‘You know how I am,’ Len began, ‘always like a joke, me. I might have gone a bit far with Naveem. On the day it happened. The accident. Making fun of his, you know, trains and things.’ Mrs Dixit tightened her jaw. ‘Thomas the Wank Engine, stuff like that. All in good fun, of course. I just hope it wasn’t… distracting. He took things on too much. You’re supposed to shrug that stuff off. But, Naveem…’
‘Thank your wife for the lasagne,’ Mrs Dixit said stiffly.
‘If there’s anything I can do – if you ever want to go for a drink and talk…’
‘Goodbye now.’
She faked a smile and used her shoulder to close the door, before bending to put the dish hurriedly on the floor, so she didn’t completely drop it. The last thing she needed was Len’s wife’s lasagne spilled all over her hallway carpet.
In the night, Mrs Dixit thought she heard a voice – or voices – above her through the floorboards. Loud. Frustrated. Instead of waking her up completely, she found the noise oddly calming, the soothing din sending her back to sleep.
6 days since the accident
In the morning, she took Mrs Rampersad’s baking tray back up to her. She considered leaving it on the mat but knocked instead. There was no answer. She knocked again and waited, listening. Nothing. Mrs Dixit turned, walked a few paces, before pausing and listening again. No sound. She was back in her own kitchen before she realised that she was still holding the tray.
Mrs Dixit rode the bus to the hospital again, but it didn’t go well. The bus was late so she had to stand in the cold. When it finally arrived, the bus began on an alternative route due to roadworks, the driver pumping the brakes constantly and making all the passengers lurch in their seats. The bunch of Dutch freesias Mrs Dixit had bought at the florist before catching the bus were mangled by the time she reached her destination. Not that her husband would notice. In fact, she was counting on this – she knew it was unfitting to bring flowers, knowing full well Mr Dixit was not a fan, but it seemed inappropriate coming to the hospital each day and never bringing any. She was doing it as a show for the nurses, really.
It was better in the ward today, less daunting. Another of the male patients had guests, a wife and a son – sixteen perhaps. The wife smiled, but she was very blank behind the eyes, Mrs Dixit felt.
Taking the small vase she’d brought in her bag, Mrs Dixit arranged the flowers and filled it at the sink. The wife sat talking to her husband, leaning in, so her mouth was close to his ear. He was a big man, with wild eyebrows, and forearms like ham hocks. What’s she saying? Mrs Dixit wondered. When she turned off the tap again, she realised the woman was praying.
She timed the bus home all wrong and was stuck with schoolchildren again. A boy bounced his bottom on a seated girl’s knee, she snatched away his phone in retaliation, and then they tussled, screeching. None of the adults did a thing, staring stonily in front of them. Mrs Dixit marvelled at the freedom of the teens, to be loud, to be obnoxious, and yet, at the same time, to be practically invisible. She personally felt watched doing anything. Walking down the street, she felt judged by a thousand eyes. Closing her eyes now, she let the noise of the bus fill her mind. It was pleasant when you didn’t resist. There was a fullness to the cacophony, a filling of the void inside her that felt settling. It made her almost miss her stop.
After she’d taken off her coat, she tried Mrs Rampersad again.
‘Oh, you’re up,’ she said when the door swung open.
‘’Course I’m up,’ Mrs Rampersad said, snatching back the tray. ‘It’s the middle of the afternoon, what do you take me for?’ She was still wearing her bathrobe and slippers, however, Mrs Dixit noticed.
‘Can I come in?’
Mrs Rampersad sniffed and turned, so Mrs Dixit took this as a sign she could.
They walked through the kitchen into the living room. The curtains were closed, and the TV was on silently – a game show. Mrs Rampersad flopped down onto the sofa and picked up the remote to raise the volume. Mrs Dixit sat in the armchair. She found it strange to be in the