After the argument, McNair and Fletcher would no doubt have taken themselves away to confer and swap notes. Dani was back on the force, but she felt like she was already being marginalised.
When she exited the stairwell on the sixth floor, she noticed the door to the apartment next door – Mrs Miller’s – was wide open.
Most of the inhabitants in the twelve-year-old apartment block overlooking the canals were young couples or young professionals. Dani lived in one of four apartments on the top floor, the ‘penthouse’ level, as it had been sold to Dani when she’d bought the place, just a few months before the financial crash hit in 2008. Up on this level there was just Dani, Mrs Miller, and an engaged couple who Dani knew both worked for a big accountancy firm, but she couldn’t remember either the name of the firm, nor of the man and woman. They were rarely about anyway, seemingly working all hours and regularly away from home. The only other apartment on the floor – a three-bed monster that probably was fit for the title of penthouse – had been empty and on the market for more than four years, the seller unwilling to budge from the price he’d paid for the pad when the block had been brand new. So it was generally just Mrs Miller that Dani saw out and about on floor six.
Mrs Miller was in her seventies, a true cat lady. She’d been married once but her husband had run away with his mistress some twenty years previously and she’d never re-married or even put herself back into the dating game as far as Dani knew. She was harmless enough, if a little senile, but for some reason she’d never liked Dani.
Perhaps it was because Dani was a police officer, or because she was in her mid-thirties and lived on her own. It certainly wasn’t because Dani was a loud or obnoxious neighbour in any way.
Dani peered into Mrs Miller’s apartment as she walked past, intending to give a smile and a greeting if she saw her neighbour. Mrs Miller was standing just away from the door, wearing a thick light blue bathrobe and holding a shabby ginger cat in her arms.
‘Hi,’ Dani said.
Mrs Miller squinted her eyes and nodded.
‘I thought you were the Tesco man,’ she said.
‘What? No. Didn't see anyone coming up either.’
‘Idiot’s probably got himself lost again.’
And with that the door was slammed shut.
‘Delightful,’ Dani muttered under her breath.
She carried on to her apartment and when she’d stepped inside and locked the door behind her she leaned against the wall and let out a long sigh. After taking off her shoes – with great relief – Dani stripped off her work clothes and slung on her pyjama bottoms and a hoodie. Then she went to look for more medicinal relief. She opened the bathroom cabinet and stood there staring at the bottles.
In the end she decided against it. She’d had plenty for one day. She wanted something else. She moved to the kitchen. In the fridge was a bottle of wine she’d put there the previous night but not opened. On her meds she was ok to drink, but knew that her alcohol tolerance was seriously diminished. Consuming too much, she’d been told over and over, was yet another factor that drastically increased the risk of her having seizures.
Putting better judgment to one side she took the bottle out and found the corkscrew. As she was taking the cork out she recalled a documentary she’d seen not long ago where overweight and unfit couples were put through the wringer over their diets and exercise regimes. One couple had got into the habit of sitting in bed together every night with a bottle of wine each, not talking to each other, just drinking – him straight from the bottle and her from a protein shaker. Dani had thought their routine was both sad and weird and more than bordering on casual alcoholism, but all of a sudden she could see the appeal.
In the end though, Dani opted for a regular wine glass and only half-filled it with wine. She was still standing in the kitchen, enjoying the first sip, when there was a knock on the front door. Dani frowned and put the glass down. The outer doors to the apartment block were securely locked so visitors had to use the video intercom to gain entry. Perhaps it was Mrs Miller?
Dani walked back through from the kitchen to the front door and peered through the peephole.
Jason. What the hell was he doing there? And how had he got into the building? Dani wondered whether she should just wait it out and see if he disappeared, but after a few seconds he reached forwards and knocked again.
‘Dani, I know you’re in there.’
Dani cursed under her breath but she knew the best thing to do was just to open the door and get this over and done with. She did exactly that before she could talk herself out of it.
Jason smiled when he first saw her, before frowning as he looked down at her pyjamas and hoodie.
‘What do you want, Jason?’ Dani said, sounding harsher than she’d intended.
Jason didn’t bat an eyelid. He’d long gotten used to the new, angrier Dani, a personality he surely wouldn’t have fallen for. She noticed Jason look over to his left, towards Mrs Miller’s apartment. Dani leaned her head out into the corridor and saw the Tesco delivery man was now there, unloading crates of food. Mrs Miller was standing by her doorway with a deep scowl on her face as she stared over at Jason suspiciously.
‘How did you get up here?’ Dani said, turning back to Jason.
‘The door was open,’ Jason said. ‘Can I come in?’
Dani once again looked over at her neighbour who was still giving her the evil eye, as though Dani were operating an illegal brothel and Jason was a degenerate punter rather than her ex-boyfriend who’d been living there not all that long ago, having moved in with her after she’d come out from hospital to help look after her during her ongoing recovery.
‘Yeah. Probably best if you do.’
Dani stepped back and Jason followed her in, shutting the door behind him. He’d obviously been home from work already before coming over because he was now dressed in trainers, jeans, v-neck jumper and his faithful leather jacket. Jason was tall – six foot four – and on the bulky side of lean. His appearance and his kind manner were what had drawn Dani to him in the past. They had drawn many women to him, Dani knew. Not that he was a player. He was kind and modest.
Jason didn’t make a move to take off either the jacket or his shoes, and in the end the two of them just stood awkwardly in the small hallway, a couple of feet away from each other.
‘I don’t think she likes me too much,’ Jason said.
‘Mrs Miller? I don’t think she ever did. Don’t take it personally, she doesn’t like anyone much. Except for Philip Schofield, I think. And sometimes the Tesco guy. But not that one.’
Jason smiled and Dani nearly caught herself doing the same thing. Nearly.
‘It’s really great to have you back at work,’ Jason said.
‘Yeah,’ Dani said.
There was another awkward silence.
‘I’m glad you’re ok.’
‘Who said I’m ok?’
‘Well, I mean, you’re back now. That’s a good thing, right?’
‘Jason, why have you come here?’
‘Because I wanted to see you.’
‘And now you’ve seen me. So is that it?’
‘No. I wanted to talk to you too.’
‘About what?’
‘About us.’
‘I’m not doing this now.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I can’t.’
‘You can’t just ignore me forever, Dani. It’s been months already.’
‘I’m well aware how long it’s been.’
‘I still care about you.’
‘I’m not sure we even know each other anymore.’
Jason looked hurt.
‘I’m sorry,’ Dani said, hanging her head, not wanting to look him in the eye. He’d done nothing wrong, really. The problems between the two of them were all down to Dani and her stupid messed-up brain. Well, and her damn murderous brother who’d caused the injuries in the first place.
‘Why do you always push everyo
ne away from you?’ Jason said. ‘I can help you through this. I want to help.’
‘I don’t need your help!’ Dani shouted. ‘I don’t need anyone’s help. Jason, I’m sorry, I am, but I think you should go.’
‘That’s it?’
‘I need more time.’
‘I’ve given you plenty of that already.’
‘Just go.’
Jason shook his head, disappointed, and angry too, she could see. He felt like the aggrieved party, but he wasn’t really. Dani was the one whose life remained in disarray. If Jason really wanted to help, he just needed to suck it up and wait for Dani to find her old self again. If she ever could.
When the silence had dragged on long enough, Dani reached forwards and opened the door. Jason held his ground a few seconds as though weighing up whether he would fight any more. Eventually he just turned and walked out, leaving Dani slightly disappointed that he hadn’t tried harder, even though she’d meant what she said about needing more time.
After she’d closed and locked the door, Dani went back to the kitchen and over to the fridge for the bottle. She plonked the wine down on the counter, then opened up the cupboard again. Sod it, she was going to need a bigger wine glass after all.
Chapter Twelve
Day 90
‘Dani,’ the woman says.
I hear her voice but my head feels foggy and although I know I’m awake, I don’t want to open my eyes.
‘Dani, it’s Lucia. It’s time to eat.’
Lucia. One of the nurses in the rehabilitation ward. She’s from Poland. In her thirties, plump and matronly with a stern face but a kind and safe manner about her. When I first met her I struggled to understand her English, her accent was so thick. Apparently I would repeat the words she said, taking on a Polish accent myself in a strange attempt to converse with her, much like a toddler might. Much to the amusement of others. I wasn’t trying to amuse them, just trying to do what they wanted me to – talk, communicate.
I finally find the strength to open my eyes. Lucia is sitting by my bed in her dark blue uniform. She has a tray of food in front of me. A tuna salad. Tomato pasta. Apple pie and custard. Orange juice.
‘Can you manage?’ she asks.
‘Yes,’ I say.
I take the dessert spoon and plonk dollops of custard and pie onto the tuna salad then take a few mouthfuls. Next the orange juice goes into the pasta bowl to form something akin to a minestrone soup. I take big mouthfuls of salad, then soup, not bothering to chew if I don’t have to. I don’t know why I eat like this. It’s a habit now, even though I know it’s not right. The thing is, I can’t smell or taste the food I’m eating. Apparently I probably never will recover those senses properly. Mixing the foods together – starter, main, dessert, sweet, savoury, whatever – is merely my means of getting the meal over with more quickly. Eating is a necessary inconvenience for me and nothing more.
A familiar face appears at the door. His tall frame takes up most of the doorway. Jason.
He smiles at me. I do my best to smile in return.
Jason’s is the first face that I remember seeing among the jumbled mess of memories from my time in hospital. At first I was glad to see him. It took away just some of my angst to have him by my side, made me feel just that little bit more safe and secure. Now, weeks later, I’m not so sure.
We’d only been dating for six months before I was brought here. We didn’t even live together, though I did love him. But there were never any vows between us, no ‘till death do us part’, or ‘in sickness and in health’. He has no obligation to stand by me now. Why does he even want to? I’m not the same person he fell in love with. I’m just a burden.
I don’t get many visitors here. My parents are both long dead. My father died of a heart attack while he was out gardening. My mother died from a stroke caused by her rapidly worsening dementia barely a year later. My only sibling – my murderous twin brother – is locked up, in part for trying to kill me by smashing my head against a doorframe before bludgeoning me with a stone ornament. Yes, all of this is because of my brother – Ben. My brother, Ben, who married my best friend, Alice. My brother, Ben, who killed Alice in a fit of rage when she threatened to leave him over his affair with another woman. My brother, Ben, who hid that secret for years, remarried, had another child, and was seemingly as normal as anyone else until he flipped again and went on a killing spree which culminated in him trying to murder both me and his new wife, Gemma.
So no, I don't get many visitors here. One or two colleagues from the police have been to see me, but they haven’t returned. There’s Gemma, my sister-in-law, and her kids – one of whom is actually Alice’s, but was only a baby when she was killed – but she only comes every few weeks. In truth we never got along that well, and after what happened with Ben, there’s an unease between us that may never pass, even though we were both victims of his. Yet other than her and Jason, there really is no support network around me.
So why does it annoy me so much that Jason keeps butting in? I can’t describe why but I resent that he wants to help so much. I wish I didn’t feel like that.
‘I’ll continue my rounds,’ Lucia says, then gets up and heads for the door.
‘How are you doing today?’ Jason asks.
‘I’m fine.’
‘I brought you these.’ He holds up a bag of jam doughnuts. ‘Your favourite.’
The nurses have encouraged him to bring extra food in for me. I’ve lost two stone in bodyweight and my metabolism remains heightened as my brain tries in vain to recover.
‘They were my favourite. You may as well have brought a bagful of mud.’
‘Still, the sugar’ll do you good.’
‘I’m not hungry now,’ I say, pushing the tray of nearly eaten slops away.
‘Maybe later then.’ Jason moves to the bed and puts the bag down. He pecks me on the forehead.
‘I don’t want them later!’ I snap. ‘I can’t taste a damn thing anyway, so what’s the point? You have them.’
Jason just smiles and sits down, not rising to it at all. I’m told that my irritability and unconscious outbursts are down to my damaged frontal lobes. I’m angry, a lot. I blurt things out, angrily, like someone with Tourette’s might. But despite what the doctors tell me, most of the time I think my anger has nothing to do with my broken brain; it’s because people just don’t listen to me. They treat me like an incompetent invalid, or like they’d treat a two-year-old. They make decisions for me, tell me what to do and what to think and what to say.
I just want to be listened to and trusted again.
‘Have you seen the physio today?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing. He wanted me to use that bloody hand bike again. What’s the point?’
I’m able to walk unaided now, but my body lacks coordination still. Writing in this diary helps not just my brain but my dexterity, even though it leaves me with pains and cramps most days. Likewise, the hand bike is one of the many exercise machines designed to help me build up muscle again and regain ‘normal’ motor skills.
But it’s tedious, and I hate that they tell me when I have to do it and for how long and then sit there monitoring me and assessing me, rather than just letting me do things for myself. Yet it surprises me that my motivation to get better is so low. I was always such a determined person.
Once again, evidence of the new Dani, courtesy of those bloody frontal lobes.
‘I’m really tired. I could do with some rest.’
‘Sure thing. Do you want me to hang around? Or come back later?’
‘No. Just go.’
For a second he looks crestfallen, but the look is gone in a flash and the next moment he appears relaxed and smiley again. It pisses me off even more that he won’t just say what he’s really thinking, that he treats me like this, as though nothing is ever a problem. Everything is a damn problem. Look at me!
He leans forwards and pecks me on the fore
head again.
‘I love you,’ he says.
I say nothing, just shut my eyes and keep them closed until I’m sure he’s out of the room.
Chapter Thirteen
When her alarm went off the following morning, Dani wanted nothing more than to crawl into a dark, quiet space and hibernate. One day back on the job and she was already drained. The bottle of wine certainly hadn’t helped, and as she found the strength to open her eyelids despite her pounding head, she resoundingly regretted having been so weak.
She dragged herself out of bed and showered. Afterwards she stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. At the scar above her ear. At first, when the stitches were still present, the deep wound over her fractured skull would ooze a sticky fluid, and she could barely bring herself to look. Then, when the stitches had gone, the whole area around the wound had remained a patchwork of red and black and purple and yellow for weeks. Still, Dani had held out hope that the damn thing would go away. But other than the patch turning silvery there’d been no change, no improvement at all, for months. This, the scar, the bald patch, was now her permanent reminder of what had happened.
Dani growled in frustration and reached out to open the mirrored door of the cabinet. For a couple of seconds she stared at the various bottles of pills in front of her. She’d already taken the anti-seizure tablets she needed. What about the anti-depressants? Painkillers? She knew from recent experience that she could seriously take the edge off how she was feeling. With a strong enough dose she could glide right through the day ahead and be none the wiser to it all.
No. Not today. She was a DI once again, and she was determined to prove to herself that she was recovering well enough without needing all the pills.
She grabbed a hair band from the shelf and slammed the door shut.
The Essence of Evil Page 8