’ She seemed about to say more but after glancing over at Rose, she merely started the car and began to drive.
Now, Rose is waiting for a prescription of strong painkillers and staring down with distaste at the blood streaking the front of her shirt. It hurts to breathe from her ribs. It’s only the fear of stuffing up her nose further that stops her from giving in and sobbing piteously.
‘Is it okay to come round?’ says a familiar voice.
‘Sure.’
Adam peers around the curtain, his brown eyes soft with concern.
The mixed pleasure at seeing his face, combined with horror at her own appearance, is a potent cocktail of emotion in her delicate, battered state.
‘What are you doing here?’ she says in her new nasal voice.
‘Moony rang me,’ says Adam. ‘She had to go. I’m going to take you home in your car. God, you poor thing!’
Embarrassed under his scrutiny, she can merely grunt.
Adam rummages in his pocket and shakes a small, white bag at her. ‘Here’s your painkillers,’ he says.
Rose downs two in one go with the unpleasantly warm water in the paper cup on the bedside table. ‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘It’s really kind of you to come.’
‘We wondered if there was anyone you wanted us to call?’ says Adam. A queasy jolt of something like shame goes through her. She imagines calling Mack. Asking if she could stay at his. But the fact is she has left it too long and it would be weird.
‘No, I’ll be fine,’ she says, looking away. ‘I’m okay, really. Not as bad as I look. Anyway, what’s the news on the case?’ He gives her a curious look then seems to understand she doesn’t want to talk right now about the accident, assault … whatever she should even call it. She’s still processing it in her mind and keeps getting waves of horror at the memory. He’s clearly dying to ask her but it can wait for a moment.
‘They still haven’t got anything,’ he says with a frown. ‘No steers from CCTV or from talking to the neighbours. The Fullers are going on air tomorrow to do a press conference and an appeal. But so far, it’s not looking all that good. It’s almost as though Gregory has completely disappeared.’
Rose thinks about her dream – the small body buried in cold, dank earth – and is almost winded by the horror of it. No. He’s alive. He has to be.
Adam insists on taking Rose home in her car. Every movement seems to judder through her. Once, she gasps and sees Adam’s horrified expression.
‘Pothole,’ he says. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve been trying to drive really carefully but I didn’t see that one.’
‘It’s okay,’ Rose says, although the pain feels far from okay. ‘Please don’t worry.’ Her voice comes out little more than a gasp.
He’s still looking at her.
‘Rose,’ he says, ‘I’m not leaving you on your own. How do you feel about coming back to mine for the night where I can keep an eye on you?’
Heat creeps up her cheeks and she attempts to argue but it’s half-hearted. The thought of being alone in her own house in pain is so terrible, she can feel her eyes filling again with a terrible urge to cry. Plus, she’s scared. She doesn’t understand what happened in the Wyndham Terrace house or how it could have been possible. But there’s no doubting it was an act of violence towards her and the last time that happened feels all too fresh. Her body is a cauldron of adrenaline and cortisol right now, as though emergency lights and sirens are going off all over the surface of her bruised skin and inside her brain.
Adam kindly doesn’t insist on a reply.
‘That’s settled then,’ he says. ‘You’re coming back to mine. I think Moony would have my guts for garters if I didn’t do this, to be honest.’
‘Thank you,’ she manages, keeping her face averted to the window.
A beat passes.
‘Are you up to telling me what happened yet?’ he says. ‘Or do you want to leave that until you’ve had a bit of a rest?’
‘It’s okay,’ says Rose, wincing as she attempts to get comfortable. She’s never been in the passenger seat of her own car before. It’s lumpier than she feels it should be, but perhaps that’s simply because her entire body hurts.
She gathers herself for a moment before speaking. ‘So I was mooching around in Gregory’s room,’ she says, conscious of the clicky dryness of her own tongue as she speaks. ‘I was kind of standing there, looking around and then I felt a tremendous sort of …’ she searches for the word ‘… force.’
Adam is silent for a moment.
‘It’s impossible to exactly explain what it felt like,’ she says. ‘But one minute I was on solid ground and then it was like being thrown by, by, I dunno, a giant hand or something. Something really powerful and violent.’ She has begun to shake and she clenches her hands together in her lap. ‘Something angry.’
‘Shit,’ says Adam, after a moment. ‘No wonder that poor little sod has run off.’
‘If that’s what happened,’ says Rose and the sentence hangs heavily in the air.
Rose insists Adam wait in the car because ‘I’ll only be two ticks’ when they get to her house, but the business of gathering clean clothes, toothbrush and toiletries seems to take forever. The house has a sort of clammy coldness, as if the heating hasn’t come on, and much as it feels strange to be going to her colleague’s house for the night, she’s grateful to pull the front door on her own home and walk, slowly and agedly, to the car where he patiently waits for her, engine off.
It’s after ten when Adam pulls up in a narrow, hilly street in Hornsey.
‘Sorry,’ he says, ‘this is probably about as near as we can get to my flat. Parking is terrible on this street.’
‘That’s okay,’ says Rose but as they walk up the hill, it starts to feel like a marathon in her current state. When Adam puts out an elbow and nods for her to take it, she can’t resist.
His arm, inside the dark blue woollen coat, feels strong and comforting as she slips her hand through. She can picture herself slipping her hands inside the coat and feeling his warm body underneath and supposes this a good sign. She clearly isn’t so knocked about that her body can’t still produce this pathetic, misplaced heat.
As they get to the top of the hill Adam stops outside a modern block of flats among the brown and white Edwardian terraced houses and looks up. ‘That’s a bit strange,’ he says.
‘What?’
‘Must have left a light on. Oh well, come on in and I’ll get the kettle on.’
The flat is on the first floor, which feels like the tenth. Rose wants to sleep more than anything and is thinking about when she can have another painkiller as Adam unlocks the front door and they step into a brightly lit hallway.
‘Daddeeeee!’ a skinny girl of about twelve in a yellow onesie and fluffy slippers comes careening from nowhere and throws herself at Adam, thin brown arms around his waist and a bubble of natural curls smushed into his chest.
‘Kea!’ he says, shock radiating from his expression. ‘What on earth are you doing here, baby? Where’s your mum? And your sister?’
The girl is clinging to him too tightly for her words to be heard and he has to gently prise her away. She sees Rose for the first time and her face is suffused with curiosity.
‘Who are you?’ she says.
‘Uh, hi,’ says Rose, ‘I’m Rose. I work with your dad.’
‘What’s wrong with your face?’
‘Kea!’ says Adam.
‘It’s okay,’ says Rose with an attempt at a laugh. ‘I know I look awful! I fell and bashed my face today.’
‘It looks really sore,’ says the girl with a genuine look of sympathy.
‘I’m okay,’ says Rose. The child’s words have unexpectedly touched her in a raw place.
Another girl of a similar age, dressed in lilac pyjamas, her hair in multiple braids in a high ponytail appears at one of the doorways. She is eating a piece of toast, with a look as though she is defying someone to take it off her.
‘Tandi?’ says Adam. ‘Can one of you tell me what’s going on here?’
‘Mum dropped us off,’ says Tandi, narrowing her eyes at Rose as she bites into her toast. ‘She said she was calling you.’
‘Well, she didn’t call me!’ says Adam. ‘Have you been on your own here all evening? When did you get here?’
It’s apparent to Rose by the tremble in his hands as smooths the hair back from his daughter’s forehead that Adam is trying to conceal how upset he is.
‘About six,’ says Kea, glancing down and then shyly looking up at Rose through thick eyelashes. ‘Tandi made us eggs.’
Adam looks at Rose, helplessly, then back at his daughters.
‘Why did Mum drop you here?’ he says.
Tandi shrugs. ‘Meeting someone,’ she says.
‘Hmm,’ says Adam, then: ‘I bet,’ so quietly you almost couldn’t catch it.
‘Maybe it’s best if I go,’ says Rose, although the thought of driving home seems like an impossible feat right now.
‘No!’ says Adam. ‘Absolutely not. Kea, Tandi … this is my colleague Detective Constable Rose Gifford, who is a very excellent policewoman. She hurt herself at work and needs to stay with us.’
Rose attempts a smile. ‘I’m a klutz.’
Tandi remains unimpressed. Rose sees her mouth the word ‘klutz’ as if it’s the stupidest word she has ever been presented with.
‘Anyway,’ says Adam, ‘speaking of sleeping, you’d both better get yourselves into bed double quick because it’s school tomorrow.’
‘We can’t,’ says Tandi, quickly. ‘We haven’t been fed.’
‘Oh,’ says Adam, feigning surprise. ‘That’s funny because I heard you made eggs. And I know that you make the best eggs in the family.’
Various emotions play out on the girl’s face and she suddenly seems less lippy and more putting-on-a-brave-face after being dumped here by her mother and her father turning up late with a damaged woman. It’s impossible not to warm a little bit to her, attitude and all.
‘You know it,’ she says airily, playing with one of her braids.
Adam grins. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘You go through and I’ll come tuck you in. I’m just going to get Rose settled first. Deal?’
‘Deal,’ says Kea, turning to go. Tandi doesn’t reply but seems to slide backwards around the door and out of sight.
They go into a long living area with a galley kitchen at one end, a dining room table and a seating area. It feels like a flat where a single man lives, from the lack of pictures and cushions, plus size of the telly and PlayStation taking pride of place. But there is various girl detritus too. Adam picks up a pair of pink socks that have been left on the sofa and the coffee table has a flowery hair accessory and a sparkly tub of lip balm.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ he says quietly. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised by my ex-wife thinking it’s acceptable to leave a pair of twelve-year-olds on their own for hours without even telling me they’re coming, yet somehow I still expect better. More fool me.’
Rose doesn’t really know what to say so instead she gently lowers herself onto a leather sofa, which doesn’t have half as much give in it as she would have liked. She leans her head back for a moment, then realizes it increases the pressure in her nose and sits up again.
‘I’ll go say goodnight,’ he says, ‘then get us something to drink. Hang tight.’
It’s not as if she has much choice.
After a moment she can hear giggling from the other room. Sounds like Tandi has forgiven her father for bringing a strange woman into the house, even if it is only his colleague.
Getting her phone out of her pocket she starts to look at emails but she can’t really concentrate on anything. She keeps thinking about being in the attic room at Wyndham Terrace and that horrible sensation of sudden movement, then the shock and pain of the wall meeting with her face. The very thought of going back there makes her shudder. If she had any choice, she would stay far away from that house and never go back. Like that’s an option in the middle of a major case. Then she has a curious thought.
Maybe she is connected to what’s happening there on a deeper level, whether she likes it or not. Like the house, or something in the house, is trying to communicate, even though it’s through violent means?
But what?
There’s movement elsewhere in the flat then and the sound of a door closing.
‘Sleeping time now, girls!’ says Adam loudly and then appears back in the room. He has changed out of his suit into a duck-egg blue jumper that complements his skin beautifully, and black tracksuit bottoms. Rose has already changed into fresh clothes but she is unaccountably cold and is surprised and grateful when he holds out a grey hoodie in the softest wool towards her.
‘Thought you’d be cold,’ he says. ‘It’s the shock, I think. Sometimes takes a little while to come out.’
Rose thanks him and puts on the hoodie, which drowns her in size but feels comforting. It smells of the same pleasant washing powder she recognizes from Adam’s clothes.
‘Hot drink?’ he says. ‘I’d offer something stronger after the day you’ve had but I imagine it’s not the best idea to mix it with your painkillers.’
‘I think it’ll be all right,’ says Rose. ‘I honestly can’t imagine sleeping unless I knock myself out a little bit. I’ll just have one, if you are too.’
‘Right,’ says Adam. ‘And you definitely haven’t got concussion?’
‘Well,’ Rose begins awkwardly. ‘They said I should just … keep an eye out, but they didn’t think so.’
‘Okay,’ says Adam, ‘well I’m going to be checking on you every few hours whether you like it or not.’
Rose is about to object.
‘Whisky okay for you?’ says Adam before she gets the chance.
‘Okay, and that’s great,’ says Rose. It’s not her favourite thing to drink, but it’s for medicinal purposes anyway.
‘I’ll make us something to eat too,’ he says from the kitchen area, as he takes glasses from a cupboard above the sink.
‘Don’t go to loads of trouble,’ says Rose. ‘I feel bad imposing on you like this when you’ve clearly got lots going on.’
He makes a face. ‘There’s always something going on when it comes to Suzanne. That’s the ex.’
‘Sorry to hear it,’ says Rose. But he doesn’t elaborate.
‘How does cheese on toast sound?’
Rose hadn’t thought she was hungry but somehow, it’s the best cheese on toast she’s ever eaten. Warm and salty and with some spicy kick she can’t identify. The good food seems to warm her blood and dissipate the last of the shivers.
‘That was delicious,’ she says, wiping her mouth with a piece of kitchen towel and leaving it on the plate. ‘I never knew cheese on toast could taste as good as that.’
Adam grins. ‘It might be the shock talking,’ he says, ‘or it might be my secret ingredient.’ He waggles his eyebrows, which makes her laugh, even though it hurts to do so.
‘Oh yeah?’ says Rose, sitting back gingerly in the chair. ‘How secret?’
‘Not secret at all, really,’ says Adam. ‘A splash of hot sauce before you put it under the grill. Makes all the difference.’
Rose takes a sip of the whisky and finds she enjoys the peaty burn as it slips down her throat. She rests her head back against the sofa again, but the spasm of agony this brings from her ribs makes her groan, involuntarily.
‘Shit, are you okay?’ says Adam, sitting forward slightly in his seat. ‘I’m not sure they should have let you out, to be honest.’
Rose manages a weak smile. ‘There’s nothing much they can do about ribs, they told me that. I have to ride it out. Not broken, which is a blessing. I’ll be okay after a good night’s sleep.’
They meet eyes. Rose can feel her own beginning to droop. Adam looks tired too.
‘Look,’ he says, ‘it’s late and I’m going to make up my bed for you. Think you need to hit the sack.’
‘I can’t take your bed!’ says Rose.
‘You don’t have any choice about it,’ says Adam. ‘If you want to know where Tandi gets her stubbornness from, then we could debate it. But I warn you now it will be time-consuming and can only end in failure.’
It’s impossible not to return his warm grin.
‘I wouldn’t dream of arguing,’ she says.
‘If it’s okay though,’ he says, ‘remember to leave the door open and I’ll pop my head round later. Make sure you’re breathing. I’m still worried about concussion.’
‘I will.’ Rose briefly frets about being seen drooling on the pillow or snoring extravagantly from her bunged-up battered nose. But the feeling of being looked after is lovely.
And quite alien. Because who, really, has ever looked after Rose?