The Burning (35 page)

Chapter Twelve

M
AEVE

I stuttered back to life by the grace of God, with the help of the angels. Real-life angels, like the paramedics who kept me breathing through the siren-filled ride to hospital, the doctors who deliberated over me, and the nurses who kept watch over me during the critical hours when no one was sure if I’d survive until the morning. All the angels and saints in heaven, if you asked my mother, who took refuge in decade after decade of the Rosary, her trust placed in the Blessed Virgin Mary and the various ranks below her in the celestial hierarchy. Later, Dad told me that she had had everyone running scared, from Superintendent Godley down to Ian, who spent most of his time in the waiting room, out of range.

I knew none of this at the time, of course. I knew nothing except the pain in my head and body, and the strange confusion that comes from waking up in the sensory deprivation of a hospital room with no real recollection of how you ended up there. I didn’t know what I was doing or what had happened to me, whether it was night or day, whether I would live or die, and mostly, I was too miserable to care.

When I came back to proper consciousness for the first time, I opened my eyes to the sight of a doctor in surgical scrubs leaning over me. He had peeled back one of my eyelids to shine a bright light in my eye.

‘Ow.’ My voice was rusty with lack of use and thirst and I coughed a little, painfully.

‘Welcome back. Can you tell me your name?’

‘Yes, I can. Can you tell me yours?’

‘I’m going to need to hear it, I’m afraid.’

‘Maeve Áine Kerrigan. Your turn.’

He laughed. ‘Nothing wrong with you, is there?’

‘What is wrong with me? Why am I here?’

‘Do you remember what happened?’

I wanted to answer him, if only to make him go away, but when I opened my mouth to tell him, there was nothing there. I frowned.

‘Take your time.’

‘I don’t need time.’ I plucked at the blanket that was spread over me, feeling a quiver of fear that spread from the pit of my stomach all the way up my spine. ‘I’ll think of it in a minute.’

‘Hmm.’ The doctor straightened up and took out a pen to make a note on my chart. I felt as if I had failed an important test.

‘My head hurts.’

‘I’m not surprised. You have a fractured skull.’

‘Oh.’

That didn’t sound good. I closed my eyes again, trying to remember how and why that had happened to me. A car accident? I had been in a car; I remembered turning around to look at someone in the back seat. But it hadn’t been moving, I thought. That couldn’t be it.

When I opened my eyes again, the doctor was gone. But in his place were my parents, one on either side of the bed. They looked tired and a bit crumpled around the edges. Dad was wearing a cardigan with the buttons done up wrong, and Mum’s hair had gone flat – most unlike her usual array of brown curls.

‘What are you doing here?’ I sounded better, I was pleased to hear. Stronger. Less croaky.

‘You’re awake.’ There was an expression of pure relief on my mother’s face for an instant and I saw it mirrored by Dad when I turned my head.

‘How are you feeling, love?’

‘My head hurts, Dada.’ The childish name slipped out before I could catch it, but then I felt childish, like I wanted to be petted and soothed and looked after. Then I remembered. It was important to tell them what had happened to me. ‘I have a fractured skull.’

‘We know. The doctors told us. You’ve been in and out for the past thirty-six hours.’ Mum was back to her usual tartness, I was slightly relieved to see. I couldn’t be
that
ill. ‘They said they’d have to wait and see how things would turn out. There might be some degree of impairment, apparently.’

‘Impairment?’

My father clicked his tongue in irritation. ‘Ah, Colette. Don’t upset her.’

I turned to him. ‘What happened?’

‘Do you not remember?’ Dad looked at me worriedly and I made a special effort to recall, for him.

‘I was at work …’

‘Indeed and you were,’ Mum snapped. ‘Work. Do they pay you extra for putting yourself in danger? You should never have been there in the first place.’

‘It was a surveillance op.’ It was starting to come back. ‘I was in the car, watching.’

‘You ran to help another officer and you were attacked.’ Dad’s voice was gentle but his words still made me jump.

‘Who was I helping? What happened? Was it the serial killer who attacked me?’

‘You saved another policewoman from being killed. And yes, they think it was the fellow you’ve been looking for.’

‘Was he arrested?’

‘I think so.’ Dad sounded vague. ‘We haven’t seen the news. We’ve been here.’

‘Waiting to see if you’d be all right.’ Mum leaned back in her chair, as if she was exhausted. ‘Maeve, I’m sorry. I just don’t understand what would make you want to be a police officer. I never have and I never will. You’re a bright girl, you could have done anything. You still could. Have you thought about teaching? Or what about becoming a lawyer? They’re always paid well.’

Mum had been a doctor’s receptionist for thirty years. Dad had worked in insurance. My spirits plummeted at the thought of trying to explain to them what I loved about my job – especially in my current state – but I tried anyway.

‘There’s nothing like being a police officer, Mum. Especially a detective. I get to investigate the biggest crimes, the worst things that can happen, and if I do my job properly, the people who commit the crimes are taken out of society. It’s not even about justice being done – it’s about making sure that ordinary decent people don’t have to live in fear.’ And there was the adrenalin rush; mustn’t forget that. ‘It’s an important job. A really important one. It saves lives. If we’ve caught the Burning Man—’

‘He won’t kill anyone else,’ Mum finished tiredly. ‘But Maeve, he nearly killed you.’

There was a little silence. All I could think to say was to point out that I was still here, despite his best efforts, and I didn’t think that would go down too well. Eventually I asked, ‘Is Ian here?’

A look flicked between my parents. ‘He was here,’ Dad said, his voice carefully neutral. ‘He waited with us for a while. But he had to go.’

‘He said he’d come back tomorrow,’ Mum added.

I stretched, feeling the drip pull in my arm. ‘He wasn’t too worried about me, then.’

‘He was worried enough.’

If Mum was desperate enough to give Ian credit for something, she had to be serious about it. I hated to see her upset, but I’d fought hard enough to become a police officer in the first place. There was no way I’d give it up now.

Always assuming that I didn’t have too severe a degree of impairment, obviously.

The following day, I didn’t consciously wait for Ian to show up, but I was aware I hadn’t seen him yet as the day drew to a close. I had persuaded my parents to take the evening off and go home. There was nothing on TV that I wanted to watch, and my head still hurt too much for reading. I sat and thought instead, and reached some interesting conclusions. I must have drifted off, because I resurfaced to find Ian standing by my bed, watching me.

‘How do you feel?’

‘With every nerve-ending.’ He was wearing a dark-blue pinstripe suit and a white shirt, collar open. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi yourself.’

‘Were you at work?’

‘Yep.’

‘Where’s your tie?’

‘In my pocket.’ He showed me. ‘You never stop trying to work things out, do you?’

‘I like to know what’s going on.’ I paused for a second. ‘It’s still Monday, isn’t it?’

‘Still Monday.’ He checked his watch – a Rolex Oyster that had cost him a fortune. A rich boy’s toy, when I had a cheap Sekonda that my parents had given me for Christmas one year. I’d seen his watch a million times, but suddenly I couldn’t take my eyes off it. ‘It’s twenty past seven. Visiting hours are over at eight, I’m afraid, so I won’t be able to stay for long. I got here as soon as I could.’

I gave a one-shouldered shrug. ‘You had to work. I understand.’

‘Yeah. You know all about needing to work, don’t you?’ He was looking at me with a strange expression on his face. He ran a finger down my cheek. ‘Pretty.’

‘You always say that when I’m looking hideous,’ I said, suspicious.

‘Not at all. All the colours of the rainbow.’

‘Oh. My face.’

‘Yeah.’ He stood by the bed, his hands in his pockets. ‘Do you want anything?’

‘Like what?’

He shrugged. ‘Grapes? That’s the traditional gift, isn’t it?’

‘Not hungry.’ My mouth was cotton dry. ‘Actually, is there any water?’

He poured a glass from a plastic jug on the bedside locker, and helped me sit up a little to drink it. The effort made the room spin and I collapsed back onto the pillows with a groan.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Not just at the moment, but give me time.’

He was looking concerned and I felt a rush of affection for him – he was a good person, really.

‘You were right, weren’t you? Policing did turn out to be a bit dangerous.’

He laughed. ‘Is now a good time to say I told you so?’

‘There’s no good time to say I told you so.’ I gathered my courage and plunged on. ‘Just like there’s no good time to say it’s over between us. It’s just not working out, is it?’

His smile faded away. ‘Maeve …’

‘You’re not going to say it because I’m weak and injured, but it’s true. What we had was great, as far as it went, but it’s not going anywhere. We’re too different. We want different things.’

‘When did you decide this?’ His expression was neutral and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

‘I’ve had a bit of time to think, for once, but it’s been coming for a while. And you feel the same, don’t you?’ I knew the answer was yes; he didn’t even have to say it. And I knew I was doing the right thing.

‘Is this because of your near-death experience? Life’s too short not to look for Mr Right?’

‘Honestly, no. It’s more that I think we both deserve to be happier than we’ve been lately. And I don’t think I can make you happy, Ian.’

He didn’t argue with me. Instead, he said, ‘You don’t have to move out straightaway. You’re in no condition to go flat-hunting.’

‘You don’t want me convalescing in your flat – I’d just get in your way. Besides, Mum and Dad want me to go home.’

He pulled a face. ‘If you’re OK with that …’

‘It’s fine. Really. It will be relaxing,’ I lied. I really couldn’t make myself sound convinced, though.

‘Right. Well, there’s no hurry. Take your time. Let yourself get better before you start dashing around again. You push yourself too hard.’

I smiled. ‘I’m glad you don’t mind.’

‘I didn’t say that.’ Ian’s voice was gentle. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out. But I can’t say you’re wrong about it.’

‘I’m sorry too. No hard feelings.’

‘Definitely not,’ he agreed.

I put out my hand and he took it, holding it for a moment in both of his. There was a knock on the door before it opened a few inches and Rob poked his head around. He saw us holding hands and immediately began to reverse.

‘Sorry. I’ll come back.’

‘Wait!’ Ian and I said at the same time and Rob stopped.

‘I’d better go.’ Ian laid my hand back down on the bed. ‘I’ll see you soon. Do you want me to make a start on packing up your stuff?’

‘Don’t bother. My mother will love the opportunity to have a good snoop through my things,’ I said sleepily. ‘I might as well get her to do something useful.’

He winced. ‘Right. I might arrange to be out while she’s there.’

‘Wimp.’ I grinned. ‘I don’t actually blame you. Every time she comes to see me, my blood pressure goes up. The doctors are always convinced I’m having a relapse.’

Ian bent and kissed my cheek lightly, his lips barely grazing my skin. ‘Feel better soon.’ He turned and walked quickly to the door, saying something to Rob in a low voice as he went by. I saw a grin light up Rob’s face like a flash of lightning. It disappeared just as quickly, too; I might almost have thought I’d imagined it if I hadn’t been watching him closely. The door closed and Rob came over to the bed, standing in the spot Ian had just vacated.

‘Sit down, would you? Looking up is giving me a crick in my neck.’

‘Can’t have that.’ He looked around and found a chair, drawing it forward and sitting down with a sigh. Even in the dim lighting of my hospital room, I could see that he was pale, with bluish shadows under his eyes and a dark bruise on his jaw under the stubble. He had a cut in one eyebrow too.

‘You look like hell,’ I said. ‘What’s going on?’

‘What makes you think anything is going on?’

‘You’re the first copper I’ve seen since I’ve been in here. That makes me think everyone else has somewhere better to be.’

‘It was family only for the first bit,’ Rob protested. ‘I came as soon as I could.’

‘Well, now you’re here.’ I eyed him. ‘Do you want to fill me in on what happened the other night?’

‘If I had a pound for every woman who’s ever said that to me …’

‘For God’s sake!’

‘OK, OK. Keep what’s left of your hair on.’

I put my hand up to my head without thinking and encountered bandages. ‘You can’t see if they cut any of it off, can you? The nurse promised me that the surgeon didn’t shave my head.’

He was laughing. ‘Sorry. I couldn’t resist it. I’m sure you’re like a Vidal Sassoon ad under those bandages.’

‘I don’t know why I’m getting so upset,’ I said wonderingly. ‘It’s not as if I care about that sort of thing usually.’

‘Maybe that knock on the head has changed your personality. You might become a proper girl if you’re lucky.’

‘I’m already a proper girl,’ I said with dignity. ‘You just don’t know it.’

‘You keep it well hidden.’ I must have looked hurt again, because he leaned forward and patted my hand. ‘Only joking, Kerrigan. You’re all right.’

‘Anyway, get back to what you were saying about what happened the other night.’ I looked at him expectantly.

‘I’m not supposed to talk to you about work.’

I made a noise that was pure frustration and he held up his hands. ‘OK. You’ve convinced me. What do you remember?’