Her Perfect Family(16)

I find I do a lot of thinking in this late-evening phase – when the lights first dim. I feel too awake to try to settle or doze and instead tend to just stare at different objects, one after another with my mind wandering through the silence. Through the years. In these shadows and in this stillness, I think a lot about the last time we were in hospital with Gemma, when she was sick with asthma as a toddler. It was terribly frightening but in a very different way. I slept in a chair alongside her that time too but it was not the same at all on the children’s wards. All the parents stayed over – some on camp beds set up in the playroom and others covered in blankets in tall-backed chairs. There was a kitchen where we could make hot drinks and I had long conversations with the other mothers in the early hours – each of us fighting different battles with different illnesses but all in the same horrible boat together, wearing the same dark circles under our eyes. A sad but comforting camaraderie in that kitchen.

Here, there’s no camaraderie. Only this sense of shock that what’s happened has separated my whole family from the rest of the world.

There are three of these single cubicles with windows looking out on to the wider ward, which has three additional open-plan beds. Patients seem to come and go and most have visitors only part of the day and evening. The majority seem to come in after road accidents and the like, spending a few hours here after surgery before transfer to the general wards.

Everyone knows that Gemma was shot. I see it in their eyes as they glance towards our cubicle. The shock. The pity. I watch them take in our police guard and then keep themselves to themselves.

Like I say, no camaraderie here and probably best that way. Safest.

I find that I’m staring now at the controller for the bed – a grey plastic brick with little arrows to move the mattress up and down. My eyes blur, so I blink and move my gaze up to the window where I can just see our police guard has taken a seat right alongside the door to our cubicle. Good. I like it when he sits where I can see him, especially after the commotion earlier.

I scratch my nose. Hospitals have such a distinct smell, don’t they? When Gemma was born, I had to spend five days on the ward after an emergency Caesarean. Initially I couldn’t bear it – that distinct mixture of antiseptics and polish and hospital food. Now? I am already used to it again. My new norm. I can’t imagine being at home. The scent of home.

I stare at Gemma and wonder if she can smell as well as hear? For a moment, I consider asking her if she smelled the perfume I sprayed, but change my mind. I need to let her rest.

You know the thing that really upsets me now? Ed’s not at all sure that Gemma can hear us; he’s said as much several times. I don’t challenge him because I don’t want an argument, but I can’t bear to think that he may be right. To imagine her in another place entirely out of reach. All quiet and lost. No. I reach out to smooth the corner of the blanket on her bed.

Gemma can hear me.

I am watching her breathe – in, out, in, out – when the police guard stands. I can make out that he’s talking to someone and am anxious but then there’s a knock at the door and I realise he would not allow this unless it was safe. I wonder if Ed’s returned for some reason but when I move to open the door, it’s DI Sanders. I feel my chin pull back towards my neck with the surprise of this. We were expecting to speak to her together tomorrow.

I’m frowning. Good news? Bad news?

‘Please don’t be alarmed, Mrs Hartley. I’m sorry to call in so late but I was just passing the hospital on my way home and thought I’d check on you. After the upset earlier. How are you doing?’

‘Oh right. I see. Still very shaken but OK. I’m sorry – but I thought we were going to go over it all properly tomorrow. Has something happened?’

‘No, no. Nothing’s happened. But we’ve interviewed Alex now and I wanted to bring you up to date.’

I feel for my phone. ‘Should I ring my husband? Ed’s desperate to know what’s going on. We both are—’

‘No, no. Please don’t disturb him. I’ll come back again tomorrow and talk to you both together then.’

‘Right. Sorry. Can we talk outside, please?’ I move through the door to the pair of chairs placed just outside our cubicle. I take one. The inspector sits alongside. I lower my voice and hope that with everyone sleeping, we won’t be overheard. The nurses are in their corner office.

‘So – was it him? The shooting? Was it Alex?’ Even as I ask the question, it sounds surreal. I picture Alex at our breakfast table, laughing on one of his weekend visits. I just can’t see it. Alex with a gun? Alex hurting Gemma?

DI Sanders lets out a breath before speaking. ‘We’re still making inquiries. Alex is in custody. We’ve been unable to track his exact movements across all the photos and footage. It’s early days. I’m not going to lie to you. At this stage, he is a suspect. But we have no evidence yet.’

‘Don’t you test his clothing or something? For residue. I’ve seen that on the television—’

‘We’re doing everything we can. Everything’s in hand. But—’ She looks down at her lap and back up at me. ‘With everyone fleeing the scene, it’s been more difficult for forensics. People have washed their clothing, for instance.’

‘Right.’ All sorts of thoughts are swirling around in my head. ‘So the aggro earlier? What’s he saying about that? I really thought something terrible was going to happen again.’