Shelly’s voice grew softer. ‘Thank you. I hope you don’t mind me calling. I spoke to your mother-in-law, and she was kind enough to give me your details.’
‘Naveem’s mother gave you my number?’
‘I wanted to tell you how sorry I am, about your husband.’
‘Thank you, but it’s nothing compared to what you’ve been through, I’m sure.’
‘We’ve both lost people we love.’
Yes, but only temporarily in my case, Mrs Dixit wanted to say. This distinction was important to her, she realised. A phrase wafted back from her subconscious: ‘vegetative state’. It made her think briefly of an old painting, where the face was made out of many different types of fruits and vegetables, a pear for the nose, cherries for lips, a cob of corn for the ear – and how Mr Dixit would hate the comparison…
‘I wondered if you would like to meet for a coffee?’ Shelly asked. ‘We’re linked in this strange way, and I thought it might…’
‘I’m afraid I don’t think that’s possible, my husband is still in hospital, and I’m very busy with all the arrangements…’ She felt guilty the moment she uttered these words. This poor girl had lost her mother.
‘Okay.’ The phone went silent.
‘Again, I’m very sorry for your loss…’
‘Have you watched the CCTV footage?’
‘What?’
‘The video that was released by the police…’
Mrs Dixit clenched her jaw.
‘No, I haven’t yet. How did you get Naveem’s parents’ number?’ she asked, wanting to change the subject.
‘I looked it up in the phone book. You’re not listed,’ Shelly added. Mr Dixit never wanted them to be added: ‘creates more problems than it solves’ had been his ruling.
‘What did Naveem’s mother say when you called?’
‘She told me…’ Shelly hesitated. ‘She said sometimes she wished he’d died in the accident. That it would have made some things easier.’ How could his mother say that? thought Mrs Dixit. And to someone who’d just lost their parent? She clenched her jaw so tightly, her teeth squeaked. ‘And that she was worried about the level of care at the hospital – how they treat Asian patients like second-class citizens.’
‘That’s not true. Most of the doctors are Asian, anyway. Naveem will wake up, too. And once he does, we’ll continue on.’
‘That sounds nice,’ Shelly said flatly. ‘I’m sorry to bother you. I just thought if…’
‘I can take your number,’ Mrs Dixit offered, mostly so she wouldn’t feel bad afterwards – writing it down on the pad next to the phone. Shelly also gave her work number at the DVSA, the local Driver and Vehicle Standards Agency.
‘Goodbye then.’
After Mrs Dixit put the phone down, she hugged her arms around herself. It was as if a ghost had walked over her grave.
She sat down at the desktop computer in the alcove. Mrs Dixit did most of her internet browsing on her iPad, and rarely used the bigger machine. She didn’t like the mouse in particular, she kept losing the cursor. As she waited for it to boot up, Mrs Dixit cleaned the keyboard with one of the cotton buds she kept in the desk drawer for just such an occasion. Once the computer was fully awake and operational, she brought up the browser window and searched for ‘Chomley police website’. It took many attempts to find the right page, going round in circles until she struck on one that read: ‘We Need Your Help’. There were four videos, two of fly-tipping suspects, one of the infamous cat burglar who was still at large, and one… she stopped short, hovering the mouse arrow over the video. There were two people sitting in a car. Naveem’s taxi. It was grainy, but not so much she couldn’t make out her own husband. It was definitely a woman sitting beside him, one with dark wavy hair.
In several rapid, ungraceful movements, Mrs Dixit managed to close down the browser and quickly shut off the computer completely.
Moments later, back in the kitchen and with no warning, she was sick in the sink. That wasn’t altogether true – nothing of much substance came up – but after she had finished retching, Mrs Dixit sprayed everything down with bleach.
She was interrupted in her disinfecting by a knock at her door. Mrs Dixit quickly washed her face and dried it with the tea towel before answering – it was Mrs Rampersad, of course. Her neighbour nodded when she saw Mrs Dixit’s watery eyes, as if this confirmed everything.
‘I thought so,’ she said. ‘Tell me then, do you hear everything that comes