Page 81 of Close to You
In the end, I wheel Norah into a spot close to the hand dryers, where she’s facing the opposite wall.
‘I’ll be one minute,’ I tell her, without a response.
I head into the cubicle and lock the door, trying to will my body to get on with it. I’ve only been sitting for a few seconds when my phone rings. It’s a scramble to get it from my bag and, though I think about ignoring it, the word ‘solicitor’ appears on the screen.
Mr Patrick announces my name as if he’s summoning me: ‘Morgan…?’ he says.
‘It’s me.’
‘I’m calling to let you know that the police are not pushing further charges over the collision involving your car.’
I’m staring at the scratched markings on the back of the door, where someone has taken to it with a knife. It takes me a couple of seconds to take in what he’s said.
‘That’s it?’ I reply.
‘That’s it. Someone should be in contact to sort out what’s happening with your car and I’m sure you’ll need a conversation with your insurance company. Other than that, your bail conditions have been lifted.’
‘Why?’
It’s so out of the blue that I’m sure I sound guilty. ‘Usually,’ he says, ‘this sort of speed would indicate that new evidence has come to light.’
‘New evidence…’
I’ve become a parrot.
‘I can’t say for certain,’ he replies, humouring me. ‘I wasn’t able to get a proper answer from anyone at the station and, frankly, I’m not sure it matters at the moment. The upshot is that you no longer have anything to worry about.’
‘Thank you…’
‘Not a worry. I’ll be in touch if there’s anything more.’
He hangs up and I’m left staring at the scratches in the door, wondering what’s happened. Has someone else been arrested? Is there a new witness?
Everything has taken me by such a surprise that I only now realise I’ve forgotten to do the one thing I came in here for.
‘Hang on a moment, Norah,’ I call, although there is no reply.
A minute or so later and I’m out of the cubicle. I head for the sinks and set the water flowing. It’s only then that I glance across to the buggy, which still sits next to the hand dryers.
Theemptybuggy.
Thirty-Nine
THE WHY
Two years, one month ago
The doorbell and loud knocking combine to create a tsunami of noise through which no normal person could ever sleep. I roll one way in the bed, then the other, squinting through the gloom to the clock that reads 06:53.
Ugh.
I’m trying to get the sleep out of my eyes as I realise that I’ve slept on David’s side of the bed. I’m almost certain I started where I would usually sleep, but, in the absence of my husband, I’ve unknowingly spread myself across onto his.
The doorbell continues to ring over and over as thumps also bounce through the flat. I pull myself out of bed and stumble into the main area, before peeping through the window to see who’s at the door.
I suppose I should have expected this.
When I open the door, Yasmine shoves her way in with such force that she almost stumbles into the counter. It would almost be funny, if it wasn’t for the fact that she is one of the most pregnant people I’ve ever seen. Some women can disguise a pregnancy almost up to birth, whether through flattering clothes or some sort of wizardry. Yasmine is definitely not one of those women. She is so huge, it’s as if she’s smuggling a small hippo under her top.
