December 2016
The hospital’s main door yawns a welcome, so different from the other night. I’ve kept in touch by phone and learnt Paul’s lapses into unconsciousness have stopped. He’s back inhabiting his battered body; lucid and talking.
We detour to the shop, so Mollie can choose a gift. She lingers over the cuddly toys, stroking their soft fur.
“Daddy would love this bear,” she exclaims. “So silky!”
“Perhaps some sweets or chocolate?” I suggest and, while she’s choosing, I buy the silky bear for her and pop it into my handbag.
The hospital corridors bustle with life—people staring down at their mobile phones, staff pushing trolleys, the squeak and whine of floor polishing equipment, but Paul’s room is silent with the blinds still drawn. The beeping monitor is disconnected and the machine shunted against the wall, leaving his body tethered only to the umbilical cord of a drip.
His head jerks up from the pillow as we enter and Mollie races across to his bed.
“Daddy, I’ve missed you.” She thrusts a box of her favourite chocolates into his hands. “Shall I open these for you?”
A grimace replaces his smile as she leans on his fractured shoulder while kissing his cheek. Above her head, his eyes summon my attention.
“The police came to see me earlier. We need to talk.”
I nod towards Mollie. “Not just now.”
“What’s this tube for?” She examines it with a forensic eye.
Paul explains. “But don’t waggle it, okay?”
I step away and stare out of the window at people weaving between deep puddles in the car park below.
Paul settles back against his pillow and Mollie produces a book from her small backpack. “Read me a story, Daddy.”
“I’ll do my best. Bit short of puff.”
“Silly, Daddy. I’ll read to you.”
Leaving them to read and chat, I pace the room. It feels hot and oppressive and is cramped as a cage. While I’m in the same room as Paul it’s hard not to think about the future. I must get away.
“I’ll get you a drink, Mollie,” I slope away and wander the corridors until I find a vending machine.
When I return, Paul is dozing.
“He’s sleeping.”
Mollie puts on a bored expression, but I settle her on a chair in a corner of the room, with her Orangina and her book, and give her the silky teddy bear that I secretly purchased in the hospital shop. Then I take her place at Paul’s bedside.
He stirs and his eyelids flicker open.
“Emma.”
He touches my wrist and I flinch.
“Shush!” I put a finger to my lips.
Mollie glances at us, slurps her drink and turns the pages of her book.
“The police were here earlier to take my statement. I told them everything,” he whispers.
“The whole truth?” I ask.
He nods. “About Genevieve and me. What she did to Mollie—and you.”
“And about going up to Les Quatre Vents to meet her?”
“Yes. Genevieve was there.” He touches the back of his head and winces, as if discovering his injury for the first time. “She was in total denial about what she did to you and Mollie. She acted as if nothing had happened. It was ugly.” He drops his voice so I have no choice but to lean closer to hear him. “I lost it, Emma—tried to strangle her but she ran off.”
“What happened? The police found a blood-covered spade.”
“Something hit my head before I fell into the trench.”
“And you’re sure it was her? That there wasn’t anyone else there?”
He looks at me, puzzled. “It must have been her. Her car was parked out the front. There’ll be tracks.”
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. “Did the police tell you if they’ve found her? I keep calling but there’s no news.”
“They’re watching her flat but no one seems to know where she’s got to.”