I didn’t know what Susan was going to do now. Perhaps it had been cruel to string her along, to allow her to believe I’d killed Ivan, but I liked to think she deserved it for believing I was capable.
I went back to the kitchen and sat at the table. I half-expected her to leave, and raised an eyebrow when she came into the room. Since she was there, I might as well get the answer to something that was puzzling me. ‘Ethan didn’t actually say I’d killed Ivan, did he?’ She had the grace to look embarrassed. Or maybe she was annoyed. Her ridiculously crazy plan to blackmail me into giving up her husband had backfired. ‘I’m guessing by your silence that he didn’t. Ethan’s a bit of an idiot, but he’s not that stupid.’ I stood, crossed to the back door, and pushed it open. Behind me, I heard the scrape of a chair being pulled from under the table, and a loud sigh as my unwanted visitor sat. It seemed I wasn’t getting rid of her that easily.
‘I don’t understand… what’s causing that awful smell?’
I took another breath of the clean, fresh air before turning. ‘I was only half joking about him rotting away, you know; he has pressure sores. One on his arse, one on each heel.’
‘You’ve twenty-four-hour nursing care?’
‘Oh yes.’ Hannah smiled as she returned to her seat. ‘I’m not giving his relatives any reason to complain I neglected him in his final days. Twenty-four-hour nursing, the best care money can buy. There’s plenty of it; I don’t begrudge spending some to make sure he goes in comfort, as long as he goes.’
‘The nurse…’ Susan frowned. ‘He didn’t say a word. Is he always like that?’
Hannah sniffed. ‘He’s good at what he does, and reliable, but he’s a pig. A few weeks ago, when the smell wasn’t nearly as bad as it is now, I complained about it and asked him to tie the top of that yellow bag that’s outside the bedroom door. He never does. It’s only taken away once a week by a specialised clinical waste company. That’s why the place stinks so badly.’
‘But not inside the bedroom, isn’t that strange?’
‘You probably didn’t notice but there are odour neutralisers on almost every surface in his room; they’re very effective.’
She still looked puzzled. ‘But if the nurse doesn’t speak to you, how do you know how Ivan is doing?’
I thought I’d made it crystal clear. Obviously not. ‘Ivan is dying. It’s not a matter of if, it’s a matter of when. I don’t need a report from the nurses. They’re paid to do the job, that’s all I want from them.’
‘Right.’ She was still frowning. ‘I know what Ivan did to you, but he is dying; should you speak to him the way you did? And hitting him… that’s not really right, is it?’
Miss High and Mighty with her middle-class mores, her conservative, boring lifestyle, her suburban home and tired marriage was daring to criticise me? Without knowing a thing about me. Maybe I was tired of it all, of being the baddie in everyone’s story. Of being the baddie in mine. I was tired too of trying to decide what to do with what I’d found in that drawer. Susan was waiting for an answer; I felt her eyes boring into my bowed head. There was a set of knives on the counter. Sharp ones – I’d cut my finger the first time I’d used them. I wanted to stand, grab one and chase this irritating woman from the house. Instead, I sighed and lifted my head to look at her. ‘Do you know why he has pressure sores?’ Of course she didn’t. Mrs Suburbia knew nothing. I leaned an elbow on the table and looked her in the eye.
She shuffled in her chair, looking uncomfortable, as if I’d mentioned something disgusting.
Pressure sores. They were disgusting, often screaming neglect and poor care. ‘Let me explain what happened.’ I settled back in the chair, folding my arms, making myself comfortable. ‘I told you about him beating the crap out of me, didn’t I?’ I waited until she gave a reluctant nod before continuing. ‘It seems it took a lot out of the old bastard. He had a stroke. A big one. And you know what all these adverts say about getting treatment as soon as possible? Well, unfortunately for him, the only person available to help was lying unconscious on the floor above. It was the following day before I managed to get down the stairs and found him.’ I pointed to the floor under where she was sitting. She looked suitably horrified and I was amused to see her shuffling the chair away from the spot as if Ivan was still lying there.
‘He’d been there for around twelve hours, give or take an hour, unable to move. By the time the ambulance arrived to take him to hospital, tissue damage had already occurred to all the pressure points.’ I lifted my hand to my head. ‘The only one that healed was the nasty one to the back of his head. The rest…’ I shrugged. ‘Well, you saw for yourself.’
‘There’s nothing they can do?’
This made me smile. ‘People think because it’s the twenty-first century, there’s a cure for everything. There isn’t. Ivan was in hospital for a couple of weeks. He had extensive assessments by a variety of people and they all came to the same conclusion. There was no chance of rehabilitation. As next of kin, I had a meeting with the team looking after him and they explained in great detail that in view of his advanced age, they were recommending letting nature take its course, and asked if I agreed.’
‘Which of course you did.’
‘I wanted to ask if they could simply euthanise the bastard, but I guessed that wouldn’t go down well.’
For the first time, Susan laughed. ‘No, that would have set warning bells ringing all right.’
‘Indeed, and I was very careful not to give Ivan’s relatives any ammo. Hence, the twenty-four-hour nurse, and everything money can buy.’ I sighed. ‘I didn’t expect the old bastard to last this long, though.’
‘I’m no expert but I wouldn’t have thought it would be much longer.’
‘But as you say, you’re no expert.’ My voice was sharper than I’d intended and I saw her flinch. I pushed back the chair, the feet scraping noisily to fill the sudden uncomfortable silence. ‘I need a drink; you want one?’
She shook her head so adamantly that her thin hair whipped her face. ‘I’m driving, I’d better not.’
I did an eye roll. ‘I meant tea or more coffee. A glass of water maybe.’
Colour flushed her cheeks. Embarrassment or a hot flush. I neither knew nor cared.
‘A glass of water would be good.’
I filled a glass for her and switched on the kettle to make more coffee for myself. I could feel her eyes on me, weighing up everything I’d told her. I wondered if she believed me. I could show her the photographs I’d taken of my bruising, but I couldn’t see any point. It didn’t matter if she believed me or not. Would I have believed her had our positions been reversed? Probably not, but then I didn’t trust anyone.