‘Oh!’ Mrs Dixit yelped – she’d had her head down and almost barged right into them.
‘Didn’t mean to startle you,’ said the thinner one, although he looked as if he enjoyed it.
‘I’m sorry,’ Mrs Dixit replied, flustered.
‘Where were you headed?’
‘Um, well… probably to the hospital. I hadn’t decided.’
‘Your husband’s not exactly going anywhere, I suppose.’ The thin one laughed, and the fatter one shook his head in what seemed like exasperation. ‘Can we come in?’ he asked. ‘We won’t take a minute.’
‘We have a question about the toxicology report.’
‘What toxicology report?’
‘Standard practice. It’s usually for insurance reasons.’
‘My husband isn’t much of a drinker.’
The policemen looked at each other.
‘There was no alcohol found in his blood. That’s not the issue.’
It seemed the officers were trying to decide who should speak next. The heavier one took the plunge:
‘Does your husband have a history of recreational drug use?’
‘What, Naveem? Drugs? No,’ Mrs Dixit shook her head in bewilderment. ‘Actual drugs? He doesn’t even like Horlicks anymore, because he says it keeps him up at night.’
‘The thing is,’ said the younger, thinner one, ‘his tests showed some abnormalities.’
‘Inhalants,’ the fatter one said.
‘What?’
‘Huffing. Chroming. Sniffing.’
‘That’s street slang,’ the thinner one clarified.
‘My husband does not do drugs,’ Mrs Dixit said perhaps too loudly.
The men glanced at each other as if to say, poor dear.
‘Often the spouse or partner is unaware of the severity of the issue.’
‘What issue?’
‘Did your husband keep aerosols around?’
Mrs Dixit considered this.
‘Not that I know of…’
The men nodded, as if this was what they expected.
‘Often they’ll buy them when they’re out and do them right in the car,’ the thinner one explained, the fatter one shaking his head ruefully. ‘Did your husband spend a lot of time driving by himself?’
‘He was a taxi driver,’ Mrs Dixit almost shouted.
The men nodded again in sympathy.
‘This must be quite a shock to you.’
‘We can only imagine.’
‘They can lead such normal lives, keep it from their loved ones.’
‘Unless of course, something goes wrong.’
‘Like a car accident,’ added the other.
‘Are you suggesting that Naveem…?’
‘We’re not suggesting anything at all, that’s not our place. But it’s fair to say we have some concerns.’
‘Troubling concerns.’
‘Is that why you’re here today? To tell me how concerned you are?’
‘We’re here,’ said the fatter one, straightening up, ‘for a welfare check. Someone has suggested that you might… not be handling things… as best you could.’
‘I’m handling things just fine,’ Mrs Dixit said, flustered. ‘Who told you I wasn’t?’
‘A concerned member of the public. To be frank, they were worried you might harm yourself.’
Mrs Dixit’s mind raced. Not her sister, she wouldn’t. Who then? Ah…
‘His mother,’ she said, tutting to herself.
‘We are not at liberty.’
‘What else did she say?’
‘That your husband was possibly mistreated before the coma.’
‘It’s not an official statement,’ the other officer clarified.
‘By me, I suppose? That’s ridiculous! I bet she told you I’m hysterical too. That’s what she does, you know. She’s toxic.’ A new thought struck her. ‘Have you told his mother about the inhalation… the drugs thing?’ Mrs Dixit asked quickly.
‘Yes, the other Mrs Dixit… Mrs Dixit senior… has been made aware of the situation.’
‘What happens now?’
‘Well,’ they looked shiftily at each other again, ‘maybe we can have a cup of tea?’
The policemen stayed for another half an hour, during which time they seemed to be trying to infer something, but Mrs Dixit wasn’t sure precisely what. The thinner one asked to use the bathroom at one point, and she had the distinct impression that he might be going through the cabinet. Did they have to have a warrant to do that sort of thing, she wondered? Rummage.
When she came back from showing him to the bathroom, the larger officer was standing very near the cutlery drawer. Had he been going through the knives and forks? He did look shifty.
Eventually, still glancing around the house as if something or someone might burst out a cupboard at any moment, the policemen said their goodbyes, telling Mrs Dixit to call them if ‘anything came up’.
After they’d left, Mrs Dixit picked up the phone to ring Naveem’s mother, but she lost her nerve immediately. Nothing she could say would sway the woman’s mind. Since their first meeting, Naveem’s mother had considered the younger Mrs Dixit a threat, spinning whatever story she needed to undermine their marriage. Why should she be any different now?
The ward smelled like vomit. Mrs Dixit tried to ignore it, but it almost made her retch. The nurse came in, not the smiley nurse, or the curly haired one,