Kill Me Twice: Rosie Gilmour 7 (7 page)

‘Yes. You did. You were very lucky.’

Lucky, Millie thought. Sure, I’ve always been lucky. ‘I hurt my head,’ she said. ‘And my hip. My back is very painful.’

‘It’s no wonder you’re sore, Millie. Your hip is very badly bruised, but nothing is broken, thank God. And you’ve a few stitches in your head. You’re on some very strong painkillers. But I’d say you’ll live.’ She grinned, blue eyes twinkling.

The words stung Millie. Suddenly she was back on the hotel roof. All she’d wanted was to jump, to end it all, until she’d seen Bella being dragged by those brutes. Suddenly her chest felt heavy and tears spilled out of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

The nurse reached down and took her hand, squeezing it gently. ‘There there now, pet. Just let it all out. It’s the shock. Delayed shock. It happens a lot after a trauma. You’ll be fine.’

‘I’m so sad.’ Millie was still weeping, and the nurse took a tissue from a box on her bedside cabinet and wiped her eyes and nose.

‘Don’t be sad. Everything will be all right, in time. You’ve just had a bad shock and your body is traumatized. Your husband will be in shortly.’

Panic rose in Millie’s chest. Colin would come breezing in here with his caring face on, but he’d be raging that she’d upset his busy routine. Suddenly it occurred to her that it might have got into the news that the ex-cabinet minister’s
wife had been knocked down by a car. She didn’t want to see him. She just wanted to go back to Madrid, or any place she could be by herself. She wanted to find the strength she felt when she was full of alcohol, so that she could go to a police station and tell them what she had seen in Madrid: that Bella Mason had been thrown off the roof. She turned her head to the side and tears trickled into her ears as the nurse left.

Half an hour later the nurse came in again and gave her a drink, fussing around her bed and plumping up her pillows. Millie sipped it. Being attended to like this, the simple acts of kindness, somehow made her aware of how lonely she was inside. Her eyes welled again and she had to swallow the lump in her throat.

The nurse left and Millie lay back on the pillows, anxiously watching the door. She was tense, but the painkillers must have taken the edge off it. She recalled last night, being held down, hysterical, while someone injected her. That was the last thing she remembered. She’d been fighting and demanding to get out. The medication made her feel sad, but that was manageable. It had happened before. She watched the door, waiting.

Eventually it opened and the nurse came in again. ‘You’ve got visitors, Millie.’ She beamed.

Millie saw Colin behind her, his face changing from flint to a caring smile. A doctor in a white coat and thick black glasses stood behind him.

‘Millie,
darling!’

Colin’s voice was shrill, fake and cut right through her. She didn’t smile, but caught the nurse, concerned, glancing from one to the other.

‘My God, darling! Look at the state of you! Are you all right?’ Colin rushed to her bedside and leaned in, kissing her cheek. He held her hand.

Millie swallowed hard and nodded. ‘I think so. I . . . I was hit by a car.’

‘I know! Goodness! What a thing to happen! Well, don’t worry, Millie. You’re in safe hands now.’ He looked into her eyes and she could see the smiling assassin that he was. He lowered his voice, lip curling. ‘I’m going to make sure you’re looked after this time.’

If Millie hadn’t been mildly sedated she’d have screamed, but she just felt a dull recognition that she was imprisoned.

The doctor gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘My name is Dr Andrew Black. How are you today, Mrs Chambers?’

‘I’m okay,’ Millie said. ‘Pain in my hip and back when I move. My head hurts a bit. And my neck.’

‘Yes. The neck is the whiplash. That’ll take a few weeks. You just have to rest. I’ve had a look at your X-rays on the hip and back and it’s just deep bruising, nothing broken. The X-ray of your skull is the same. You gave that car a run for its money, I’d say.’

Millie tried to smile, but her stomach was churning.

The
doctor moved closer to her. ‘Mrs Chambers, I’ve had a long talk with your husband. We’ve discussed your situation and had a look at your medical history.’ He was staring straight at her, and she felt as if she was being accused, judged. ‘You’ve had some mental-health issues in the past. I don’t want you to worry about anything, because you will get better. You’ll be able to cope. But you need complete rest, and some therapy. In time you’ll get through this and then you’ll be able to go home.’

Colin nodded at his side, but his expression was cold.

‘Where am I?’

‘You’re in the Eastbourne General District Hospital, darling,’ Colin said. ‘But we’re going to get you moved so that you can have a long rest and recuperate. Where people can take care of you and get you back to your old self.’

My old self, Millie thought, as she looked straight at him. You ruined my old self with your putdowns and your philandering, your beatings and your lies. I can never be my old self again. She felt herself shaking, but she had to stay calm. The medicine was steadying her a little. She said nothing.

‘Okay. I’ll look in on you a bit later, Mrs Chambers, once I’ve finished my rounds. Meanwhile, we’ll leave you with your husband.’

He turned and nodded at the nurse, who caught Millie’s eye as she backed away.

When
the door closed, Colin waited, and for a long moment Millie thought he was building up to the red rage she’d seen so many times before, which ended with a slap. But he was managing to contain it somehow – probably because he knew he couldn’t get away with it here.

‘Okay, Millie. The fucking game is up,’ he snarled.

She said nothing, waited for the deluge.

‘I’ve had it with this charade. This . . . I’ve had it with your drunken antics, disappearing at every turn. Taking off to bloody Madrid! Fucking Madrid? What the fuck, Millie?’

Millie didn’t reply, swallowed the ball of dryness. She wanted to say, ‘Please listen to me. I’m so unhappy. I just couldn’t go on any more with the rejection and the lies, and I went to Madrid to go back to the places where it all seemed so possible years ago, when you were the man I couldn’t wait to see day and night. But you are gone now, gone for ever, and I hate who you are. I went to Madrid to end it all.’ But, of course, she couldn’t say it, and her chest felt tight trying to hold it in.

‘I like Madrid,’ she managed. ‘You used to love it too, Colin. In the old days, when you were a good man. When you loved me.’ She felt the tears come as her voice trailed off.

‘Oh, spare me the bloody waterworks! Listen to me! You’re unstable, Millie! Have been for years! When we were young and carefree, I put your exuberance and mood
swings down to your artistic nature and all that crap. But you’re mentally ill, Millie. You know that. You’ll never be the woman I loved and married, and you’ve made it much worse by turning into a bloody lush. I can’t take you anywhere these days unless I bloody monitor you at every turn. You’re the biggest disappointment in my life, and I want more than anything to be bloody rid of you. But you know what? I have to be the husband who gets you picked up from hotels and cafes blind drunk. I have to swallow all that. I’ve had it now, Millie. No more! You’re going into therapy and you’re getting some treatment, whether you like it or not.’

His rant was like blows raining down on her and she lay there, defeated. Any faint hope that Colin would come in and be the man she had once loved was gone. This was who he was. He didn’t want her. He didn’t care about her or where she’d been or what she’d seen in Madrid. If she told him right now that she’d gone to Madrid to commit suicide, he’d say she couldn’t even get that right, smirking as he spoke.

‘What do you mean? I’m not going anywhere except home,’ Millie protested, her voice weak.

‘No, you’re bloody not. I’ve wanted to have you sectioned for years, and your latest antics have given me all the evidence I need. I should have done it that time you fell asleep, drunk, while you were cooking, and set fire to the kitchen. If Conchita hadn’t come in we could all have burned to
death. Or the time you drove bladdered drunk and hit the bus stop. If it had been in the middle of the day, you could have killed somebody. But I let it go, thinking you’d get some sense into that nutcase head of yours. Every time you did your disappearing act of late, I told the doctor you were a danger to yourself, but he was giving you time. He’ll back me up all the way now, though. Especially with your meltdown last night, screaming like a fucking lunatic. You’re going in and that’s final.’ He shook his head. ‘I mean, this whole debacle could end up in a bloody tabloid newspaper. You inconsiderate idiot!’

‘You can’t do that!’ Millie said, her voice hurting her throat. But she knew he could. There was enough medical evidence over the years of depression and alcoholism, as well as her erratic behaviour. No doubt he’d been storing it all up for a day like this.

‘Yes, I can. Your history, and your latest escapades have confirmed it. I’ve already got my own man in Harley Street to sign the documents. So shut up and take what’s good for you. We’ll see what you’re like after a few months of therapy.’

Millie burst into tears, her head throbbing with the pressure. ‘Leave me alone! Get out! Oh, God, help me! I just want to die! Please, somebody help me.’

The door opened and Nurse Bridget came in. She glanced at Millie, then glared at Colin, her eyes telling Millie that she was on her side. She was the first person she’d had on her side for so long. Millie looked at her pleadingly.

‘Whatever
is the matter, pet?’, she asked. The nurse looked at Colin.

‘Christ knows,’ Colin said, irritated. ‘She gets like this a lot.’

‘Well, she’s had a real trauma, with some delayed shock. I think it’s best if she has a little more rest now, Mr Chambers, if you don’t mind.’ Her tone was dismissive.

Colin looked at her and then at Millie. He went across and took her hand but she pulled it back, and twisted her head away when he bent to kiss her. He turned and left. The nurse closed the door behind him.

‘It’s all right, pet,’ she said. You’ll be okay. You’re a good person and a fine-looking woman too. Don’t worry.’

Chapter Seven

Dan Mason shivered
as he stood in the doorway, sheltering from the biting wind. The long sleeved t-shirt clung to his skinny body, and he stood with his hands dug deep into the pockets of his jeans, watching every car that passed, hoping it would be his punter. When the text had appeared on his mobile asking him to meet, he would have patched it rather than hang around outside on a shitty night like this. But he was desperate, and his drug debts were mounting. He hadn’t made any money for the last four days, not since Bella . . .

Even now, despite the newspapers running the story on their front pages, and the TV news with endless updates, Dan still couldn’t take it in. He’d never see his sister again. Ever. The thought brought tears to his eyes and he blinked and swallowed hard. Bella was all he’d had. All they’d ever had was each other, and for nearly twelve years, while Bella was fostered and he was left in the children’s home,
they didn’t even have that. He’d cried every day for six months when they’d taken her away. He hadn’t even known where she was, and at one point had been told that she’d been taken to America and had been adopted by a couple there. Why couldn’t they have taken him too? he’d pleaded to the social worker. They only wanted a girl. He was told to toughen up, that Bella was gone. He had to be a strong boy now, like all the others in the children’s home. But despite not seeing her, year in, year out, Dan had never felt totally alone because he knew she was out there, somewhere. Now he had nobody. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand as the tears came.

Dan lit a cigarette and shook himself out of the gloom. Where the fuck was this punter? He peered out at the line of cars, I’m freezing to death. He took a long draw on his cigarette and coughed till he lost his breath, doubling over. The racking cough was like a knife in his chest. It had been that the way for more than a week now, and it was getting worse. Standing here without a jacket didn’t help, and he cursed the robbing bastard who had stolen it from the hostel. It was Bella who’d given it to him as a present the last time they’d met, and he’d treasured it. He’d even slept in it most nights, wherever he could get his head down, which was often under the Jamaica Bridge along with the other junkies and down-and-outs. He’d only taken it off in the hostel because he’d woken up in a pool of sweat with a raging temperature. He’d folded it carefully and put it
under his head, but when he woke up in the morning it was gone.

Dan was about to give up on the punter when he spotted a car flashing its headlights. He stepped out of the doorway and glanced up and down Waterloo Street as the blue Ford Mondeo pulled in to the kerb. He opened the door and got in.

‘Awright, son?’

‘Fucking freezing, man! Some bastard stole my jacket. The only one I had.’

The punter half smiled as he shot him a sideways glance, then pulled out into the traffic. Dan stared out of the window as the car went through Anderston bus station and along Argyle Street. He knew where they were headed. It was always a deserted car park in one of the side streets at the end of Broomielaw. Nearly every week, the same routine. The car pulled into the side street and up to the top of the road, then into the car park. Dan felt his body tense. This shit never got any easier. Not just with this guy, but with any of the punters. He hated putting himself through it, but it was all about survival. It always had been. Even the first time, when he was only eight, instinct had told him it was safer to say nothing.

The punter switched off the engine, and as they sat in the darkness, he could hear his breath quicken. Dan shifted his body so he was facing him, his knees apart. He knew the drill. The punter reached across and fondled his penis through his jeans. He didn’t seem to mind that there was no response, and ran his hand down Dan’s skinny thighs, caressing him. There
was something almost tender about it. Then he unzipped his trousers and pulled Dan’s hand across, pushing it inside. He was already hard. Dan began to move his hand up and down as the punter leaned back making little moaning sounds. He placed his hand on Dan’s head, running his fingers through the blond hair and gripping it tight. He looked Dan in the eye. ‘Come on, son. Get on with it. I’m dying here.’