Dylan was listening intently to the conversation when a slight tap came at his door. The door opened and in walked Jen with his coffee. He motioned her over and she stood beside him watching the screen, so close he could hear her breathing – and he hoped she couldn’t hear the rapid beating of his heart. The smell of her perfume was intoxicating and he found himself involuntarily distracted by her presence.
‘What did you hit Detective Inspector Dylan with?’ John asked Todd, leaning towards him, his eyes boring into the prisoner’s, intent on an answer.
For a moment, Todd faltered. ‘A wooden bar off a broken trolley in t’station yard.’
Jen drew in a breath and held it for a second. ‘He’s admitted hitting you?’ she asked.
‘Not up until now, he hasn’t, but John has just reeled him in like a moth to a flame.’ Dylan’s smile was wide at hearing the confession. ‘That’s what you call good interview technique.’ Dylan switched the screen off and Jen took a quick step back as Ned Granger walked through the door.
‘They’ll charge him with section eighteen wounding now and then he’ll be going home.’
‘Going home?’ said Jen, confused.
‘Back to prison where he belongs,’ said Ned.
Kay Dylan’s funeral at the crematorium would be a quiet affair. She had a few old, distant relatives and some close friends and colleagues he only knew from her talking about them. How many of them were real, or merely an alibi for her lies, he could only guess. Apart from that, there were just the neighbours.
He was informed that Kenny Fisher had made a formal request to attend the service. It had been refused. The good news was that, although it had taken some finding, the pathologist had eventually located a needle mark on the right side of Kay’s neck, not easily visible due to the injuries she had sustained.
Dylan was pleased for two reasons. One: he now knew that Kay would have known nothing about the accident. Two: it showed him and the CPS and the courts just how determined and premeditated Fisher had been in his planning of her death. There would be no accepting a manslaughter plea from Fisher’s defence team.
The more Dylan tried to rationalise his situation, the more surreal it felt. Sitting at his desk, bleary-eyed with leaden tiredness, he found it hard to concentrate on the file he was reading. He couldn’t identify words from the string of letters in front of him. He desperately wanted to lie down and sleep, but he knew from experience that if he did, hell would come chasing him.
Rubbing the pain from the crick in his neck, Dylan lifted his head and attempted to blink away the tiredness from his eyes. Frustration made him push the paperwork to one side and with bone-aching lethargy he pulled himself to his feet and left the office with the intention of making himself a large, strong coffee.
On his way through the CID office Larry stopped him. His hand reached into a large brown envelope containing some forms for Dylan to sign. ‘I’m just about to charge Fisher,’ he said. ‘The remand file will be ready for tomorrow morning’s magistrates court.’
Alone once again in his office, Dylan shut the door behind him and looked down at the clothes hanging from his body, his belt fastened as tight as it could be so that his trousers wouldn’t fall down. He had lost weight. Was it any wonder? His fingers went automatically to the stubble on his chin as he took a step towards his desk; his hand wandered around his neck to the long straggly clumps of hair. He put his coffee mug down and, with the intention of going for a wash and a shave, turned to open the small wardrobe bought to hang his uniform in, where he’d put a towel, a razor and the mug that contained his toothbrush and toothpaste. Instinctively, his tongue ran around his teeth and swollen gums, already bleeding in places, owing to the lack of regular cleaning, he guessed.
He rummaged through the cupboard, panic overwhelming him as he realised that the socks, underclothes and shirts he had bought from the supermarket had all been worn and were now screwed up at the bottom of the wardrobe. He gathered them in his arms and put them in a carrier bag, wrinkling his nose at the smell of body odour. Lifting the bag and tying its handles, he dropped it in his bin. After all, he had nowhere to wash them and couldn’t face a night, nor spare the time, to sit in the launderette. He’d call and get some more … but when? The thought filled him with despair – whenever was he going to find time, for as soon as he could get away from the office, he wanted to go straight to the hospital to spend time with Isla.
As he slumped into his chair again, there was a knock at the door and Jen appeared, carrying two large bags, her perfume wafting towards him like a breath of fresh air. ‘I thought you might need these,’ she said, at his quizzical look. Holding the bags up she gave him a kittenish smile. ‘You’ll need to look smart in that Heartbreak Hotel.’
Gratitude overwhelmed him. He wondered, with all that had happened to her recently, how she could possibly have it in her to think about him? Then it hit him. Of course, she was happy now, he could see how content she was by just looking at her face.
His own depression seemed to engulf him like a heavy coat, behind which he was unable to disguise his despair. He sighed heavily and choked back a lump that rose in his throat. ‘Sadly, there is no room for me at Heartbreak Hotel,’ he said. Finding her face, he gave her a forced smile.
Jen could see the strain and the tiredness that he tried to hide from her and she briefly closed her eyes. Seeing the unintentional distress the revelation had caused her, he felt terrible.
‘But they’ve offered me a room at Training School,’ he said in a voice that was as upbeat as he could muster.
‘Is that not good?’ she asked. ‘You sound disappointed.’
He screwed up his nose. ‘It’s busy, noisy and twenty miles further away from Isla, but beggars can’t be choosers. I don’t have an option if I want a roof over my head.’
There was an odd moment in which neither of them spoke. Dylan opened the carrier bags. He looked inside. After a few moments his eyes found hers again and they were smiling.
‘How on earth did you know what I needed?’
‘I knew how I felt when I had to leave quickly, with few belongings. I can’t begin to imagine what it must be like to have nothing,’ she said. ‘And then, there’s the funeral … You’ll need something smart for that.’
The room filled with a powerful silence as he looked at her. It was Jen who broke it.
‘Why not move in with me and Max?’ she blurted out. ‘For a few days anyway … Or at least until there is room at Heartbreak Hotel?’ Her face blushed bright red as she realised what she had just said and at Dylan’s silence. ‘If you can stand lodging with a strange woman and her dog, that is.’ Her heart was pounding as she waited for his response.
Dylan was speechless. His eyes glazed over. The effort to hold himself together, not just fall apart right there and then, was almost too much. Swallowing down the lump that had risen again in his throat, he just said, ‘Really?’
Jen didn’t know what she was doing. She focused in on him. She attempted to keep her voice gentle and her tone light, but he could hear the tightness creeping in as she spoke. ‘I understand if you’re worried what others might think.’ She threw her head in the direction of Ned loitering outside in the main office.
Dylan’s face broke out into a wide smile. ‘No. Oh God, no,’ he said, with a brief, gruff chortle. ‘I got past worrying about what people thought of me years ago, when I became a police officer. It’s the strange woman bit I’m worried about,’ he teased, although his eyes showed deep gratitude. Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady himself.
She chuckled. Her eyes were bright. ‘Look, I’ve got to go and walk Max, then I’m due at aerobics in the gym, so I’ll get you the spare key and write down the address. You can stay as long as you like. I won’t tell, if you won’t.’
As Jen walked out of Dylan’s office, Larry walked into her path. ‘You going to aerobics tonight?’ he asked. Jen smiled at him pleasantly, but avoided giving him an answer.
D
ylan’s emotions switched swiftly. His normal posture took over.
‘Like a drink on a stick that one,’ Larry said to Dylan, his eyes still on the door that she had just walked through. ‘I’ll be off then, boss, and set up a tab in your name.’
‘Yes, well don’t go getting blathered before I get there. I’m going to see Isla first,’ Dylan warned him.
Larry shook his head. ‘Would I, boss?’
‘Don’t call me wood eye,’ they said in unison.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hell shouldn’t feel so comfortable, Dylan thought guiltily when he woke up the next day.
He was warm and he felt a sense of belonging, silly as that seemed when it was his first night in a strange bed, in a near stranger’s home. For the first time in a very long time, he could once again hear the birds singing. The spring sunlight appeared unduly bright through the bright yellow bedroom curtains, also welcoming him, it seemed. The house was peaceful, and as he lay there wallowing in comfort that he had not felt for so long, he allowed himself to drift in and out of a dreamless sleep. It was Sunday morning and bells rang from the village church, as if reminding him so. For the first time in days, even weeks, as exhausted and beyond tired as he was, he felt that opening his eyes might be worth the effort.
Throwing off the duvet, he got dressed and surveyed his room in daylight for the first time. The carpet was a mottled brown that matched the easy chair which looked out over the garden. Over the arm, Jen had laid soft towels, and a towelling dressing gown hung behind the door.
When he pulled back the curtains, he closed his eyes to the sun’s brightness and remained statue-like for a moment to bask in its warmth before he opened the window to smell the fresh air. He saw washing hanging out on the line and watched it dancing in the light breeze; he was comforted by the normality of everyday home life that didn’t include suspicion, lies and the anticipation of something inexplicably bad clouding the atmosphere, which he’d been living with for so long. He embraced the feeling with open arms.
Even the clothes in the wardrobe spoke of a fresh start, few as they were. He felt very smart; he had nothing to be ashamed of. He could hold his head up high. For all those that were aware of what had gone on, and the others that speculated, he knew he had done nothing wrong.
Jen was in the kitchen when he went downstairs. Her blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail that hung down her back. It seemed longer, somehow, and the style suited her. Her face was devoid of make-up and it made her look younger. Dylan had worried that there would be awkwardness between them. But such was his relief at the simple comforts, and gratitude for her help, that he felt he could be completely natural.
Max hopped from foot to foot at Jen’s booted feet as, with his lead in her hand, she opened the back door to let him out. Her lips curved up into a slight smile and her blue eyes shone with affection.
‘I’ll be back shortly,’ she said. ‘I’ll cook breakfast for us, shall I?’
Dylan smiled warmly. ‘Much as I’d love that, I’ll have to take a rain check,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘I’ve a briefing in an hour.’
Did he see disappointment in her eyes. And she in his?
‘I’m cooking a roast for tea, about six,’ she continued, above Max’s bark, demanding her attention. ‘You’re more than welcome to join us?’
When she’d gone, he took a cup from the drainer, a spoon from the drawer, sought coffee from the glass jar on the kitchen worktop and milk from the fridge. If he was in hell, then this was indeed a cruel trick. He looked around him. There was no splendour, no extravagance, just homely comfort in abundance. Could this new opening in life be no more than a dream, a cruel taunt, reminding him of what he could have had, but what he’d never be worthy of?
As he drove to work, he reflected on how his thoughts of Kay and Kenny Fisher had begun to diminish since he’d met Jen. Was he being disloyal to Kay’s memory and to their marriage, to think of Jen now, so soon? He enjoyed her company; was that wrong too? She was gentle, she was open, she was kind. Each time he looked into her eyes, he felt a thrill. He’d asked her about her previous relationships and she’d been truthful about Shaun, her childhood sweetheart, and her reason for travelling north. She must have been very much in love with him to move three hundred miles and leave her family and friends behind, to try to get over him. He guessed that her unfortunate affair with Martin had come about through terrible loneliness and a need to be accepted.
But, of course, he was also aware that her heartache for her first love could not have worn off straight away. If she held him up as a high standard, finding someone to take his place in her life – and trusting them – might be hard. Of course, some women loved only once, but not someone as openly kind as Jen, surely?
He smiled as he thought of her welcoming face and her warmth and stopped to allow some churchgoers to cross the road in front of him and caught the eye of the vicar standing at the gates of the church. He immediately looked away in shame. Well, the magic had definitely worn off in his marriage some time ago, but he had loved Kay once, and fiercely. It saddened him that he had had to accept she’d never felt the same, but she no longer existed. He had to get over his guilty feeling that he could have done more to save their marriage if he had tried. It was too late now; she was gone.
Ned’s smile didn’t reach his eyes when he entered Dylan’s office. The briefing was over and, sensing he wanted to speak to Dylan, the others had excused themselves and left. When they’d gone, Ned shut the door.
‘Have you had your phone off, boss?’
Dylan looked down at his mobile and saw the missed calls.
‘The hospital needs you to go right away,’ he said. ‘It’s Isla.’ He threw Dylan his keys. ‘The firm’s car is at the door.’
As the nurses and doctors brushed past Dylan in Isla’s room, he kept a level gaze, but inside he felt scared. Sitting at her bedside, he clenched and unclenched his hands helplessly. He looked up at the drips and tubes that were keeping her alive. His hand instinctively went to his pocket and he felt her note there. ‘I’m sorry, Isla … I couldn’t do it,’ he whispered.
At the nurses’ station Dylan helped himself to a coffee while they attended to Isla. Dr Ande saw him and went over to him, helping herself to a hot drink. She invited him into her office and closed the door behind him.
‘It’s nobody’s fault, you know. It’s a chemical imbalance, an illness. Just because you can’t see it, it doesn’t mean it’s not there.’
‘Perhaps not, but it doesn’t make it any easier,’ he said. Dylan saw a look in the doctor’s eyes that told him that there was worse to come. Feeling numb, he nodded. ‘Go on.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. Her eyes hooded over. ‘Isla’s organs are failing. I think it’s too late.’
‘Too late?’
‘There is nothing more we can do but make her comfortable.’
Dylan sat down beside Isla’s bed. ‘Keep fighting, little one,’ he said, as he gently stroked her on the forehead and kissed her cheek. ‘I love you. I need you to stay with me. Please, please,’ he begged.
He had never felt so utterly powerless.
Isla was asleep. He sat for an hour or longer and dozed in the big chair until he heard her stir and he woke as she did. He took her hand in his. A faint smile, as though worked up by enormous effort of will, moved across Isla’s lips. She mumbled unintelligibly for a moment or two and Dylan held his breath, turning an ear to try to interpret what she whispered.
Then, suddenly, she stopped, opened her eyes and looked up into the corner of the room. For more than a minute she was silent, with her eyes focused only on one single spot. Dylan looked over his shoulder to see what she was looking at. There was nothing there. He heard the nurse’s soft footsteps behind him as she entered the room. She too turned and looked up and he knew then it wouldn’t be long.
‘I’m coming, Mum,’ Isla breathed, as Dylan felt her squeeze his hand ever so gently; and when she released i
t her eyes closed slowly for the final time. He rose to gather her in his arms, as if in a dream, needing to hold on to her so tightly that he might never let her go. He’d rather he went with her.
Silently, the nurse padded towards the window and opened it wide. The cool breeze that floated in was welcome, but he shivered; goosebumps ran down his spine.
‘Why did you do that?’ Dylan asked, as sipped the strong, hot tea that the nurse brought him.
‘To let her spirit go free,’ she said calmly.
‘Thank you,’ said Dylan.
Physically and mentally, he was wiped out. His footsteps were heavy and they echoed on the linoleum flooring in the corridor. Every step he took away from Isla’s bedside felt like walking in treacle. When he reached the revolving doors that led to the outside, he welcomed the cold breeze that ruffled his hair. He hurried across the car park.
The gravel crunched under his feet and, as he breathed in the cool, fresh air, he hoped and prayed that Isla was now at peace, with Kay. But any sense of peace was not to last long; under his windscreen wipers fluttered a penalty notice. Dylan mouthed a sharp curse to the sky and stuffed the paperwork in his pocket, biting his lip. He wanted to pinch himself – was he dreaming? Surely, this hell he was living could only be a nightmare?
He might have been on a railroad train, looking out the window and watching the scenery, as he drove to the funeral home in a trance, to make the arrangements to turn Kay’s ceremony into a joint one with Isla’s. An only child, his own parents dead, the burden – even if he had wanted it to be – could not be shared.
Poetic Justice Page 24