level.’ Mrs Dixit nodded. ‘It really does help if you talk to him.’
‘I’ve tried, but I feel I’m not doing it right.’
‘There’s no right or wrong way. You can read the newspaper to him, if you like?’
‘I’ve never liked reading aloud. Hearing the sound of my own voice.’
‘Oh, don’t,’ replied the nurse, waving her hand. ‘I hate mine. If I ever hear myself on answer message…’ She scrunched up her face. ‘Maybe tell him all the things he wouldn’t listen to when he was awake. My husband could do with being in a coma sometimes, the way he’s all in one ear and out the other!’
Mrs Dixit grimaced politely.
Back home, she was standing outside his study, her hand resting on the door handle, when the phone rang.
‘She was sitting in the front seat!’
‘How do you know?’ Mrs Dixit asked of her younger sister.
‘The CCTV. They’ve released some of the footage on the police website to encourage witnesses to come forward.’
Mrs Dixit felt her mouth become very dry.
‘If they have the footage, why do they even need witnesses?’
‘The CCTV doesn’t capture every angle. The lorry obscuring things is an issue. Do you think he knew her? The woman?’
‘Possibly. He had his regular customers.’
‘You must find out.’
‘Why?’
‘To clear his name.’
‘To clear it of what?’
Her younger sister lowered her voice.
‘There are rumblings.’
Mrs Dixit caught the sound of her lower teeth squeaking against the upper ones.
‘It’s no one’s business. He’s not done anything wrong. The police said the accident wasn’t his fault. They called back today and told me his brakes were fine.’
‘Then there will be an obvious answer, won’t there?’ This sounded almost like a taunt, and Mrs Dixit didn’t know how to respond. ‘Anyway, I must dash. I have to return a coat to the shops.’
‘Give Henry my lo…’ started Mrs Dixit, but her sister had already cut her off.
She barely slept. At 2 a.m., she turned on her lamp and read. At 3 a.m., she had a cheese sandwich, in case it was hunger keeping her awake. After she’d brushed her teeth for the second time that night, she turned off her bedside light. There was a sensation, of being adrift in an inky black sea. Mrs Dixit reminded herself that there were people all around her. Mrs Rampersad in her bedroom directly above, probably no less than five metres away. Mr Dixit would say you could hear her bed springs creak, but when Mrs Rampersad had a boyfriend for a few months in the summer, the joke became too real. What happened to him? Mrs Dixit wondered, not sleepy at all. She considered taking out her iPad from its sleeve and going to the Police website, but that frightened her more than all the bottomless oceans put together, and she started counting backwards from one hundred instead. At zero, she let out a long sigh, and wiggled her toes.
5 days since the accident
Mrs Dixit woke with one lingering question on her mind: what do Naveem’s eyes look like?
What do his eyes look like? she thought, blinking. She tried to picture them. The morning light filtered through the gap between the curtains. She hadn’t closed them properly. Mr Dixit always liked the curtains drawn tight.
Brown, of course. Dark brown. Silly question.
She kicked her feet out of the bed, and slipper-less, and without stopping to put on her dressing gown, padded into the kitchen.
Mrs Dixit felt frazzled. She hoped a coffee might help, but it just made her edgy. Could she skip the hospital? Should she, when there were her sister’s rumblings?
She took up Mrs Rampersad’s mail when it arrived at just past 10.30 a.m. Bills and an envelope with American postage stamps.
‘What’s wrong with your hair?’ Mrs Rampersad asked, opening the door.
‘Nothing,’ Mrs Dixit replied, smoothing it down with her free hand as she handed over the letters.
‘It looks distressed.’
‘I came to say I’ll be making my own way to the hospital from now on. I appreciate your help, but I shouldn’t be taking up all your time.’
Mrs Rampersad stared at her, and Mrs Dixit self-consciously patted her hair again.