The Dead Ex(15)

The couple in front of me are all too familiar.

The nurse backs away. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then, shall I?’

‘Mrs Goudman. Vicki.’ Detective Inspector Gareth Vine’s handshake is as unforgiving as the last time.

I pull my hand back. ‘How did you know I was here?’

He waves away the question as if this isn’t important. ‘Your name came up on the system when you were admitted. Sorry to hear you’re not well.’

‘I don’t see it that way,’ I say defensively. ‘It’s part of me.’

This was a phrase I’d picked up from one of various forums on the net.

‘Is that why you didn’t mention your condition when we spoke before?’

That lovely feeling of having woken from a deep sleep is beginning to evaporate. Instead, my skin is prickling with discomfort. The woman in the bed opposite is staring. She has a drip at her side and a bald head. Cancer maybe?

‘May we close the curtains, please?’ I ask.

‘Of course.’

Just the three of us in an enclosed space. Two against one.

I put my hand over my eyes to shield them from the fluorescent strip above.

‘Does light make it worse?’ he asks curiously.

‘Only strobe flashes,’ I retort. ‘And stress. Your previous visit didn’t help. Or the news about David.’

His eyes flicker. I can see he doesn’t want to be held responsible for another attack. He’s out of his comfort zone. Good. The sergeant says nothing, but she’s writing everything down. I need to be careful.

‘Then maybe,’ says the inspector, looking hard at me, ‘you should have been honest with us at the beginning.’

‘I was.’

My mouth is dry. I know exactly what he’s going to say next. I’ve been waiting for this ever since I told him why I was near her house.

‘Have you found my husband?’

‘Your ex-husband? No.’ His voice is emotionless, but he is watching me carefully as he speaks. I feel a flash of fear followed by the certainty that it has to be OK really. David is always all right. It’s other people who aren’t, thanks to the devastation he creates in his wake. Before me, there had been further deceits, such as his ‘charity interests’. He’d told me this as if this was a credit to him. But by then, it had been too late. I’d been hooked.

The detective takes a seat close to my bed. ‘You told us two days ago that you were near Mr Goudman’s home because you were visiting your old doctor.’

His formal use of my ex-husband’s name suggests a distance I find disturbing. This is the man I once loved. Still do, perhaps.

‘Yes. I gave you his number.’

‘You did. And that was very helpful. But it might have been even more useful if you’d told us you had epilepsy.’

There. At last someone has had the guts to say it. The E word.

I shrug. ‘I didn’t think it was relevant.’

‘Not relevant?’

Is it my imagination or is he repeating my words on purpose to trip me up?

‘You’re on medication, aren’t you?’

He’s right, of course, but there are days when I choose not to take it because of the side-effects, which include ‘possible regression of the brain’ although this might be due to the condition itself. Besides, the stuff doesn’t always help. I’m one of those unfortunate people for whom nothing really works.

I don’t usually lie, but this feels necessary. ‘So what?’

‘I gather that both the fits and the meds can affect your memory.’

‘Actually, we call them seizures. My doctor had no right to give you personal information.’

‘Actually, medical knowledge like this is available online. We haven’t approached your doctor yet, although we may well go through the official channels to do so.’

There’s the sound of a gasp from the other side of the curtain. Next door must be having a field day.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘I think you do, Vicki.’ Clearly the detective had been to the same school as the medical staff. Repeat someone’s name often enough, and they’ll see you as a best mate.

‘It’s beginning to fall into place now,’ he continues. ‘Now I see why you don’t have a television in your home. Flickering lights can affect you. No bath either. Bright colours,’ he continues, ‘like your red anorak, are good because they make you stand out if you get into a dangerous situation. Looked that one up on Google too.’

He seems almost proud of it. He’s right. Red isn’t really right for my dark auburn curls, but I wear it for practical reasons.

‘As far as I know, it’s not illegal to have seizures.’

‘Vicki.’ He is standing up now. Bending over me so his square chin is close. Suddenly I’m aware of how vulnerable I am with almost no clothes on. Maybe that’s why the woman is here. For protocol’s sake.

‘You’re intimidating me,’ I want to say. But I’m too scared of what’s coming next.

‘Vicki,’ he repeats, ‘let me put this another way. When we first paid you a visit, I asked where you were on the night your ex-husband was last seen. You said you were at home.’