Brady shrugs. “Close enough. By the way, you owe me big time.”
“No doubt.” Nate’s tone is dry. “So he’s put you on it?”
Brady shakes his head. “He’s sending someone over first thing in the morning. I’m here off my own bat.” He shrugs. “I’ve got nothing better to do this evening.”
Nate doesn’t reply, but something in the way they lock eyes tells me these guys don’t waste words when they can say it in a glance.
At last Nate nods, a little awkwardly. “Thanks, mate. Want a coffee? It’s really bad.”
“Sell it to me.” Then, as Nate heads out to the kitchen, “White with two.”
Brady stations himself by the window, his posture casual but his eyes sharp as he surveys the room. From where he’s standing he has an unobstructed view of anyone’s approach. He chats with Sylvia about this and that but avoids mentioning Faith and her imminent danger. Once Nate’s back, though, it’s open slather.
“So,” says Brady. “Why the need for extra security? What’s happened?”
Nate and Sylvia share a glance. Nate draws breath to speak, but Sylvia gets in first.
“Detective, are you aware of my profession?”
Brady gulps at his coffee, grimaces, then looks at her over his cup. “No. Should I be?”
“Perhaps.” She eases herself up from the chair and walks over to him. “I’m a clairvoyant.”
Brady chokes on his coffee. He recovers, glances at Nate, then brings his gaze back to Sylvia, his eyes carefully bland. “I . . . see.”
“With respect, Detective, I don’t think you do,” says Sylvia. “You don’t hold much stock with psychics and the like, do you?”
“I won’t lie. I’m a bit of a sceptic.”
She nods.
“I understand. You’re a detective, therefore you have a healthy disrespect for anything that can’t be proven with physical evidence. My son’s the same.” She arches a brow at Nate.
Then her expression softens. “Or, should I say, he was.”
Nate thrusts his hands in his jeans pockets and walks to the window. Looks out at the skyline then turns Brady’s way. “When the evidence is there, though, you have to take notice.”
Brady leans against the wall. Sips at his coffee. “Boy, am I glad the boss isn’t here for this.”
We all know he’s not referring to the coffee.
“What proof do you need that my skill is real?” asks Sylvia.
“None,” says Brady. “I’m not interested.”
“Do you want me to tell you who threw you off Shepherd’s Bridge when you were ten? Your poppa’s last words to you before he died? The guilt you feel over Astrid?” She watches his face closely.
Brady quickly assumes an expression of indifference, but not quickly enough: I’ve already seen the gamut of emotions crossing his face. Sylvia’s words have hit their mark.
“Who’s Astrid?” asks Nate.
“Nobody,” mutters Brady.
I raise an eyebrow at Sylvia. “Wow. You’re good.”
She looks my way and smiles. But it’s a wan smile; I can see she’s tired.
Now she has Brady’s undivided attention, though, she’s determined not to waste it. She relays to him the conversations we’ve had and, in particular, my description of Cynthia’s most recent visit. Nate tells him about our mirror chats. Then he shows Brady the webcam, and the feeds he’s receiving on his phone.
“Okay,” says Brady. “That’s all very well, but think about it from the point of view of the police. There’s no concrete evidence here; only second-hand information about a conversation that was overheard. By Faith. In ghost form. Who then told a psychic.”
He swipes a hand down his face, reacting to his own words. “Jesus.”
“Wait a little longer, then,” says Nate bitterly. “You’ll have Faith’s body as evidence soon.”
“Look, I’m here, aren’t I? We’ve got tonight covered.”
They do that speaking-without-speaking thing again.
Then Nate turns to Sylvia and, at last, notices her pallor. “Ma, are you okay?”
She murmurs something under her breath. Sways on her feet.
She’s not about to faint, is she? I lunge for her but, of course, my hand slices straight through her flesh.
Nate doesn’t have that problem. He all but carries her back to the chair.
“Ma,” he says gently. “It's time to stop.”
She nods. Holds a hand to her chest.
Crap. If she has a heart attack I’ll never forgive myself. “Sylvia, are you okay?”
“In a minute,” she whispers.
“Here. Put your feet up.” Nate flips the rubbish bin for her to use as a make-shift footstool. “Relax. Do that breathing thing you were always on at me about. I'll get you some water.”
She slumps back in the chair. “Thanks, son.”
Those two words shoot straight to my heart, filling me with warm fuzzies. Even if I can’t be saved, none of this has been in vain: it’s brought Nate and his mum back together. And, on the upside, at least I now have a strong connection to Nate from the other side. Strangely, it’s a thought I find vaguely reassuring.
Nate brings her a glass of water and holds it to her lips. It’s not long before some colour returns to her cheeks, thank goodness.
“Ma, you should go home and get some sleep. You’re our main link with Faith so we need you well rested.”
“You take her home,” says Brady. “I’ll keep a watch here.”
“No, no,” says Sylvia, pushing herself upright in the chair, “I’ll be fine.”
Nate looks from Sylvia to Brady. Brady indicates the door with his head. Nate nods.
“How about a compromise?” he says to Sylvia. “I’ll help you downstairs to a taxi, and I’ll come by and pick you up in the morning. Deal?”
Sylvia relents, relaxing back in the chair. Nate takes out his phone and orders a taxi. Then he places a second call.
“Kathy? Hi, it’s Nate. How was the movie?” He listens. “Thanks so much for doing that. Look, I need another favour. Could Tess stay with you tonight?” . . . “Yeah, quite a big one. I’ll tell you when you come in, but it looks like we’ve got a prime suspect.” . . . “No, don’t bother Geoff.” Nate shoots Brady a loaded glance. “I’ll let him know you’ve got Tess. She has school tomorrow, but under the circumstances I don’t think it’ll matter if she has a late start.”
He finishes the call then rings Geoff and squares it off with him; something along the lines of Mum not wanting to drive at night, easier for Tess to stay over.
“The webs we weave,” says Brady as Nate pockets his phone. “Tell me, what’s Cynthia’s issue with Faith, do you know?”
My heart skips a beat. Does he know? The pregnancy . . . the panic . . . the my-kid-must-have-a-family feelings?
Nate blows out his cheeks. “You’re asking me to look inside a woman’s mind and understand it?”
Brady’s mouth quirks up at one corner.
Nate looks at Faith-in-the-bed. He shrugs. “Not sure. Jealousy, maybe?”
I try to swallow my nerves but they’re sandpaper in my throat.
“What about her police statement?” asks Nate. “Any red flags there?”
“Not really. She didn’t mention her affair with Carson, but that’s hardly surprising.”
Nate doesn’t reply, but apparently his compressed lips and frown say plenty because Brady is quick to defend himself.
“Cut me some slack here, would you? It’s only been three days. When I took this case on they still had it pinned as suicide.”
“True,” admits Nate.
He shakes his head, looks off into the distance. “The bit I’m not getting is: why would Cynthia bother with any of this when she’s already hooked up with Carson?”
My nerves settle. My shoulders ease. It’s okay. He doesn’t know the full, messy story. My messy story. Not that I don’t want him to know, but, well . . . I’m embarrassed. I was
so focused on my own issues back then—as self-absorbed as Cynthia, really—I didn’t even notice I was stomping all over my best friend’s dreams. That’s worse than embarrassing. It’s mortifying.
And Nate’s been my friend since forever. He knows me better than anyone. But what if I tell him and he agrees with Cynthia, decides I’m a complete loser and wants nothing more to do with me?
My nerves fray all over again. Suddenly I’m desperate to clean the room. But there are no cobwebs and no dusty corners; very little, in fact, to distract an almost-dead woman from her own thoughts.
I know Gran’s trying to keep out of trouble but I wish it didn’t matter. I wish she were here. She’d have some good, calming advice; something to help me think sensibly.
“Let sleeping dogs lie,” murmurs Sylvia, so quietly I almost miss it.
Nate doesn’t miss it. “What do you mean?”
But she doesn’t reply. She doesn’t need to. Her words were meant for me, and once more I’m in awe. She read my thoughts, felt my angst, reached out to Gran, and came back with the very thing I needed to hear.
That saying was Gran’s favourite. Tax bills, family feuds, exes—her advice was always the same. “Let sleeping dogs lie, Faith, ’cause it’s a bitch when their teeth take a piece of your ass.”
So true.
Chapter Forty-Two
Daylight comes, terrifying in its inexorability, and I brace myself for whatever’s going to unfold. Because this is it. Day eight. My week is up, and if Gran’s right that means . . .
I shut off the thought. No. I can’t go there. Go there and I’ll be a weeping, quivering wreck.
I scrub at my face, wishing I could somehow peel away the scared version of me to reveal a brave one; a version of me courageous enough to find joy in what could be her final day of life.
The scared me checks the corridor and is pleased to see Detective Inspector Brady still there. He’s been sitting in that hard-backed chair all night, keeping watch, and to be honest I’m impressed he’s managed to stay awake so long. Thanks to him, Nate has been able to catch a few hours’ sleep.
Tess and Mum choose that moment to arrive in the ward and Brady and I watch their approach. Tess’s childlike irrepressibility and exuberance bounces off the walls. My throat swells. I love that sound. I love her. I listen hard, absorbing every nuance, absorbing her very essence, locking it safe in my heart where I’ll have it always.
As they draw close I merge back into my room for their visit. Nate stirs in the chair. He stretches, opens his eyes, and blearily hauls himself upright just as Tess and Mum enter.
“Hi, Uncle Nate,” says Tess, her bounciness only accentuating Nate’s lack thereof.
She turns my way and gives me a little smile and wave.
“Hi, Tessabelle,” croaks Nate, then musters a smile for Mum.
“Oh, Nathan, sorry,” says Mum. “Did we wake you?”
“No, no.” He clears his throat. “It’s all good.”
He pulls himself out of the chair, grunting as he straightens from what must’ve been a very uncomfortable sleeping position.
“Thanks for helping out at such short notice last night, Kathy. I really appreciate it.”
“It was a pleasure. We had fun, didn’t we, Tess?” Mum smiles at her grand-daughter then turns back to Nate, a serious expression on her face. “You stayed here all night. Is everything okay?”
“So far so good.”
“And . . . you mentioned a prime suspect?”
Nate rubs at his jaw, nods slowly.
“Yeah.” He glances at Tess. “Maybe later.”
“Of course. Yes.” Mum holds a hand out to Tess. “Let’s say hello to Mummy, darling.”
Nate slopes off to get a life-reviving coffee while they chat to Faith-in-the-bed—or, at least, Mum does. Tess, clever thing that she is, makes a point of walking as she talks, which allows her to face me without Mum thinking it odd.
Nate returns, stopping to chat to Brady outside my room, and that’s when a policeman arrives to relieve Brady. The policeman doesn’t exactly inspire me with confidence; he’s a fresh-faced chap barely out of nappies. But Brady quizzes him and Nate barks instructions at him and they both seem satisfied he’s up to the job, so I guess I’m just edgy.
Brady, after a few more low-toned words with Nate, heads home for some much-needed sleep.
That’s when Gran shows up, wearing gardening clothes and looking exactly as I remember from my last visit, the day before she died. My throat tightens. Why is she wearing that?
She smiles at me and my heart aches. I remember her death like yesterday. The gaping hole in my life where she’d always been. The hurt, so raw it was physical.
Seeing her again has been the one good thing about this whole stupid coma.
And I need to stop thinking like this. Nostalgia feels suspiciously close to acceptance—and, Day Eight or not, I mustn’t give up.
Tess’s face lights up like sunshine. “Nan-Nan!”
Mum, who’s chatting to Faith-in-the-bed, looks Tess’s way, clearly thinking she’s talking to her. But Tess is facing the opposite direction so Mum, with a shrug, resumes her one-sided discussion.
“Hello, Tess,” says Gran. “What’s new?”
“Nothing much. I went back to school yesterday.”
“And are you going again today?”
Tess shrugs. “Later, I think. Nan and I went to the movies last night, and then I had a sleepover at her house. We slept in but Nan said I could still come and see Mummy before she takes me to school.”
Tess smiles at me as she says this, and my heart expands. I can’t get enough of her today.
Nate comes to her side. “Hey, Squirt, who are you talking to?”
“Nan-Nan,” she replies, being honest with him. “She’s here too.”
“Is she?” Nate looks around with interest. “I can’t see her. You’ll need to teach me how sometime.”
They share a smile.
“Hey,” says Nate, “did you know there’s a new aquarium down by the nurses’ station?”
Tess shakes her head.
“Want me to show you?”
He holds out his hand to her and I watch them walk out of the room together, his big hand engulfing hers, and I thank God I’ve lived long enough to see the strength of their relationship.
“It was never under threat. Except in your silly head, of course,” says Gran acerbically. “Such wild conclusions.”
I’m quick to fire. “Well, excuse me for not being able to read everyone’s mind.”
She doesn’t give an inch.
“Trust your instincts. Rule number one,” she says, ticking off a finger. “And rule number two: know your enemies. Do you ever listen to people’s advice, or do you have to learn everything by trial and error?”
I don’t answer; she may have a point.
“Can I suggest one more thing?” asks Gran, scraping the dirt from her garden-dirtied nails. “And I’d be ever so impressed if you actually paid attention to this one . . .”
Her gaze snaps back to me. “You can’t afford any more trials or errors. Today is not a good day to make mistakes, okay?”
Her tone is so serious and her eyes so intense that dizziness slashes through me. But she’s waiting for my response.
“Okay,” I say.
“Faith,” she barks and I jerk back, startled. “Do not lose focus today.”
“All right. Okay,” I say, feeling crotchety as hell.
“Hell’s a damn sight worse than crotchety, my girl.”
I grit my teeth. Can’t I even have a thought in peace?
I manage a tight-jawed, “Fine,” then turn my back on her before I say something I’ll regret for eternity.
Instead I head out in search of Tess and Nate.
# # #
Down by the nurses’ station I find them side by side gazing at the aquarium. It’s filled with an exciting array of colourful fish darting this way and that, full of the business of li
ving.
Of course, one power cut and the water temperature would fall, turning the tank into a watery morgue.
And where did that come from? I give myself a shake. Enough of the morbid. Today is all about being brave and joyful and mistake-free.
I shudder. Imagine it, though. A power cut would be disastrous, and not just for the fish. What about me? Those machines are keeping me alive. Would I survive a power cut? My heart pounds painfully. Don’t be silly. It’s a hospital; they’ll have their own generator.
Won’t they?
I’m clinging to life by a mere wisp.
Reality’s familiar sucker-punch leaves me winded. I wait for the frantic need that always follows. Yep, there it is. Heart-shredding desperation, so real it’s a physical pain in my chest.
Oh, to feel the comfort of another human being. I look at the renewed closeness between Tess and Nate and am so thankful their relationship is back on track. They’ll be able to comfort each other if the worst should happen.
Tess points to a stripy blue-red fish. “What are those ones, Uncle Nate?”
She watches them, fascinated.
“They’re Cardinal Tetras. See how they’re hiding in the weed? That’s because they’re a bit shy.”
He knows about tropical fish? Of course he does. I bet he knows about Disney princesses and butterflies and growing crystals, too. He’s the best uncle any kid could ask for. Even better, he’s not a killer.
Nate drapes an arm over Tess’s shoulders, gives her a squeeze, and she leans into him.
My insides melt. He’s so good with her. Somehow he just seems to know when to hug away her anger, give her space, talk stuff through with her. Thank goodness he didn’t wind up being my killer; I’d have hated watching Tess mourn his loss as well as mine.
She points to another fish and turns to Nate, eyes shining, cheeks dimpled with laughter. “He’s the ugliest fish I ever saw.”
Nate pretends outrage. “That’s so unfair! He’s just woken up on the wrong side of the seabed.”
They both turn to watch the poor ugly fish and they’re laughing and I’m laughing and thankful for the light relief of moments like this. When suddenly it hits me.
The Trouble With Dying Page 31