room above hers after all these years. She’d often wondered what it looked like. Now she was here, it seemed completely unexceptional.
Mrs Rampersad stared at the television. After a while, Mrs Dixit sat up and said, ‘There’s CCTV footage of the accident,’ because really, it was her only news.
‘Have you watched it?’
Mrs Dixit shook her head.
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t need to see it. How would it help?’ She looked at the TV again. ‘There’s the woman as well, the one who…’
‘Does it show… you know? The impact?’ asked Mrs Rampersad, leaning in.
‘I don’t think so. They’ve probably blurred it out.’ But she wasn’t sure, and this was one of the things that most scared her.
Mrs Dixit thought of her own living room below this one, the one she’d be returning to at any moment, and it surprised her how much the thought chilled her; even more, in some ways, than the CCTV footage.
But return she did. No sooner was she inside her own kitchen again than the phone rang.
‘I’ve been ringing,’ came her sister’s voice, exasperated.
‘I was out.’
‘At the hospital?’
‘At my neighbour’s. A woman,’ Mrs Dixit clarified quickly. She didn’t want to add to those rumblings.
‘Have you seen in the local paper? About the lady who died?’
‘The doctor?’
‘She was a podiatrist after all.’
‘That’s still a doctor.’
There was a pause, as if her sister was considering challenging this, but then thought better of it.
‘The paper says she was in the passenger seat, so it’s now on public record.’
‘Well, she was a passenger,’ Mrs Dixit responded curtly, knowing all too well what was to come.
‘But sitting beside Naveem. What can it mean?’
‘Sometimes passengers like to sit in the front,’ said Mrs Dixit defensively.
‘Why have a partition at all if the passengers are going to sit in front?’ The way her sister said this made it sound almost vulgar.
‘I really must start getting ready for the hosp––’
‘I think you owe it to yourself to find out more.’
‘Owe it to myself?’ repeated Mrs Dixit incredulously.
‘I’d want to know.’
‘Know what?’
There was another pointed silence.
‘The paper said there’s to be a gathering for her…’
‘I’m not going to some strange woman’s funeral,’ Mrs Dixit retorted loudly, and then, picturing Mrs Rampersad sitting directly above her, lowered her voice. ‘This is Chomley, not some Hollywood movie…’
‘Not her funeral, that’s already happened. This is her memorial service at St Luke’s. And it’s open to the public.’
Mrs Dixit thought of the solemnity of the service, the stiff wooden pews, the smell of brass polish and damp, and cringed.
‘I really must go,’ she said. ‘I have to visit Naveem.’ He’s expecting me, she nearly said, but of course he wasn’t. ‘Love to Henry.’
She was already putting the phone down when she heard her sister say:
‘He’s about to start karate classes…’
Oh well, whoops, Mrs Dixit thought, when the phone was safely back on its cradle.
That evening, returned from the hospital, and after a dinner of tomato soup and crackers, Mrs Dixit found herself once again standing outside her husband’s study at the bottom of the basement stairs.
‘It will need airing,’ she said out loud, to no one in particular.
Turning the handle, Mrs Dixit pushed the door open a few inches. Quickly, she slipped her hand around the door frame to find the light cord. Her hand flicked it away by accident, so she had to wait for it to settle before trying again. The main light, when it did come on, was dim – Mr Dixit preferred special desk lamps when he was working on his trains.
Mrs Dixit pushed the door slightly wider, but still couldn’t bring herself to step across the threshold. It was musty. She also caught the smell of metal and glue, a smell that was so him, it took her by surprise.
‘Oh,’ she said, ignoring the mustiness to breathe it in deeply.
At bedtime, she considered going to turn the study light off again but decided against it. Yes, it was a total waste of electricity – Mr Dixit would hate that – but for some reason it made her feel better knowing there was light in the room while she slept.
7 days since the accident
She was sitting next to his hospital bed the next day when she remembered about the study light still being on. Mrs Dixit reprimanded herself quietly.
The doctor had been explaining that Mr Dixit remained unchanged. She could have told him that.
When the nurse arrived, Mrs Dixit was fishing out a Fisherman’s Friend mint lozenge from the packet.