Looking back

About an hour later, Richard was shaved, showered and dressed. He had already laid out his suit, shirt and tie the evening before – he had been looking forward to putting them on as he had bought the shirt and the tie for this particular day. Yes, it was silly, but he felt it was a special day, and it required special clothing.

He always put effort into his outfit – not that you could really vary a lot when you were more or less expected to dress in a dark suit, dress shirt and tie, but he hated sloppiness… and here in the UK, you could at least wear a woollen suit without passing out. Saint Marie had been a different story in that respect, of course. Oh, how he had suffered there… It was a really beautiful and amazing island, and for a holiday it might be a great destination – but working there had been a real challenge in so many ways.

It was a relief to dress properly again and not feel like sitting in a sauna after five minutes.

It also was a relief to be able to open and close all buttons and zippers and fix the tie without needing help. For a while he had had unpredictable, sporadic difficulties using his left arm and hand, and walking sometimes had turned out to be an issue as well. It had been very humbling to feel like an invalid. But he had been glad to be alive, so he had gritted his teeth and done everything he could to get fit again. And now, all was back to normal… more or less. Every once in a while, he still felt the aftereffects of what had happened, but it was nothing compared to the first half year or so. Rehab had done wonders for him.

He had no real memories of his stay in the Saint Marie hospital. After he had been re-animated, he had been unconscious, and then he had been put into an artificial coma. He remembered the hospital on Guadeloupe, though – he had been puzzled when he had woken up there one day, foggy-headed, finding his mother sitting by his bedside. It had taken him quite a while to understand that he had just about survived a stabbing attack – and with an icepick, on top of that… What a perversion to use an instrument like that to send someone into the next world!

It had been sheer coincidence that Helen had missed his heart! He had fallen into cardiac arrest – a shock reaction of his body - and Helen had thought he was dead. Which was a good thing because she surely would have made another attempt if she had thought the first one hadn't been successful…

Fortunately, Angela had found him in time and alarmed the police as well as an ambulance. He was very grateful for that… she had helped to save his life. He hadn't had the chance to thank her in person – and he wasn't keen on doing so, either, as he was afraid she'd get sentimental and wanted to leave her in the past! – but he had sent her a card a few months later – after he had left rehab. It had been hard enough to find the words – what do you say in a case like that? "Thank you for saving my life"? Didn't that sound a little too pompous? But then again, was there anything else you could say? He had settled for something like "I don't know what to say, so I'll just say 'thank you'…" – and just to be on the safe side, he hadn't put his address on the envelope. He had been aware of how cowardly this was – but he hadn't wanted to give her any obvious possibility to get back to him. He knew that – if she really wanted – she could find him, but apparently she had got the hint.

He had hoped for her that she had moved on and found closure in the meantime – but he hadn't cared enough to try and find out. He had to deal with his own issues.

His mother had visited him regularly, and Camille had come a couple of times as well. He had mostly been in a daze and had lost all feeling for time, but he had noticed her presence. It had been comforting to know she was there, and he seemed to remember that she had held his hand, stroked his arm and kissed his forehead during her visits. Her perfume had been in the air – fruity and sensual – and it had had a soothing effect on him. When he had been clearer in his head again, he had thought he had all imagined it – but even so, it had helped him to pull through.

A little while after he had been transported to the UK, received further treatment and eventually been taken off most of the drugs, he had started to brood. He hadn't been able to focus on reading yet, listening to music just had carried him away and made him teary-eyed (which he hated), and he had had to fill the time between meals, examinations and nighttime – when he had been supposed to be sleeping. Which he hadn't managed very well during some nights… too many unhappy thoughts had come to his mind, uncalled for, but he hadn't been able to shrug them off.

What if he didn't recover and couldn't work any more? Would he depend on his insurances and welfare? Well, not very likely, but it was a possibility. He had noticed the occasional bouts of paralysis in his left side with some concern. He had realised that he had trouble remembering words sometimes. That had scared him out of his wits. He had felt helpless and frustrated. He had also observed that he occasionally mixed up the chronological order of events. That had confused him… and it hadn't been funny. The doctors had said it was temporary – but what did they know?

And what if he recovered? He had known he wouldn't return to Saint Marie. There wouldn't be any place for him – Humphrey Goodman had taken over the shack, the station and the team. So, it would be a position somewhere in the UK – in the Greater London area, hopefully, but not in Croydon, please! There had been so many 'what ifs' and 'if onlys' – it had been hard not to fall into a depression.

Fortunately, his parents had come to visit him regularly. In the beginning, their visits had been blurry and tiring for him, but it had become better with time, and when he had been weaned off the drugs, he actually had rather enjoyed their presence. His mother had brought him greeting cards that had arrived in the mail for him – after a while they had started to pile up on his nightstand. He had enjoyed looking at them… most of them had been from Saint Marie… the team as a whole had sent a few, and then there had been individual ones from Camille. So, they hadn't forgotten him – that had comforted him in a strange way. He hadn't been able to respond properly, but his mother had assured him that she and Camille were e-mailing regularly, so he had known that she was getting updated on his progress. Or lack thereof.

He had wondered if she was still thinking of him, so the greeting cards had been reassuring in a way. During some of his nights in hospital he had been lying awake, thinking of her and wondering what could have happened if he had been more open about his feelings… If only he had made a move to her… But then again, done was done.

And then the doubts had come up again… what if the greeting cards had only been sent out of politeness… or – worse! – pity? A mortifying thought…

However, while Camille definitely had a polite and empathetic streak, it had seemed highly unlikely that she'd keep writing just because she wanted to be civil. Her cards hadn't been philosophical or 'in depth', but she had a knack for making him laugh, and her encouragement and support had been more than welcome. The fact that she and his mother were in e-mail contact also had been reassuring for him – he just had hoped his mother hadn't given her what he considered 'too much information'… Some things should better be left unsaid.

He hadn't mentioned his feelings to his parents – the relationship with his father had improved since they both had made more efforts to communicate, but emotions still were a bit of a taboo topic… and he hadn't wanted his mother to get too suspicious about his non-existing relationship with his DS. After all, there hadn't been anything to talk about…

Although… he had had to admit that Camille was special to him – his mother had asked a few thoughtful questions that had made him squirm a little, but of course, it had been evident that as a rule, you wouldn't expect a subordinate officer to jump on the 'chance' to visit their boss in hospital regularly. His mother had agreed to Camille's visits after a longer conversation with her, as he had found out, but still she hadn't really expected that his DS would show up nearly everyday during his stay in the Saint Marie hospital and make the trip to Guadeloupe several times to see him there. He had settled for a lame "we are friends", but his mother had just given him a knowing smile that had made him uncomfortably aware of how he still wasn't able to hide the really important things from her.

Richard took his briefcase and the umbrella – the drizzle had returned. He checked his watch and realised that by now, Shaw hopefully had found her on the airport. Shaw was a nice chap – eager to learn and quite resourceful. And although Richard clearly noticed that the younger officer found him a little eccentric – for lack of a better word – he didn't judge his boss… he simply accepted his quirks and didn't make a fuss about Richard's idiosyncrasies.

Before he left the house, he turned around once more to check the little hall and the general impression that the house conveyed. The door to the sitting room was open, and the bouquet of fresh summer flowers that he had bought after work yesterday and put on the dinner table had survived and looked pretty good – the flowers were beginning to open their buds. By the afternoon they would present themselves in their full glory… Everything was tidy, but didn't appear impersonal, and all in all, it looked like a real home.

Content with himself, he stepped out of the entrance door, opened the umbrella and turned to walk down the pavement. He walked without thinking… and his mind wandered back again to his reconvalescence.

It had actually been a very welcome change when rehab had started – he had become bored out of his wits in hospital. He had been able to get up and do things, but he had felt a little useless, and his physical condition had been less than satisfying. He had been weak like a kitten, as his mother had called it. He had pulled a face at that analogy, but had to agree with her. The bouts of paralysis still had been an issue, and he had been beginning to fear they'd stick around forever. The doctors still had claimed they'd disappear eventually, given some time. Admittedly, he had been doing better altogether, but it had frustrated him to be so unfit. In rehab, he had finally got the chance to work actively against the 'decay', as he had called it.

His doctors had suggested a rehab centre somewhere between Guildford and Woking – that meant that his parents could visit him fairly easily. It was about an hour to get to the rehab centre from their home in Horsham, and in case they didn't want to drive, there even was a train connection – admittedly, the train took about twenty minutes longer, but at least it was a possibility. They could easily set off from home after lunch and stay until before dinner, if that was what they wanted – and since they sometimes went shopping or had lunch in Guildford or even in Woking when they felt like seeing something different, it wouldn't be much of a sacrifice to pop in and see how he was doing. His mother also had a friend who lived in the Woking area, so visiting her and seeing Richard could be combined easily.

Richard had never expected that the relationship with his parents would change for the better – they had never been close, and particularly with his father, he had had issues… he had felt that Robert Poole was disappointed with him. As they both had made more efforts, however, he had understood that Camille had been right after all – his father had difficulties expressing emotions, and (unfortunately) he shared that character trait. It had been eye-opening to understand that he had got it all wrong over the years – his father was actually proud of what Richard had accomplished. He didn't care all that much about financial success, rank or prestige – it was more about how carefully and responsibly Richard solved his cases, how he had all his financial things in order, and how he lived a quiet and unspectacular life – down-to-earth and decent.

So, the fact that the rehab centre hadn't been far from his parents had been a bonus – and he had arrived there some time late in May, several months after the stabbing. He had spent most of spring in hospital, and it seemed likely that he'd spend most of summer in rehab… so he had been determined to make the best of it, get as fit as possible – and start his new life then.