Gemma has to make it out of the coma first.
He checks his watch again. DI Sanders is running late.
‘It could have been someone else with the same colour hair.’ This again is thinking out loud.
Rachel looks up at him. ‘And why would she say such an odd thing? He’s not who he says he is. Something which completely fits with Laura. The whole, bizarre story that is . . .’ She pauses. ‘Laura.’
He’s trying to think how to counter this when there’s a tap at the door.
Ed stands as he announces to DI Sanders that she can come in.
‘Do you want to find a quiet room? An office?’ Mel Sanders is taking in Gemma’s headphones, looking a little puzzled.
‘I would prefer that,’ Rachel says. ‘But I’ll ask if a nurse can sit with her. They’ll probably let us use the corner office if it’s free.’
Rachel leaves the cubicle to liaise with one of the nurses and DI Sanders lets out a long sigh.
‘I can’t believe the media were allowed to cover it the way they did,’ Ed says. ‘Alex’s show.’
‘Some outlets held back. Our comms unit put out direct appeals to news desks. Some edited a lot out.’
‘But not all.’
‘No. We did our best but I’m sorry you had to go through that.’ DI Sanders again looks at Gemma. ‘I understand that your wife wants to speak to me on her own first. We’ll send the nurse in when we’re ready for you.’
Ed is shaken by this. Rachel didn’t spell that out. He knows she’s really upset over the shock of finding out about Laura and he expected her to be. Who wouldn’t be? But he hates the thought of not knowing what she’s going to say to DI Sanders.
The police officer pauses, but he has no idea what to say by way of protest.
‘It can’t be easy for your wife,’ DI Sanders says finally as she heads for the door.
‘No. And that’s my fault. I do know that.’ Ed sits down and leans forward to put his head in his hands as the inspector leaves.
He checks his watch every five minutes and it’s fifteen before a nurse finally comes into the room to tell him they’re ready for him in the corner office. He tries to find a small smile of thanks but his face muscles aren’t working properly. He presses his hand once more against the hard rectangle of the postcard concealed in his pocket. The hypocrisy. He was going to show it quietly to the inspector, hoping Rachel would not see it, but he will need to hand it over in front of Rachel now. He thinks of his bizarre suspicion, wondering if Rachel might have sent it in anger. A little dig. But this suspicion feels like yet another betrayal she doesn’t deserve.
He honestly doesn’t know what it means or what to think any more. His head hurts. Did Laura really send the postcard to him? If so – why? Still he cannot think of her as anything other than unwell. But what if he’s got this all wrong? What if Laura is now more ill than he realises and he’s allowing his own guilt to cloud his judgement? Ed feels a terrible weight as he pulls himself up to standing and weaves through the door and the centre of the main ward towards the corner office that the nurses use for coffee breaks and admin during the night shift.
Rachel is sitting next to a filing cabinet, drying her eyes. DI Sanders looks up and glances between them, and Ed worries there may be even more to this private meeting than he realised.
But what exactly?
‘Why didn’t you want me with you?’ He says this to Rachel but she won’t look at him. ‘What have you been saying? What’s going on?’
CHAPTER 42
Black
I am watching an ant. It is tracing a line directly along the grout between the floor tiles. Black. Bold. And to me rather beautiful.
I have never minded insects the way others do. Spiders. Woodlice. Ants. When I was a child, we lived in a house that seemed positively infested with spiders. My friends hated them, creating all sorts of scenes. But I was always fascinated by their endeavours. Their secrecy. Slipping in and out of rooms and weaving their magical webs. Works of art, catching the light.
I had a friend who had a large dog that was petrified of woodlice. The dog would cower across the room, sometimes stress-weeing right on the carpet. My friend was mortified and her mother was furious. But I thought it was hilarious. A tiny woodlouse versus a large dog.
As for ants – what little miracles. All they do is work. Busy, busy, busy. I like that. I understand that.
What appeals to me about insects is they have it tough, but they don’t let that stop them. I’m exactly like that. I focus on what I want and I work towards it. Like a spider. Like an ant.