was nothing.
Mrs Dixit slammed the final book shut and went to bed in an awful mood.
39 days since the accident
It was a bitterly cold Saturday, and there was no food in the house, none. Mrs Dixit always liked to do her shopping as early as she could, to avoid the supermarket crowds, so she wrapped herself up and arrived at the store just after opening.
She was considering bin liners – and trying not to think about the online articles about patients dying in respirator explosions she’d read over breakfast – when she heard a voice behind her.
‘Wendy Dixit?’
‘Yes?’ she replied, turning round sharply, the sudden movement causing white blotches in her vision.
‘I’m Penny Marshall’s daughter.’
The name registered in her mind, but Mrs Dixit couldn’t remember why it was familiar.
‘We spoke on the phone?’
Still nothing.
The young woman smiled uncomfortably. There was something apologetic and slightly browbeaten about her; the way her shoulders hunched, the clasping of her hands together, the inability to maintain eye contact. She wore an oversized green khaki coat, and a lumpy woollen hat which was so unflattering, Mrs Dixit wanted to yank it from her head.
‘I’m Shelly?’ the woman tried again. ‘Penny was my mother. With your husband. In the accident…’
Mrs Dixit felt the headache from last night, dormant all morning, pulse in her temple.
‘Oh yes. Of course. I’m so sorry,’ and she was, so terribly sad for this poor girl, but she also felt cornered, trapped by politeness in the bin bag aisle, when all she wanted to do was run. Amid the release of adrenaline, a thought occurred to her: ‘How did you know what I look like?’ she asked.
Shelly gave a lopsided smirk.
‘I work at the DVSA, so I brought up your licence. We’re not supposed to, of course…’ She shook her head as if trying to admonish herself for the bad deed.
‘Considering the circumstances…’ replied Mrs Dixit, shrugging – but she wasn’t sure what she meant by this. Considering the circumstances it was reasonable to look at her confidential information? And was this, she wondered, simply a chance encounter or a planned one?
‘I was surprised to see you here,’ Shelly said, as if she’d heard this inner dialogue. ‘It’s like spotting a celebrity – their face seems so familiar, and you keep wondering where you’ve met them. Sorry, I’m rambling.’ She scrunched up her face. ‘I’m nervous.’
‘No need for nerves, I’m not a real celebrity.’
Shelly chuckled at this, and Mrs Dixit was glad for the brevity. To be honest, though, she was nervous too. No – she sensed dread.
‘I’m very sorry for your loss,’ Mrs Dixit patted Shelly’s arm, hoping to use this momentum to begin her departure, but the girl leaned into the arm, and before she knew what was happening, Mrs Dixit was hugging her awkwardly.
The hug seemed to last a very long time. Fortunately, the lumpy woollen hat smelled much better than it looked. Shelly did not exactly cry, but she sniffled audibly. The occasional shopper would wander into their aisle, and either retreat quickly, or continue to walk the length, ignoring them as if they were apparitions.
Mrs Dixit busied herself rubbing the poor girl’s back.
‘Thank you,’ Shelly said eventually, sniffing, ‘But the friction of your hand’s burning my skin now.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Mrs Dixit withdrew her arm.
‘It’s a good type of burning. Just too much of it.’ Shelly wiped her face. ‘Another one off my bucket list – having an emotional breakdown in the household section. I never even asked how your husband is.’
‘Stable,’ Mrs Dixit replied, hoping this was still the truth.
‘Do they think he might…’
‘They’re not sure,’ Mrs Dixit said quickly, and then realised she was being short with the girl, but there were questions coming, questions she did not want to discuss. There was too much going on already, without… Without thinking about the woman, the doctor, sitting there in the cab. Why she was in the front seat? Had Naveem known her? Was she simply one of his regulars? Was she in fact, Clare? A false name, a philandering name, one to hide her tracks? Did they hold hands as he drove, as she marvelled at the silver earrings he’d bought her especially? No! Mrs Dixit banished that thought to that deepest region of her mind, populated by leery uncles, bullies from school, and a litany of regrets and fears. Her temple throbbed.
‘Would you like to have a quick coffee?’ asked Shelly, shrugging and smiling disarmingly. ‘I’ve almost finished my shopping.’ She swung the basket