side of the house to hide. As she watched, a Mediterranean-looking woman in nurse’s uniform walked by. The opportunity was too great to pass up, and even though her rational brain screamed to keep out of sight, Mrs Dixit launched herself in the nurse’s direction.
‘Excuse me?’ she called, wary of being too loud and alerting Naveem’s parents.
The nurse continued walking. Perhaps she had earphones in? Mrs Dixit tapped the woman on the shoulder to make her turn round.
‘Yes?’ The nurse said with an inscrutable blankness. She had dark eyes with beautiful thick lashes.
‘I want to ask about my husband…’ Mrs Dixit began nervously. ‘The patient inside the house…’ she clarified.
The nurse nodded, replying: ‘He’s not very well.’
Panic stabbed at her.
‘Is he worse than before?’
Pressing her fingers to her lips, the nurse seemed to be considering whether she should go on. Her eyes were so dark, they barely reflected the moon, even though it was a perfectly Clare night. Clear night, she meant. Silver crescents on each ear…
‘Are you Wendy?’ the nurse asked, finally.
‘Yes, I am,’ she replied, ignoring the impulse to hide her true identity.
‘Did you know he called out your name?’
‘Naveem spoke? When?’
‘I suppose you weren’t there?’
‘Of course I wasn’t, they won’t let me inside the house.’ Mrs Dixit’s tongue snaked nervously into the empty cavity in her mouth, and she noticed for the first time the tooth next to it was loose. ‘Was he in pain? Did he say anything else?’
‘I can’t help, I’m afraid. I shouldn’t be speaking to you at all.’
So the nurse did know about the rift! Mrs Dixit shrank back, knocked by this realisation. What ammunition could possibly be given to his parents now? They would move him, for certain. But he’d spoken! She was so confused. Mrs Dixit considered chasing after the nurse and demanding more answers, but by the time she looked for her again, she was gone.
There was no need to take the sleeping pills when she arrived home. She felt genuinely exhausted, even if the events of the evening had perked up her spirits. If Naveem was speaking, it was imperative he go back to the hospital for treatment. There was a glimmer of hope at last! In the morning, she would talk to Mrs Rampersad – there was no need for her hare-brained scheme, they could escalate things themselves, now she had first-hand confirmation from a nurse that…
Mrs Dixit woke up. A noise? She glanced at her alarm clock: 3.11 a.m. Moving onto her back with a sigh, she waited for Mrs Rampersad to finish in her bathroom and return to her bed above.
What time had she returned from visiting Naveem? Taking her phone, Mrs Dixit tried to see if there was any way she might reveal this, but she hadn’t sent any messages, so there was no timestamp to be found. She remembered the taxi app she’d downloaded and looked for it. Nothing. Had she deleted it? Surely not.
As the mist of sleep began to part, she had the nagging suspicion she’d never taken a taxi in the first place. What about the figurine, the one she’d left under his window? She searched for it on the bedside table, finding nothing. Maybe she had deleted the taxi app after all? The lines of reality felt murky. And then, as she rolled back to sitting, she felt something hard underneath her left thigh: the figurine. She must have fallen asleep clasping it, she’d dreamt it all. Mrs Dixit felt her chest clench – Naveem had not spoken. There was no glimmer of hope…
When the noise came again, it was in the wrong direction. If anything, it sounded like it came from below. Mrs Dixit froze instinctively, unsure what to do. Indecision is the greatest killer in home invasions. Our own dwellings put us too much at ease. This is mine, nothing can go that wrong. Not inside the walls where you boil your eggs and cut your toenails and brush your teeth. But we are always only borrowing this space – the walls will come down, the ceiling will collapse, one way or another. Through degradation or force, they always come down.
Mrs Dixit didn’t exactly think these thoughts, her mind was still blank as she listened intently, but they floated somewhere in that place of knowing – she’d read about it in a Sunday paper perhaps or seen mention in a news story. Her pulse quickened. Something was wrong. Very wrong. There was a person in the house. The