Thanks for reading! Just a short one… Jessie xx
Not Real
"Can we go in?" Mia sniffed and looked up at Sandra.
Sandra glanced at Gerry who nodded. Gently she guided Mia toward the door.
The grey handle of the door was warmer than she expected. Probably because it had recently been opened and closed by a nurse on duty who would return in fifteen minutes to check on her patient as her orders dictated. The air in the room was still, but not stuffy. It was warm, but not hot. Dark, but not … her eyes and attention finally gave in to the man in the bed and her breath caught in her throat.
"Dad…" Mia murmured as she crept toward the bed, her fingers trailing over the cool bedstead, the slightly rough blankets, the familiar, strong fingers of her father as he lay sleeping.
Sleeping. That what he was doing. Sleeping.
He was always there. And now he was here.
Sandra watched the one-way interaction while her brain fought between auto-pilot and acceptance. Her mother. Jack. Even Gerry and Brian she'd visited in hospital before. But it had never been like this. It had never torn at her heart as raw meat was torn from bone by a predator. The predator in this case being some cruel twist of fate that wanted to take her husband away from her. He was her future. He had to be. Yet here he was.
There was a hum of electricity in the air. She glanced over the medical equipment with its flashing lights and quiet, consistent, oddly contented bleeps. She didn't know what any of it meant. She wished she did. Maybe she ought to have become a doctor or a nurse, not a policewoman; then she might know, might be able to help him. Because that was all she wanted to be able to do – help him. She wanted to stop him from being hurt; stop Mia hurting from seeing him like this. She wanted to stop herself from feeling like she did. It wasn't a feeling she'd entirely felt before or ever wanted to again. A lost, helplessness, with subconscious defensives automatically put up to prevent her from feeling the true pain of being totally lost and helpless. It didn't feel real. But the hum of electricity, the still but not too stuffy air, the warmth that wasn't too hot and the shaky breaths of her companion as she stared at the prone figure in the bed; they were all real. Aspects of reality that her senses recorded calmly to maintain minimum levels of occupation in the brain while all conscious thought was suspended for the unconscious purpose of protection. Her mind was vacant, she couldn't move. All she could do was stand and stare and wish that it was happening to someone else.
Mia blinked. It was all she could do. She just kept blinking. Her eyelashes passed her vision like windscreen wipers that have been left on for she wasn't crying. She couldn't cry. She was too cold. It was like a blanket of ice had covered her shoulders and was seeping through her clothes to underneath her skin and around her body. There was a weird smell in the room. Antiseptic? They'd washed him, there was a whiff of soap – not a nice soap like the one they had at home, the soap that you get in large packets for large places, like hotels, or hospitals. She thought she could still detect the scent of his aftershave too. He always wore the same one. Auntie Marion always bought it for him for Christmas. Her fingers traced awkwardly over his. Vague memories flitted in front of her; holding his hand as they crossed the road, playing those childish hand games like church-and-steeple, gripping his fingers when she was in pain. His knuckles were knobbly, she thought with a shaking breath. But then, of course they were.
"Mia, you be ok for a minute?"
Sandra watched as the teenager nodded and drifted slowly towards the chair that supported her as her knees crumpled, her hands reaching and finding her father's hand completely. Sandra knew that she was lying to herself in believing that the girl was anything near ok. Leaving as quietly as possible, she sought the shadow that had flitted through her peripheral vision while her attention had been arrested by her husband. Knowing precisely how to draw out the weasel, she leant as casually as possible against the wall. With less than a second to go before she would accept a fault in her senses, she heard his breath behind her. She was aware of every one of her own breaths.
"Evening," she spoke quietly with one eye on the corridor; ensuring, as he was, that their interaction was unremarkable to anyone passing by. Though Gerry had, deliberately, she suspected, ensured that the police presence had been limited to the corridor extremities at least for the time being.
"Evening," her companion replied. If it hadn't been for their hushed tones, they might have been acquaintances meeting for an evening drink.
"I trust you haven't any plans for the remainder of the night?" Sandra said icily.
"How do you mean?" he queried. He couldn't help but be intrigued by the woman beside him. She was apparently quite clearly furious with him, yet had the steely nerve to maintain small talk. Maybe intrigued was not quite the right word… amused, yes; that would be closer. It was almost as though she considered the unfortunate state of affairs to be his fault.
"Because you are coming back to the office with me and Gerry and not leaving our sight until this. Is. Sorted. Ok?" she hissed. She could see into the room where her husband lay from where she stood. The defences around her emotions stood firm enough for the moment, though she knew it was only a matter of time until it would hit her. At least, in the weirdest way, she hoped it would. She wanted to be able to feel the force of numbness for what it meant.
"Am I to assume that the question is not rhetorical and that I do not have a choice?"
"You can assume what you like," she pushed herself off the wall and caught Gerry's eye as he crossed the corridor at the top. She watched him stop, start, glance around and head down towards them.
"What's happened?" Gerry asked, his eyes flicking nervously to Rob's room.
"Are you free to come back with us to the station now?" she asked him.
He passed barely a cursory glance at Fisher as he nodded. "I'll text Steve, get him back to the office with us. Nick can take charge here."
"And who is going to sanction that?" Fisher frowned with sarcasm at Standing who replied in kind. Accepting something of defeat he bit his tongue. How fascinating these little people were in crisis. Assuming that they could take control of him even! No, it was their assumption that suddenly the rules didn't matter. And he couldn't really argue with that, as far as he had ever learnt, rules were for the ordinary people. He couldn't say he was ever drawn to the UCOS team for their being ordinary. Let them have their way. It usually worked in his favour, and he did have the wonderful play of being Robert Strickland's friend. If it came to it, perhaps he could even appear to be affected by the man's current, regrettable situation. Let them make their own sanctions.
"I just need to let Mia know," Sandra told Gerry. Leaving the two men standing silently in the corridor, neither with much to say to the other, she re-entered the quiet sanctuary of Rob's prison. Mia was in the same position that she'd left her. "Mi?" she rested a hand on the statue's shoulder.
Mia registered and responded with an empty expression which she tried to soften to ease her step-mother's own pain. She frowned slightly as she noted the stern expression.
"I've got to go back to the office with Gerry, will you stay with him?"
"Why?" Mia whispered without moving her eyes.
Sandra sighed. "To find out who did this to your dad."
