Chapter 26
Mallory
‘Get him!’ Joanie yells. ‘He assaulted her!’
In the commotion I can hear someone else shouting, ‘He went that way, get him!’ but I can’t seem to move. My feet are stuck to the floor as people begin to crowd around the lady.
The lady on her back.
The old lady, flat on her back.
Oh, shit.
Joanie is kneeling down on the pavement next to her. ‘Can you hear me, sweetheart?’ she is saying. ‘Are you OK?’ She’s frantic, rubbing her arm, putting her face near hers. ‘My name is Joanie and I’m going to help you.’ But the old woman is groaning.
There’s a bit of blood on the pavement.
It’s from the back of her head.
Oh, God. Oh God.
Oh fucking God.
‘Mal, what are you doing? Call the police!’
‘Right!’
I pull my phone out of my handbag, open the screen, tap on the phone icon and dial 999, but for some reason, I don’t hit call. Before I know it, I am holding the phone to my ear regardless, and saying, ‘Hello?’ to Absolutely No One. ‘Yes. Yes. I need the police!’
‘And an ambulance!’ Joanie shouts.
‘And an ambulance!’ I say into the phone, again, to No One.
‘Who was that guy?’ Joanie says to me. ‘Do you know him?’
I shush her, as if I’m trying to hear No One on the other end of the line. ‘Yes, my name is Mallory,’ I say into it. ‘Someone stole an old lady’s purse...’
‘He assaulted her!’ Joanie yells at me.
Why is she here why is she here why is she here? ‘Right – right. He assaulted her—!’ I say loudly. What is happening? ‘We’re on Muswell Hill Broadway... Sorry? How long? We need someone now.’
I pace around a bit, as if waiting for the answer, trying to collate my thoughts.
This was a bad idea. A very bad idea. I should never have come.
What the hell am I wearing these stupid gloves for?
Who the hell do I think I am? Getting that stupid fucking worksheet out.
I should have backed off. Had some fucking boundaries.
I’m insane. I am actually the Clinical Definition of Insanity.
I will probably get locked up. I probably deserve to be.
‘There’s lots of blood coming from her nose! But she seems OK!’
‘She does not seem OK, Mal!’
Shut up, Joanie, I’m on the phone. ‘She seems a bit shaken...’
I turn away from her to see her twin children, Crispin and Layla, stood staring at me – like two perfect porcelain dolls – in their school ties and blazers, bags hoiked up to their ear lobes. Looks of utter terror plastered on their six-year-old faces.
Hi, you two! I mouth, waving. Then point to my phone. Just on the—
‘Mal!’ Joanie shouts. ‘What are they saying?’
This is an actual nightmare.
I look back at her, to see someone else kneeling at the kerb next to her.
A man with a hoodie on and a blue lanyard.
‘I’m a nurse!’ he proclaims loudly to the crowd, which is growing in size by the minute.
‘Can everyone step back, please.’ He has his arms up, like it is a crime scene.
Which I suppose it is. ‘Space, please!’ He turns to the lady, perched on the kerb. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Brenda...’
Brenda’s voice is shaking.
I’m so sorry, Brenda.
‘I’m going to help you,’ Nurse Man says. ‘I just need to look at your nose – hold your head back, please.’
While I continue to fake-talk to the fake-police, I realise I haven’t really stopped to consider that they won’t actually turn up.
That no emergency services are going to come, whatsoever.
Which is going to be a problem, a big problem.
I look into the crowd, hoping to see someone else on their phone, frantically asking for an ambulance, but they don’t seem to be, because they are all pointing at me, saying things like, That lady is doing it – she’s calling them, don’t worry.
And I can see Joanie squabbling with Nurse Man, still faffing with the woman, now trying to actively force her hands off her face.
‘You might have broken a bone!’ she is yelling.
‘You’re not supposed to move!’ But Nurse Man is looking very annoyed and saying things to Joanie in an assertive tone.
Joanie begins to full-out scream back at him, ‘Don’t tell me what to do! I am first-aid trained!’
I turn to the person next to me. ‘Hi,’ I say, to the face of a man with kind eyes and a beard. ‘Can you call the police? My phone just died while I was on to them.’
‘Of course,’ he says. He seems nice. Normal. The right person to make the call. Not me. The opposite of those things.
‘Thank you so much. Oh. And an ambulance.’
‘Yep.’
‘Great. Thank you.’
I back out of the crowd towards the wall, watching him talking to actual people on his phone.
OK.
OK.
This should be fine.
This is going to be fine.
No one will know I knew him. Did I shout his name? Did I? I can’t remember. How far behind me was Joanie? Did she hear me?
I find Crispin and Layla, and stand with them, cowering together in a shop doorway. ‘Well, this is all a bit scary, isn’t it?’ They just stare at me.
‘Where’s Mum?’ Layla says.
‘She’s helping the lady,’ I tell her.
‘Did you know the man who hit her?’ Crispin asks.
Pipe down Crispin. ‘No – I didn’t.’ Then, ‘Did you?’
He glares. ‘I don’t associate with people who would do that kind of thing.’
OK, so I forgot how precocious these two are. ‘No. No, of course. And good.’
‘He’s mean,’ Layla says.
‘Yes,’ I agree. ‘Very mean.’
‘Mum!’ Crispin says, his face lighting up at the sight of her emerging from the crowd. He throws himself into her arms.
‘That man is a power freak,’ Joanie mutters, then, ‘Come on, let’s get away from here.
Every mother and her son now wants to chip in.
She’s fine.’ She waves her hand dismissively, like it’s all become a bit of a farce, and takes Layla and Crispin by the hand and begins to frog-march them down the street, away from the throng of people, only stopping when she reaches the little front lawn of a nearby church.
I follow along obligingly, matching her frog-march – because I am not really sure what else to do – but also trying to concoct a plan, a reason for why I am here...
‘Let’s just sit for a moment,’ Joanie says, pointing to a bench.
‘Catch our breath. Crisps, Lay – sit, please.’
They do. Like little robots. I worry a little about them, because they hardly have a personality between them. Joanie puts her hands on her hips and inhales deeply through her nose, pacing in circles. ‘Well.’
‘Well,’ I repeat.
She stops and looks at me. ‘Mal. He’s really a client of yours?’
‘Yes. He’s a client.’ It’s strange that I’m so able to lie to her face.
We were once so close. There was a time when she knew me well enough that she could interpret every wrinkle of my nose, every narrowing of my eyes.
But now, she is looking at me like I am someone that she can no longer decipher.
And I see her the same way. As a stranger.
Someone I don’t fully recognise, with two android children that I know nothing about.
I don’t know her. Not really. But she knows my husband, apparently.
She texts him. Calls me Meek Mal to him.
She used to think I was funny. Clever. Bright. ‘He needs help.’
She shakes her head. ‘He just seems so...’
‘What?’
‘Dangerous, Mal.’
‘I don’t think he meant to hurt that woman,’ I say.
She nearly laughs. The sort of breathy half-laugh that means I’m being ridiculous. She raises her eyebrows. Folds her arms. ‘Well, we must have been watching two very different things.’
‘Maybe.’
She looks annoyed at this. Like I should be agreeing with her. ‘Does Ronan know?’
There’s an edge to the way she says this. Like it’s some kind of winning shot.
‘No.’
‘Well, don’t you think he should?’
No, Joanie. And get the fuck out of my marriage. ‘He would only worry.’
‘With good reason, no?’
No. Not good reasons. ‘I’m bound not to tell anyone,’ I say, although I’m not sure how true that is, especially if the police are going to be involved. But it sounds legit, and it’s all I’ve got to keep her from telling him.
She nods. ‘I see.’ I can feel my hands shaking. These fucking gloves. ‘Yes. I guess that makes sense.’
‘I’m fine, Joanie. This is my world now, and I am managing it well.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re never up this end. Why didn’t you just meet him somewhere nearer to home?’
‘I don’t want him to know I live there.’
‘Hmm. Makes sense.’ Why has she chosen today to be both a nurse and a detective?
‘I’ll go back and talk to the police,’ I say.
She nods.
I nod.
We don’t hug. We used to.
I leave her and her two android children on the bench.
But I don’t go to the police.
I go straight home and adjust things, so the air will feel the same inside the house as when I left.
Cool, and calm.
When it does, I open my laptop and begin to write.