Mo Hayder - Poppet

‘No,’ he continues. ‘I can see it’s not easy – not easy at all.’

She drops her head then. A faint current runs through her muscles – a contained spasm, but he can’t tell if she’s actually crying or not. His memory opens suddenly on the drunken night years ago, and he wonders again why he didn’t respond then to her come-on. At the time he had a girlfriend, but there was something else stopping him. Melanie somehow seemed in a different world – as if she belonged to a grown-up league of dating he had no right to trespass in. She was just too … too sensible somehow. Serious. When he and the girlfriend separated a few weeks later and he made a tentative approach to Melanie she froze him out, saying something short about the Trust and its dim view of relationships between staff. Since then their only interactions have been the cool, professional ones. Like this morning. Now he concentrates on bandaging her hand. It should stop bleeding if it’s dressed properly. He’s glad he didn’t dial 999; they don’t need a hospital visit.

‘You know what,’ Melanie says quietly, ‘I spent five hours today talking to the review team. Five.’

He glances up, surprised by her tone. Her face is still turned away, her blonde hair covering her expression. ‘About Zelda, you mean?’

‘It’s like they’re accusing us of doing something to her. Her post-mortem has finally been done. Did you know that?’

‘What did they find?’

‘Nothing.’ She shrugs. ‘At least, nothing you can hang a hat on. It said she died of heart failure, but they couldn’t pin the cause on anything, except possibly her weight. So now the review team can’t make up their minds whether to walk away or to keep on at us. They’ve gone over and over everything – the staff logs, her care plan. Every time they turned up as much as a spelling mistake in one of the meds logs they looked at me as if I had horns.’

For the first time it dawns on AJ that Melanie’s feelings about the unit run really deep. Yes, it’s her professional reputation on the line, but she actually seems to care. Really care. In his experience genuine commitment beyond a pay cheque is thin on the ground in Beechway.

He clears his throat. ‘You’ve carried the can for the rest of us. We wander around whingeing about overtime and night pay, but at least at the end of the day we can walk away from it.’ He finishes tying the bandage and gently pushes the hand back at her. ‘There you go. You’ll live.’

Melanie fumbles up one of the blood-stained tissues from her lap and blows her nose noisily. She lets the hand sit in her lap and stares at it blankly. She has been crying, there are mascara trails on her face. ‘Everyone’s going to say I’m suicidal. They’re going to say I cut myself. What’s the expression? Eventually the system will turn in on itself?’

‘I don’t know.’

She sniffs again and looks at him. ‘AJ?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m sorry about the professional-bitch demeanour this morning.’

‘That’s OK. You’ve got a job to do.’

She gives a small, tearful laugh. ‘Sometimes it’s the only way I know how to be.’

‘Like I said, it’s OK. It’s fine.’

There’s a short pause. He wonders where this is going. Then she says, ‘We’ve known each other a long time. Tell me honestly. This delusion they have – the you-know-what.’

‘The Mau—’

‘Please don’t say it.’ She looks at him with a watery smile. ‘Sorry – it’s just, I … AJ – you’ve never seen anything, have you? Something you couldn’t explain.’

He gives a scoffing laugh. ‘Oh, all the time. People walking through walls.’

‘Seriously. What is it about this delusion?’

‘That depends,’ he says, ‘on whether I’m Scully and you’re Mulder.’

‘I’m definitely Scully.’

‘No – you can’t be. ’Cos I’m Scully.’

‘Then it’ll have to be two cynics. Two cynics in a Beetle. They should make a film about us.’

They both give a half-hearted laugh. AJ sits back and stares out of the windscreen to where a drunk woman is picking a fight with an equally drunk man in camouflage trousers. There’s a long silence, then he says: ‘You’ve got to admit, she was a bloody nuisance.’

‘Who?’

‘Zelda.’

‘No, no – AJ, you can’t say that. Every person on the unit has a right to our care. We shouldn’t let anyone down.’

‘But she was a nuisance. I know it’s taboo to say it, but out of all the people it could have happened to, aren’t you glad it happened to Zelda? I certainly am.’

There’s a pause. Melanie keeps her eyes on the two drunks. Her mouth is moving slightly – as if she’s suppressing a slight smile. ‘We never had this conversation,’ she says, not meeting his eyes. ‘I never heard you say that and you never saw me nod. OK?’

‘What conversation?’

‘And last but not least, you never saw …’

‘What?’

She tilts her chin over her shoulder at the vodka bag on the back seat. ‘You never saw what was in that carrier bag either.’

SUKI’S BREATHING SLOWS. The rapid in and out – the frantic panting of the last few hours – deflates into something slow and thoughtful. A measured surrender. To Penny this is the first sign that the end really is coming. It’s going to be soon.

She looks at her watch. Five o’clock. Evening. So it will be evening when Suki goes. It can’t be much longer. She hitches up the duvet which makes a tent over her and Suki – here on the floor in the office where Suki lies curled on the tatty old bed that she has had for fifteen years – ever since she was a tiny puppy. Penny has been here all last night and today. She’s not tired, not sleepy. Not at all.

‘Don’t be scared, Suki.’ She strokes her face. ‘Don’t be scared. I promise there’s nothing to be scared of.’

Suki takes another breath. Almost pensive. She lets it out. Penny rests her hand on Suki’s ribcage – very lightly, because the skeleton is so tiny, so feeble. It seems a ridiculous insult to expect it to rise one more time. This little old dog – small and shrunken as a walnut. Even as a youngster Suki was tiny. Not a proper breeder’s dog – she was a rescue puppy, a cute hairy-faced mutt. All her life no one has ever noticed or paid attention to Suki – not the way they’d whoop and ooh over the glamorous red setters and Weimaraners. Of course, Suki has never minded. She’s always been content to trot along next to Penny, quite happy with the world and the way it was. No one is really going to notice when she’s gone. Only Penny.

Another breath comes. A slow release. Penny watches the ribcage – expecting another.

She waits, and she waits.

‘Suki?’

No response.

‘Suki? Is that it?’

Her chest doesn’t move. Penny presses her hands into it, her fingertips gently searching between the ribs for the last flutter of heartbeat. Nothing. The little dog’s chin is down and the whiskers around her mouth are curled and brown where they touch her front leg.

‘Suki?’

Penny looks at her watch again. Five minutes go by. Then another five. She makes herself count the seconds out in her head. All the way to a hundred and eighty. Three more minutes. Nothing, no one, can exist without breathing for this long. It is definitely the end.

‘OK.’ She rocks back on her heels. ‘OK.’

She cries. Just a little, and has to hold up her sleeve to soak up the tears. There’d be more, but the heavy ones passed through yesterday morning, when the vet told her the end was coming.

‘I’m picking you up now.’ After a long time she bends at the waist and lifts Suki up on to her lap. The dog doesn’t move or resist. Her legs flop down. She weighs nothing – no more than a small wicker basket. Penny hunches down, puts her face against the old muzzle. Rocks her. ‘It’s all right, my girl. It’s OK. You’ve been so good. Such a good girl. Thank you,’ she tells her. ‘Thank you so so much. For everything.’