‘Yes, there is that,’ she said. Another pause. ‘You know what? When all this is over, I’m going to have a baby, Devon. Well, not me. Charlotte. But, same thing really. I’m going to be a mum, a parent. I’ve been putting it off and putting it off, and … well, life’s short, isn’t it? And you never know what’s around the corner, what’s waiting to bite you on the ass. Sometimes you’ve just got to jump, haven’t you? And hope that bloody safety net appears before you land.’
He looked sideways at her, raised an eyebrow.
‘Good for you, boss. OK. You do that and I’ll start dating again. See if I can do it properly this time, not mess it up. Deal?’
He offered her a fist, and she smiled and bumped hers against it.
‘Deal.’
Then she stood up abruptly, as the doctor who’d spoken to them earlier suddenly appeared in the corridor.
‘She’s awake,’ he said. ‘And she says she needs to talk to you, urgently.’
Chapter 46
It was morning. At least, the light outside the small, square window opposite my bed made me think that it was probably morning; I had long since lost all track of time, drifting in and out of sleep, men and woman in white uniforms constantly checking on me, prodding me, asking me questions in low voices. My head was muzzy from the drugs which had been dripping into me all night through a needle in my arm, but the pain which had been so agonizing and terrifying was now reduced to a dull, tight ache. I moved my right hand slowly up the smooth bedspread, cautiously touching my throat, feeling not skin but bandages, tight and soft. The knife, the blade, the pain, the awful, shocking pain … a sudden rush of fear ran through me, and I tried to breathe deeply, tried to remember. I was safe. I was in hospital, and Danny was gone, and I was safe. Danny … the fear rose again. My husband, the serial killer. My physical injuries would, I’d been told, heal – but the rest of it? How did anyone, could anyone, recover from that? I’d been married to a monster, and I’d had absolutely no idea. How stupid did you have to be, how dim, to be married to a man who spent his spare time murdering people, and not realize it, any of it? To be married to a man who was so clearly deranged, and not know? I groaned. What was wrong with me?
But none of it was my fault, that’s what they’d told me, the two officers, and I had to believe them. The woman, DCI Dickens, had pulled her chair close to my bed, looking stricken, telling me how desperately sorry she was, had even, briefly, held my hand, her touch cool and strangely comforting against my hot, dry skin. DS Clarke had remained standing, shifting from foot to foot, making rapid notes on a pad he pulled from his pocket as I, slowly and hesitantly, through the acuteness of the pain and the haze of the medication, told them everything, everything Danny had told me. Everything he’d done, why he’d done it, and what he planned to do next.
They had remained silent for a long time when I’d finished, staring at each other, horrified expressions on their faces. Then DCI Dickens had turned back to me, gripping my hand again.
‘I can’t even imagine what he went through as a child. It’s horrendous, and no kid should ever have to experience an upbringing like that. But it doesn’t change what he’s done, Gemma. He’s clearly a very sick, and very dangerous man. He’s killed four men, tried to kill a fifth, and nearly killed you too. And I promise you, we’re going to stop him hurting anyone else. This ends now.’
And then they’d gone, telling me that everything would be OK. Would it though, really? How could it be? I’d asked them that, and they’d looked at each other, and then she’d squeezed my hand gently. One day at a time, one hour at a time, that was the only way to get through this, she said. Get well first, worry about the rest later. But it would get easier. Hour by hour, day by day. I’d find happiness again, she promised.
‘You’re strong, Gemma. You’re so bloody strong. Look at how much you’ve gone through already. You’ve had your throat cut, for goodness’