Déjà Vu

by Stephen Edger

  ‘You probably don’t realise, but it’s almost three years to the day since we first met. I sometimes wonder where I would have ended up had you not stopped in for a coffee, or had gone in to one of the other cafés. I hope you don’t regret it.’

  She wiped a tear from her cheek.

  ‘I don’t regret a single second of the time we spent together.’

  She wiped a second tear.

  ‘Well, that’s not quite true. I do regret not unplugging that bloody phone charger when I’d finished with it. If I had then maybe...’ her words trailed off.

  She didn’t want to debate that hypothesis again. There would be time for that later when she woke from the same nightmare and cursed herself for not being more vigilant with her electrics.

  ‘Old Mr Walcott is still setting the world to rights. You’re the only one who didn’t seem to take offence to his crotchety old ways. He’s put up another one of his petitions. This time it’s about the rubbish bins. He thinks the council ought to wash them once a month, or at least pay a company to come and do it. He has stuck copies of the petition on the main notice board and seems to be patrolling the area, demanding signatures from all who pass by. It would almost be funny if he wasn’t so serious about it. I know you would have seen the funny side.’

  She paused and took in the scene about her. So many lost lives, just memories now, and how many of these weathered stones no longer received visits because those who would remember were just memories themselves?

  ‘I saw my counsellor again. He says I’m making progress, but it doesn’t feel like I have. I still wake every morning without you there, and it breaks my heart every single time. But do you know what my favourite time of the day is? It’s that micro-second between waking and my conscious mind kicking into gear. Because in that all-too-brief moment, I don’t remember any of what happened. For that tiny, tiny moment you are still alive, and I’m about to wake up and stare into those beautiful blue eyes of yours. I feel you with me in that moment. The smell of your aftershave, the warmth of your touch, and the feeling of being truly loved and appreciated.’

  She paused and wiped her nose with the back of her gloved hand.

  ‘But then the moment passes and reality comes crashing down on me, like a house made of straw in a hurricane. And it sucks the very life out of me. I feel my heart break every day and it is killing my spirit. But there’s nothing I can do about it.’

  A cool breeze whipped at the cellophane around the plants causing it to crackle.

  ‘You always used to say that suicide was a coward’s way out, and that nothing in life could ever be bad enough to make you want to give up. But you were wrong, Rob, for once in your life. Do you hear me? You were wrong.’

  Another wipe of her nose as fresh tears escaped.

  ‘Because I’ve tried to do it. I bought two packets of painkillers from three separate shops, and I even crushed them into a glass, ready to drink the lethal cocktail, but I couldn’t do it. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to do it – I really did – but I was terrified that I would fail, and would wake knowing that you were still so far away from me. I even tried running a razor blade over my wrists, but you know how squeamish I am with blood.’

  The cool breeze blew against her face, bringing brief respite from the overwhelming temperature.

  ‘I need your strength, now more than ever. Please don’t leave me here to suffer alone. Give me the courage to escape this broken body and join you. I beg you, Rob, I’m ready to go, but I need you to guide my hand and give me the strength to do what is necessary.’

  Megan closed her eyes and strained to hear his voice, but like every time she came, only silence was carried on the wind.

  FIVE

  She was sitting as Jake entered the office, quietly closing the door behind him; the calm before the storm. His one-on-one interactions with the Chief Super had been limited to rare congratulatory handshakes and photo opportunities, but this was the first time he had been summoned alone to her office. She didn’t look up as he stood, legs astride behind the less-than-welcoming chairs across the desk from her. Crossing his hands behind his back, he waited for the inevitable rollicking that was simmering just below the surface of the taut skin around her mouth.

  He knew better than to cough and disturb her concentration.

  Chief Superintendent Sharon Tillman was a stern woman from what the DCI had anecdotally told him. Like a tiger, she could be playful and loving, but she was always watching, aware of her surroundings, and ready to pounce at the slightest annoyance.

  Her office space reflected her personality to a tee. A large double window hung behind the desk, which was neatly stacked with two monitors at one end and a laptop to the right of them. Only those with authority would demand three screens to undertake their role. Jake – like the rest of the Major Investigation team – had to put up with workstations and out-of-date monitors.

  ‘Budget cuts are budget cuts,’ the DCI would always reply when another piece of kit failed. It wasn’t his fault; he didn’t allocate the budget. In fact, Jake wasn’t even sure if Chief Superintendent Tillman had any sway with how the financial resources were dispersed.

  He wasn’t about to ask now.

  Every piece of furniture in the office looked like it had been handpicked from the IKEA catalogue, and even the variety of books in the bookcase were organised from largest to smallest. Everything had its place and reflected the organised and ordered personality of its occupant. And as for the view of Southampton water from her window, well, it had to be the best view in the building.

  Tillman raised her head, removing her glasses, folding and lowering them to the desk on top of the page she’d been reading as he’d entered. ‘Well?’

  He knew she wasn’t casually enquiring about his health. The question was loaded and how he responded might have huge repercussions. But as his mind raced to find an adequate response, he found himself speechless.

  What could he say?

  He’d committed a cardinal sin, and there was no way to justify his actions. He could waste the next ten minutes telling her how McGregor had been taunting him, how the skinhead white supremacist had spat at Annie who was lying unconscious as a result of the vicious beating she’d received.

  Logan McGregor had got what was coming to him.

  But there was no way Jake should have been the one to serve the punishment. Rule one when detaining a suspect was not to use excessive force. It was in all the manuals. A whole day was dedicated to the subject in initial training at the Southern Support and Training Headquarters in Hamble, a few miles up the road.

  That wasn’t to say that suspects had to be wrapped in cotton wool, if they resisted and battled, a modicum of force could be used: kicking out their legs to get them to the ground for example, but right hooking was a big no-no.

  Jake had known he shouldn’t have struck McGregor, but in that split second it had been as if some other force had taken control of his body. He’d been a mere bystander as his balled fist had risen and connected with McGregor’s jaw, sending one of the Scotsman’s teeth flying from his mouth.

  As Jake’s clammy hands fidgeted behind his back, he could still feel the shooting pain in his wrist as knuckle had connected with jaw. It had been as painful as it had been exhilarating, but as McGregor had stumbled backwards, the thrill had instantly dissipated as the realisation of what he had done hit home.

  ‘Well?’ Tillman repeated, cocking an eyebrow to emphasise she was still waiting for his response.

  Jake didn’t have an adequate answer he could provide. An apology at this stage would sound trite. He would drop to his knees and plead for leniency if he thought it would do any good, but the less-than-charitable scowl cloaking Tillman’s face told him she wasn’t in the mood to dole out favours.

  So, with no words flowing from his brain to his lips, he simply bowed his head, ready to take the reprimand like a man.

  Tillman lowered her eyes back to the page on her desk. ‘Accordi
ng to this, you were lucky not to fracture his bloody jaw! You cracked one of his teeth, so not only do we have to put up with him sniggering at us, we also have to pay for his dentistry.’

  Jake jumped as she slammed her hand against the desk.

  ‘Six months of work down the drain and all because you couldn’t keep your fists to yourself!’

  Jake kept his head bent low, but forced his eyes up to see if she was staring at him, but he needn’t have bothered as her stare burrowed into his forehead.

  She was still seated, and that worried him more.

  In his experience – chastised by the head teacher at school, bollocked by his ex-army father – Jake had learned that those who paced when dishing out punishments tended to be softer in their judgement than those who remained seated, like a pot simmering on a stove. The act of pacing burned energy; energy which would otherwise be used to chide.

  Why wouldn’t she just stand?

  ‘He’s threatened to press charges against you too. Did you know that? What you did was stupid, naïve and unforgiveable, but DS Knight, why did you have to go and do it in front of bloody witnesses? You might have had a chance of your word against his, if you hadn’t reacted while the medical team attended to DC Lockwood.’

  He was surprised by her comment. Not so much the words, but the way she’d delivered them. They were strained, with just a hint of frustration, like she didn’t really want to be saying them. Maybe that was why she had remained seated.

  Was there a chance he would escape with just a slapped wrist?

  She waited for him to look up, before making eye contact. ‘I want your warrant card now. I am issuing you with a Reg-15 notice. You are hereby suspended with immediate effect while the police Professional Standards committee investigate your actions.’

  He shouldn’t have been surprised. She had no choice but to involve Professional Standards. He’d attacked a prisoner in his care, and the procedure dictated that Professional Standards review the situation. But it didn’t make it any easier to hear her utter the words.

  ‘Your suspension will be on full pay until the committee determine what the next course of action will be.’

  He didn’t want to ask the next question, but couldn’t prevent the words tumbling from his mouth. ‘Will I lose my job and pension?’

  Her expression softened slightly. ‘You know I can’t predict the future.’ She paused. ‘But, in my experience, officers don’t tend to return from something like this. You assaulted him, DS Knight. Actual Bodily Harm. Even if Professional Standards ruled the evidence inconclusive – which I very much doubt – you’re facing potential criminal charges which would result in your dismissal anyway.’

  Jake closed his eyes, fighting against the sting at the edge of his eyes, and nodding to confirm his understanding.

  As bad days went, today had been a stinker.

  The worst.

  Reaching into his trouser pocket, he removed his identification, turning it over in his hands one last time, before taking one step forward and resting it on the edge of her desk.

  ‘You’re a bloody fool, Knight,’ she said as she scooped it up and dropped it into one of her desk drawers. ‘How long have you been in the force?’

  Jake sniffed. ‘Fifteen years,’ he replied solemnly.

  ‘Fifteen years, and thrown away because you let your temper get the better of you. You bloody fool! In my time in this station I’ve heard nothing but glowing appraisals about your performance, attitude and conduct. What made you act so irrationally? Is there something going on outside of work that tipped you over the edge?’

  Jake narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t about to get into that. Not now and not with her. He shook his head.

  ‘Then I don’t understand what happened out there today.’ She shook her head in disappointment. ‘Someone from professional Standards will contact you in the next few days and probably invite you in for an interview. In the meantime, you won’t be arrested for the assault until we’ve finished processing business with McGregor. But you can expect a call about that in the coming days too. In the meantime it would be prudent for you to collect your things from your desk now before heading home.’

  She stood to indicate that their meeting was over.

  ‘Matters such as these are strictly confidential. There won’t be an announcement about why you won’t be in the office in the coming days and weeks, but it won’t take the rest of the team long to figure it out. Personally, I would discourage you from discussing the situation with any of your colleagues.’

  She looked over at the closed door, and he took it as his cue to leave.

  SIX

  It felt strange wheeling along the same streets she’d once walked down, but in the ten weeks since Megan had been forced to leave the road, little had changed. The same paving slabs were still cracked, the potholes in the road, although probably a fraction larger, still required attention, and the overgrown gardens still needed tending to. Save for the fact that she now had a new flat to call home, little else had changed.

  Secured by only a thin piece of yellow tape, the shell of the maisonette remained in place. The brickwork and walls now a gothic black, and the outline of other structures, now barely recognisable: a tall lamp, a puddle of melted plastic where the television had hung on the wall. And the wall separating the front room from the back was another charred mess, allowing light through. The back room had been the bathroom, and although the porcelain basin and toilet bowl remained, it was no longer clear where the shower cubicle started and the bath tub ended.

  The second room at the front – their room – hadn’t fared much better. Where she and Rob had first made love was now on view for all to see from the street, but it showed no signs of the searing intimacy that had existed between the two of them that first awkward night.

  He had struggled with her bra, all fingers and thumbs, until eventually she had unfastened the clasp. She’d known he’d had other girlfriends, they’d had that honest conversation early on in the relationship, but you never would have known from the clumsiness of his hands, including the moment when he’d raised his head too quickly and inadvertently butted hers. Thankfully, they’d both collapsed in a heap of giggles, before she’d taken his hand and told him to calm down.

  ‘I just don’t want to screw it up,’ he’d mumbled with a pained face.

  And that had been the moment she’d known he needed guiding. So that’s what she’d done. Shown him where to touch, and how hard to press. And he’d been an attentive student, listening to her words and applying the new found knowledge. Over the weeks that had passed following that first carnal encounter, he had learned everything there was to know about her body. How she enjoyed him to be rough when she’d had a bad day at work, but how she couldn’t resist a neck and shoulder massage when she was nearing her monthly cycle.

  It was hard to picture those nights now as she stared up at the sooty dungeon that remained. The metal frame of the double bed was still visible beneath the caved roof, but it was now as black and twisted as the struts that had once held the plasterboard walls in place.

  It was a relief that she hadn’t been conscious when the fire brigade had dragged her from the building. If she’d had to watch all her possessions – her entire life – going up in smoke, she wouldn’t have survived as long as she had. She may never have regained consciousness had she known that Rob had perished in the flames.

  Although she was staring at the property they’d shared for three years, it wasn’t their home any more, and it didn’t fill her with all the memories they’d created together. Instead, all she could picture was the orange flames licking the curtains.

  As her lungs had slowly recovered from the smoke and soot damage in the days that had followed, the doctors had fed her information piecemeal, concerned that the shock of the truth would tip her over the edge.

  She had asked and asked about Rob’s whereabouts, and rather than lying to her, the poor nurses had been forced to change the subjec
t, to shift her focus from the fear to something bright: a new bunch of flowers that had arrived, or the latest celebrity gossip.

  But eventually they’d had to come clean. The doctor – the A&E lead who had worked tirelessly to resuscitate her on arrival at the hospital – was the one who’d drawn the short straw. Maybe his boss had thought she would receive the news better from someone with the same skin colour as hers, but it hadn’t been easy for him. She had known from his hunched shoulders and inability to look her in the eye that he was about to deliver bad news. He’d started by telling her that her own recovery was progressing well, and that she would be able to go home – he’d apologised for the slip of the tongue – in a few days. He’d told her the council had arranged temporary accommodation and that they would make the necessary adjustments to help her rebuild her life; or what was left of it.

  And then he’d looked away again, swallowed hard and taken a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry to tell you, but your partner Rob didn’t survive his injuries. I am so sincerely sorry, Megan.’

  He’d continued talking for what had felt like hours, but she hadn’t heard a word of it. She’d been too numb to cry, but the doctor had wept. The day before she was due to be released – some six weeks earlier – the Fire Service Incident Commander had entered her room. Dressed in a shirt and black tie, she hadn’t realised he was part of the fire service at first, assuming he was an undertaker, visiting to check the arrangements for Rob’s funeral. But then he’d shown her his identification and told her that he had finished his investigation and that a faulty electrical appliance in the kitchen had been the start. But as the fire had started, it had come into contact with grease on the work surface and quickly spread to the blind, and the entire kitchen space would have been ablaze in under sixty seconds. But then it had spread.

  Rob hadn’t been in their room when the flames had made it up through the floorboards. He’d managed to get out, but stupidly – and so typically Rob – he had returned to try and find her, but had been struck by a falling doorframe and become trapped. In the confusion, neighbours had informed the authorities that they’d seen Rob alive and well outside the building after the blaze had started, and by the time they had discovered his body, he’d been covered in third degree burns, and was pronounced dead at the scene.