The hospital was like a maze and with each wrong turn Charlie’s anxiety rose. She hated hospitals. Just the smell of them inspired a deep melancholy in her—a legacy of the many weeks she’d spent in this very hospital, following her abduction three years ago. She should have known the hospital backward as a result, but every corridor looked the same to her.
She had headed to the fire at Travell’s first, but that had proved to be a waste of time. There had been no eyewitnesses to the start of the blaze, the CCTV had been deactivated some time ago and it was too early for any decent forensics. So, having done a fruitless pass in search of secondary evidence, she’d rerouted to the hospital to check on the Simms family.
As she made her way to the burns unit, Charlie felt her pace slowing. She knew that Karen Simms had died on the operating table and that Alice, the six-year-old, was now fighting for her life. This would always have provoked a strong emotional reaction from Charlie, but she felt it evenmorekeenly now. Ever since Jessica’s birth, she’d beenunable to stomach any article or news bulletin that involved children coming to harm. As a copper you had to have a strong stomach and be able to master your emotions, but if she was honest Charlie no longer trusted herself to keep her feelings in check—it was an instinctive and overwhelming reaction for her now.
Pausing outside the entrance to the burns unit, Charlie gave herself a silent talking-to. How dare she worry about her own feelings when this family was in hell? Her job was to help them, not worry about herself.
“Get a grip, girl,” Charlie muttered to herself, before opening the doors and stepping inside.
***
“DC Charlie Brooks. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Charlie offered her hand to Thomas Simms, fully aware of the absurdity and pointlessness of the gesture. He looked up and shook her hand before returning his gaze to Alice, who lay beyond the glass in an isolation unit. Her whole body was swathed in surgical bandages, and an oxygen mask was secured over her mouth and nose.
“I can’t believe that’s Alice,” Thomas said suddenly.
It certainly didn’t look like her. The photos already making their way onto the news and social media sites showed a smiley, fun-loving girl who liked sports and dancing. The mummified figure in front of them bore no relation to that youthful, vibrant spirit.
“How’s she doing?”
Thomas shrugged. “She’s hanging in there. She’s a fighter.”
It was said with a smile, but tears now filled his eyes.
“I hear encouraging things about Luke. The doctors said he should be out of theater soon—he’s a brave boy,” Charlie offered.
Thomas nodded, but the smile faded now, as the full cost of the fire made itself felt once more. There was a long silence and Charlie was about to offer Thomas a cup of tea, when he suddenly said:
“What am I going to tell them? About their mum.”
He looked utterly bereft as he turned to Charlie. Quickly she sat down by him, placing an arm on his shoulder. She wanted to comfort him, to reassure him, but there was no easy solace to give. “The truth. That’s all youcando. You have to tell them the truth.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he replied bleakly, returning his gaze to his daughter.
Charlie left her arm on his shoulder and thought of what to say next. But there was very little to say. She would help him in any way she could, of course, would try to lighten the blow felt by Luke and Alice. But how do you dress up something like this? There is no easy way to tell a child that his mother is dead.
12
It was four a.m. when Helen finally got back to her flat. Her clothes stank of smoke and her face was coated with a layer of fine ash. She had never felt so beaten up on the first day of an investigation before. The thought that a family had gone through such an ordeal and that the perpetrator was not evenpresentat the point of their suffering made her feel very uncomfortable indeed. It was such a callous and premeditated crime and suggested a level of anger and cruelty that was hard to countenance. Who would do such a thing? And why?
Stripping off her clothes, Helen hurried to the shower. More than anything now she wanted to get clean, to wash away the traces of the night’s distressing work. The water poured down on her as she washed her long hair once, twice, three times, but refreshing as it was, she couldn’t shift the anxiety and fatigue that gripped her.
Later, swathed in a thick towel, Helen looked out over Southampton from her large bedroom window. Dawn was about to break, heralding aday in which the full impact of last night’s devastation would become painfully clear. Waiting for the sun to rise, Helen suddenly felt very isolated. In the past, when dark feelings started to assail her, she would seek out her dominator, Jake, but she couldn’t do that now. He had started to develop feelings for her, so she’d had to sever their connection, before things became too complicated. She had no family to speak of and she couldn’t bother Charlie—she had enough on her plate already—which left Helen feeling very exposed.
Once the fracture in her relationship with Jake had become clear, Helen had considered turning to another dominator. She had always moderated and controlled her emotions through pain—the scars that decorated her torso and arms were a testament to this—and she missed her sessions with Jake. No one was better at driving away her dark thoughts than him. She had gone as far as calling one of his rivals—a dominator who went by the absurd name of Max Paine—but she had hung up before he answered, suddenly unsure about starting the process with a total stranger. With Jake, she could be herself, naked and unadorned. It would take a while before she could let herself be that vulnerable in front of somebody else.
Helen stared out into the night, pondering what the future might hold—for this city, for its inhabitants, for herself—one dark thought tumbling on top of another. Sitting there, framed by the large picture window and silhouetted by darkness, Helen was the very image of quiet loneliness.
She held this pose for a few minutes, then, angered by her self-indulgence, slid off the ledge, walked quickly to her wardrobe and pulled out a fresh set of clothes. Despite the late hour, she’d already resolved to go straight back to base to sift through the latest developments.
There would be no sleep tonight.
13
Blog post by firstpersonsingular
Wednesday, 9 December, 07.00
