It’s quicker to take the new road to Exeter unless you know the old one like I do and can navigate its sharp corners and hidden dips with the requisite easing of the foot off the accelerator, saving vital minutes, but still, today it feels interminable. Jackie has agreed to leave Simon and I promised her that I would speak to Holt first and then some police officers would accompany social services to collect her within an hour, two at the most. Once she’s away from him, she’ll open up.
My preference would be to waltz into the Major Incidents suite so Holt has no choice but to listen to me, but Lowe demanded that I surrender my security pass so I pace reception, hoping Holt will deign to put in an appearance.
I’m about to ask the receptionist to call him up again when he finally appears, but he’s not alone. With him are two uniformed officers. Before I have time to speak, he nods in my direction.
‘That’s her.’
The officers move towards me.
‘What’s this? What’s going on?’ But I know what’s going on. I’ve seen it enough times. I just can’t work out why it’s happening to me. I look to Holt for an explanation.
‘Ally Dymond, I’m arresting you on suspicion of assaulting Jackie Pascoe.’
But his words make no sense.
‘Assault? What are you talking about? I would never lay a finger on Jackie Pascoe.’
Then it hits me square on. Oh God. Pascoe. He got to her first. What have I done?
Holt’s face remains impassive. Despite our differences, I sense this is giving him no pleasure. We never like to nick one of our own. ‘You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say…’
I have to stop this. For both our sakes.
‘Bob. Wait. Don’t do this. You know me. You know I couldn’t have done anything like this. I never touched Jackie.’
Holt gives a weary sigh; he’s had his fill of people protesting their innocence.
‘We’ve got proof that says otherwise.’
‘What proof? You can’t have because I didn’t touch her.’
Holt stares at me for a moment before picking up where he left off, reciting my rights in the same way he’s done since his police training days thirty years ago. When he’s finished, one of the uniformed officers grabs my arm like I’m planning to do a runner, but I shake it off.
‘Don’t fucking touch me.’
I regret it immediately. It’s enough to make him go for his cuffs. His mate steps in, grabs my right arm and twists it behind my back smacking my face onto the front reception desk. Pain shoots up my arm which feels like it’ll snap any second.
‘Ow. Get off me.’
But I’m wasting my breath. While his mate holds me still, the first cop slips the plastic loop over my wrists and tightens the plastic cuffs, cutting into my skin.
‘Right, let’s get her down in custody,’ says the first cop.
They jostle me towards the door to the inner sanctum of the station.
‘Christ, there’s no need to be so rough. Bob, please get them to take the cuffs off. I’ll go quietly.’
Jesus, I’m a walking criminal cliché, but he ignores my request and nods at his goons. One officer opens the door, while the other shoves me roughly through the doorway, the plastic slicing my skin like a wire through cheese.
‘Bob, you’re making a massive mistake,’ I call over my shoulder, but the door closes on me.
* * *
Jackie’s eyelids flicker open to the narrowest of slits under the pressure of the bruises that have ballooned her brows. Her bloodied eyeballs swivel before settling on him. ‘How are you, my love?’
He says it loud enough for the nurse tending the patient in the next bed to hear. She looks on as if she wishes her husband spoke to her that way.
‘Water,’ whispers Jackie.
Her arms aren’t broken, Jackie’s perfectly capable of reaching for it herself. She’s not been conscious five seconds and she’s already making demands.
‘Of course, my love.’
He holds the straw a little way away and watches her swollen dry lips protrude and pucker as she searches it out. She lifts her head and gasps from the effort before her lips clamp around the straw.
As she sips, he nudges the straw out of her mouth. Water dribbles down her chin and onto her chest. Where’s your precious Arjun now?
He puts the plastic cup on the side.
‘Did we do it?’ she whispers.
The nurse has left the ward, but he leans in close to Jackie.
‘Yes, we did it. The CSI has been arrested. She won’t bother us again. I promise. Things can get back to normal now.’
A wince accompanies her nod.
‘That’s good. Thank you.’
At last, some gratitude.
The effort of those few words appears to take its toll; Jackie closes her eyes and relaxes back onto the bed. A few minutes later, she’s asleep again.
By the time he’d finished explaining to her what a threat Ally Dymond was, she was practically begging him to hit her as hard as he could.
He told her that the CSI was obsessed with him and if she couldn’t have him she would hurt him instead. Jackie would end up in a home. No more sweets, no more live cams, no more miniature teddies. But it was worse than that. He’s regularly called to care homes. He’s seen the physical and psychological abuse that happens there first hand.
She dissolved into a quivering, watery mess and begged him to do what needed to be done then and there, but these things needed to be done properly.
Jackie chose which bear she wanted to be with her, opting for Florence Nightingale. He patted her hand, told her she was doing the right thing and left.
An hour later, he crept downstairs and into the living room where he found her absorbed in the live cam and the sight of a little boy and his father trying to shore up their sandcastle against the incoming tide. He was suddenly irritated that these strangers had her attention and not him, so he coughed to announce his arrival.
She looked up, terror in her eyes, but she didn’t try to defend herself. It might have been better if she had, more authentic, but it was too late now and he swung the CSI’s spanner down hard onto her crown. Florence Nightingale tumbled to the floor.
She slumped to one side of her chair, blood oozing over her scalp from the gaping wound. Head injuries always look bad and it was difficult to tell if it had been enough so, pulling her back into an upright position, he struck her a few more times just to be sure. He dropped the spanner by her side. It landed next to Florence Nightingale.
He checks his watch. It’s nearly midday. He wants to leave. He’s been there since 4 p.m. yesterday. Surely, that’s long enough. The nurses keep remarking on his determination to be by his wife’s side and how lucky she is to have him to look after her. Trisha even put in an appearance. She was really shocked and angry at what had happened to his ‘lovely Jackie’ and Colin told him to take as much time as he needed. Work can wait.
A nurse ambles in just as he’s getting up. She checks the machines Jackie is hooked up to.
‘She’s doing well. She’ll be out of here in no time.’
The thought doesn’t cheer him.
‘That’s good to hear.’
‘Although your wife has complained of stomach pains when she eats. Would you like me to ask the doctor to take a closer look?’
‘Thank you, but there’s no need. We’ve already seen the doctor about it. They’re caused by her General Anxiety Disorder. Same as her alopecia. She was severely bullied as a child. She’s never really got over it. They used to spit on her food so eating makes her particularly anxious.’
‘That’s terrible. I could speak to our mental health team instead.’
‘Honestly, we’ve tried everything, it’s hopeless. Being in hospital will make it worse too. The sooner she’s home, where I can take care of her, the better.’
The nurse nods.
‘It must be hard being a paramedic and caring for your wife.’
‘Yes, it can be,’ he says, rubbing his eyes.
‘You look tired. Why don’t you go home and get some rest? We’ll call you, if we need to.’
‘Yes, OK.’
Outside of the hospital, he pauses to inhale the cool unrecycled air, but he’s not going home. TruffleDelite is about to finish her morning lessons.