Chapter 80 Hospital
We arrive at St Thomas’s under the dramatic flicker of red and blue lights and the occasional burst of a high-pitched siren. If it wasn’t for a torn dress, grazed knees and a filthy coat, I’d feel like a star.
Five minutes into my stay, I’m still at the entrance to A & E, sitting in a queue due to a lack of free trolleys.
I tell the first nurse I see that I need priority treatment as I’m pregnant.
She takes me right past everyone. I’m quite sure I’m the only one in Prada in the whole place and I receive what I take to be admiring glances despite the torn fabric.
In the triage area, the nurse checks for broken bones, dresses my shins and makes admiring comments about my one shoe. I tell her the story of how my husband tried to kill me, and she tells me I’m not the first and won’t be the last.
After the treatment, I text Stephen to tell him I’ve been ‘nearly killed’ and he needs to pick me up, if he can tear himself away from his floozie.
The problem I now have is that I’m not married to anyone, and Stephen knows he owes me nothing.
Despite several texts, I have no idea if Cait made it to Hollis’s flat or if the police picked her up on the way.
Several drivers described a Ninja-like figure with long auburn hair pushing a disabled man into the river, so she won’t be difficult to find.
As I’m waiting for Stephen, the furrowed brow of a uniformed police officer appears from behind the thin blue curtain followed by his inappropriately grinning subordinate with his helmet in his hands. I’m really not in the mood for a police interview and sigh quite visibly.
‘I know you won’t feel like speaking to us,’ says the police officer. ‘We won’t keep you long. We just need to ask some details about the incident tonight at the river.’
‘Yes, my wounds are fine, thank you,’ I say, making a necessary point.
The police officer stares at me as if the idea of asking after my well-being is making him physically uncomfortable, but he finally says, ‘We’ve spoken to your doctor about your injuries and understand they’re not life threatening.’
‘No thanks to the police, I might say. Luckily, my friend was around to save me.’
‘We understand a man was pushed into the Thames by a woman with red hair.’
‘That was my friend Cait. She didn’t mean to kill him. She was trying to save my life.’
‘Oh, he’s not dead, madam. He was hauled from the Thames, but he’s in a critical condition.’
‘Not dead? Surely, he’s . . . I mean, he must’ve been in the water for several minutes.’
‘It’s cold-water hypothermia, we understand. He’s in a coma. This man was your husband?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘And he was trying to kill me. I hope you found his gun. I’m sure Cait has it all on her phone.’
‘Do you have this woman’s surname?’
‘O’Donnell,’ I say. ‘She’s on bail for manslaughter, so she’s in the system. She will have broken her bail conditions unfortunately, but she was following me, you see. I think she sensed I was in danger. I hope you’ll look favourably on her actions.’
The PC writes all of this down, which takes some time, then sits on the blue plastic chair and says, ‘In your own words, could you tell us exactly what happened?’
Having had some time to consider how to play this particular scene, I explain as succinctly as possible that my estranged abusive husband tracked me down, even using an investigator (I mention DS Birch here).
When I told him I’d remarried and couldn’t have him back, he said he’d rather see me dead than living with another man, threatened me with a gun and tried to push me in the river, whereupon my friend, Cait, saved my life, and in the scuffle, he fell down the steps into the water.
I also told them to look for the severed padlocks, as I believed the cunning bastard had removed them in advance, which clearly indicated an intention to murder me.
They ask all kinds of additional questions, but I try to keep the story as simple as possible – another jealous husband attacking his wife because he can’t accept he’s not wanted any more.
They tell me they’ll need a formal statement and disappear into the night. Stephen arrives an hour later looking guilty. Nothing like being in bed with your mistress when the mother of your children is being nearly murdered to make a man question his priorities.