now.’
‘I mean your husband?’
Mrs Dixit experienced that bubble of resistance she’d always felt as a schoolchild when the teacher pressed her about some unfinished homework.
‘I’m doing my best,’ she said.
‘I know you are.’ The nurse smiled commiseratingly.
Mrs Rampersad’s door swung open.
‘Alright, alright! Where’s the fire at?’
‘Tomorrow…’ said Mrs Dixit, still trying to catch her breath from the brisk walk from the bus stop. ‘Could you drive me…’
‘Can’t tomorrow. I’m helping at my Bible Group.’
‘Oh, of course.’
‘Where were you planning on going?’
‘Nowhere. It’s not important.’
‘You making a trip to that woman’s service? No good would come of it. Let lying dogs sleep.’
‘I wasn’t…’ but Mrs Dixit felt caught out. ‘I need to do something.’
‘Come and help at my group. We’re giving out flyers on the high street.’
Mrs Dixit shook her head.
‘I need to get out of Chomley.’
‘No time for a holiday when your husband needs you.’
‘But that’s just it, he doesn’t.’
‘Needs you more than you realise.’
‘How would you know?’
‘I was married too. I know what it is to be with someone in sickness and in health.’
‘Oh…’ Mrs Dixit realised she didn’t know very much about her neighbour, except what could be gleaned by the writing on her mail, and rare visits to her flat. ‘Did he…?’
‘He’s alive, worse luck.’ Mrs Rampersad gave a throaty chuckle. ‘Fortunately, the Lord granted me a divorce long ago.’
‘I see,’ said Mrs Dixit. ‘Thanks again, for all the driving. I hope you don’t think I’m using you as a taxi service.’
‘Makes no difference to me, as long as you help pay for petrol. Makes a change.’
‘What does?’
‘Speaking to you. I think this is one of the longest conversations we’ve ever had. I thought you both had it in for me. My calypso music being too loud. You’d blacklisted me.’ She laughed.
Mrs Dixit shook her head in mock surprise, trying to hide the fact it was mostly true.
It was only when she was downstairs again that Mrs Dixit realised Mrs Rampersad had said ‘let lying dogs sleep’ and she’d not corrected her.
Later, she wasn’t sure what to wear. Mrs Dixit knew how to dress in Chomley, or when she accompanied her husband on trips, such as to the Westfield in Stratford. But what did she wear on longer journeys by herself? She remembered her sister’s words then: was he ever… you know… controlling? No, they’d simply made a protective bubble together. Inside the bubble, you could be as free as you liked. Within reason.
In the end, she wore her most basic navy coat, buttoned up to the neck. She wore a hat and scarf with a black and white houndstooth pattern. She also carried her handbag with the strongest straps in case someone tried to forcibly take it from her, most likely on a scooter. Here, she paused. Would it be better to take a handbag with weak straps? She didn’t like the idea of being dragged behind a moving vehicle. She took the weaker-strapped bag instead.
Mrs Dixit took the bus to the tube station. She still didn’t know where she was going ultimately, but she fancied Piccadilly Circus. She wanted to be lost in people. Feel the inky blackness pushed back by crowds.
At the tube turnstiles, she fumbled for her purse and her card dropped onto the ground. She picked it up again smartly, but the shock of it falling had jolted her: where exactly was she going by herself? Mrs Dixit thought of all the strange faces at Piccadilly Circus – they churned menacingly in her mind. What would Mr Dixit think, too? A poorly thought-out journey into the mania of Central London. He would not have approved. How she longed to go home, where it was safe.
It was then she remembered the light in the study was still on. That sealed the deal. She returned on the next bus.
Home brought no comfort. She’d been tricked, she realised, by her own sense of self-preservation. After she’d shut the front door, she went down and turned off the study room light. She was disappointed and muttered to herself tersely. ‘Silly woman,’ she said. ‘Silly, weak-willed… hopeless!’ Mrs Dixit could not stay here, would not. She checked her face in the bathroom mirror – it looked drawn and even more angled than normal, so she applied lipstick to distract and blush to soften her cheekbones. Then she put on her shoes again, picked up her bag and hurried out.
The policemen were waiting on the front step.
‘I was about to knock,’ the stouter one said. ‘Glad we caught