‘Thank you,’ said Mel. She turned to Natasha, ‘How are you feeling now?’
‘Weird. Can you get me something to eat?’
Of course, the diabetes. Would that be a complication?
‘What do you want?’
‘Cheese sandwich.’
Mel returned to the coffee bar, bought the sandwich and told a reluctant Isabel it was time to go.
‘And I was just beginning to enjoy myself.’ She smiled at her new devotee who politely shook her hand and said what a pleasure it was to meet her.
‘I’ll get you home. Then I’ll take Natasha back to her boyfriend,’ said Mel as they were returning to A&E.
‘Such a nice young man.’
‘Excellent. Then she’ll be well looked after.’
Mel heard the edge in her own voice. It was not excellent. Luke would not accept the accident theory. He was a social worker and would examine his girlfriend with a social worker’s forensic suspicion.
‘You’ll have to give me the address. Can you walk OK?’ she asked Natasha.
‘I can walk.’
Mel took her arm.
‘I said I can walk,’ barked Natasha, snatching her arm away. The antagonism felt like a punch in the gut. No, Natasha was not a woman to let this go. And provocation was no defence.
She called Uber from triage. Natasha was once again installed in the back next to Isabel. They hurtled off up Denmark Hill.
* * *
Back at Isabel’s house, she settled her mother in an armchair, turned on the TV, organised tea and toast and left her, curiously calm, in front of Flog It. Mel still hadn’t asked what Isabel had seen. For years there had been areas of silence between them. Most of her mother’s life had been a performance. This could just be another one. Isabel would need time to work out what role she would play.
Mel turned to Natasha who was slumped on the sofa, staring into space. There was a plastic NHS bag on the floor beside her containing medication.
‘Are you OK? I mean, with your diabetes and everything.’
‘They checked at the hospital. It’s fine.’ She was more lucid by the moment. ‘I need my handbag,’ she added, pushing herself up.
‘Don’t try to move. I’ll get it.’
Mel ran up the stairs and into the spare bedroom. A cream handbag was open on the bed, its contents spilling over the quilted flowery counterpane: wallet, make-up, comb, some medical gadget. Nothing belonging to her mother. But where was Natasha’s phone? The image was sharp in her mind, Natasha standing a few feet away, brandishing the picture of Jacob like a trophy. She fell on her knees amidst the shoes and scanned the floor, lying down to look under the bed. And there it was, a white iPhone, just out of reach. It must have skidded across the carpet when Natasha fell.
Stretched out on her front, Mel managed to squeeze part of her shoulder under the base of the bed, allowing her to touch the phone and nudge it towards her. The sound of the TV floated upstairs. With luck Natasha would have fallen asleep.
The phone kept slipping away but eventually Mel managed to coax it out. She pushed herself back from the bed, clasped hold of the smooth object, stood up and stuffed it into her back pocket. Then she pulled her own phone from her other pocket and took several pictures of the shoes strewn around the floor where Natasha had fallen. There was blood on the carpet. Should she wash it out? But she was desperate to get rid of Natasha, needed her out of the house. And if there was any issue about the injury, a large bloodstain just below the dressing table could do no harm to Mel’s case. She stood motionless, thinking. What case? Nothing would happen. But the sight of the red brown patch unnerved her. She went to the bathroom, picked out a towel and soaked it in cold water. Back in the bedroom she wiped the stain ineffectually for a few seconds, merely transforming a small dark puddle into something more like a thunder cloud.
She took the towel to the bathroom and left it to soak in the sink. Her mother had arranged a cleaner. There was no need to do more.
Downstairs, she handed Natasha her bag.
‘I’ll take you home,’ said Mel starting to help Natasha up. As soon as she was upright Natasha jerked away. ‘Don’t touch me,’ she snapped.
‘OK,’ said Mel.
Natasha was walking slowly towards the front door. Mel turned and crossed the room to where her mother sat.
‘I’ll call you, Mum.’ Mel lent over and kissed her mother’s cheek. It felt cool and powdery. ‘Don’t worry. She’ll be all right.’
‘Goodbye, darling. Look after her.’ Her mother’s words sounded neutral, neither warm nor cold. Nor did she turn from the television as she spoke.
Natasha was waiting by the front door. Mel held it open and they both stepped across the ill-tended garden to the pavement and Mel’s parked car. Mel held open the passenger door and Natasha slid into the seat, gave Mel the address and sat in silence as the car navigated the dark streets to the Brixton estate.
‘This one,’ said Natasha. Mel pulled up outside a low-rise concrete block. It looked bleak and forbidding with tiny windows and snaking walkways. Mel was surprised her pupil should live in such a place. Natasha was rummaging through her bag.
‘Where’s my phone?’ she said.
‘I’ve no idea. Maybe it fell on the bedroom floor.’
‘Did you take it?’
‘Of course not.’ She could feel the phone pressing on her right buttock.
‘I need it back.’ Natasha’s face was hard with anger and her eyes were narrow. One of them was almost closed, beginning to puff up. But Mel could still see the colour of the other one. Earlier that day it had been a sharp green. Now it was a pale grey blue.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll find it. It must be in the bedroom. I’ll go back now and look.’
Natasha’s good eye signalled her fury, but she said nothing. Mel sensed it was only pain and weakness that stopped Natasha from attacking her from the passenger seat of the car. And when she opened the door to let her out, Natasha did not budge. Was she about to insist on coming back for the phone? Neither woman spoke. Eventually Natasha heaved herself out and walked slowly towards her front door, pressed an intercom and waited, leaning against the wall of the cheerless building.
After a couple of minutes, a tall man appeared in the doorway and embraced her. Mel looked on as they stood together, locked tight. Then the man drew back and stared at Mel. For a moment she thought he was about to come towards her, but after a couple of seconds he turned away, put his arm around Natasha and disappeared with her inside the flats.
Mel got back in the car and set off for north London. She still had Natasha’s phone in her pocket.
Chapter Thirty-two
Natasha
Luke was leaning over her. His features were fuzzy. The room behind him was blurred. He was speaking but she couldn’t follow what he was saying. Working out what had happened was too difficult. Mel had been driving her around and had left her at the front door. And now she was in her own bed, but she couldn’t remember how she had got there. Her head was thumping, and her own words sounded slurred and broken.
‘Not now. I need to sleep.’
The next morning her head was still hammering. And the pain from her wound felt worse. But her mind was clearing. The pictures were growing sharper by the minute: Isabel’s house, the clothes in the wardrobe, the shoes on the floor. And Mel, charging towards her, her face twisted in fury. Luke brought her a cup of tea.