Heathen/Nemesis

Two

Donna Ward thought she heard the two-tone chime of the doorbell and cocked an ear in the direction of the front door. The music continued to flow from the ghetto-blaster propped on the kitchen unit beside her. Donna wondered for a moment if she’d imagined it. She eased the volume down slightly, then continued with her task. She stepped back from the picture, trying to see if it was straight or not. She smiled to herself. Chris wouldn’t even notice when he came in. She’d hung three small pictures in the kitchen, military prints of men in uniform. She’d found them in a box under the stairs a day or two ago. Chris had owned them for years, as long as she could remember. He’d once had a passion for military history. Years ago.

This time, when the ringing of the doorbell came, she did hear it. She jabbed the ‘off’ button and silence dropped like a blanket over the house as she walked across the hall towards the front door.

Donna didn’t bother to check the spy-hole but she always left the chain in position and now, as she eased the door open, she only pulled it as far as the restraints of the metal would allow.

Through the gap between door and jamb she saw PC Cobb.

He nodded his head with such exaggeration it looked almost like a bow.

Donna felt a sudden, unexpected coldness run through her, as if someone had suddenly injected her with iced water. She didn’t know why; perhaps it was just the sight of the uniform. She’d seen policemen often enough when her father had been alive. They’d arrive at her parents house to tell her mother that the drunken wreck she’d married was either too pissed to get home and was sleeping it off in the cells, or that they had him in the car outside.

But that, as the saying went, had been then. This was now.

What was a policeman doing ringing her doorbell at seven in the evening?

She brushed a hair from her face and looked at him impassively.

‘Mrs Ward?’ he asked, his tone subdued.

She swallowed hard.

‘Mrs Donna Ward?’

‘Yes. What is it?’

‘Can I come in, please?’ Cobb asked, running a swiftly appraising glance over the young woman. Blonde, pretty. Slim. Late twenties, he guessed. She was dressed casually in jeans, sweatshirt and trainers. She had grey eyes, eyes which flickered back and forth, regarding him now with a combination of bewilderment and concern. He wondered for a moment if she was going to let him in but she pushed the door to and he heard the chain being slipped. The door opened to allow him entry, then was closed behind him.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I was going to ask you in.’ There was a pleasant smile on her face, but it never touched her eyes.

Do your job.

Cobb stood rigidly in the hallway.

‘Mrs Ward,’ he began. Go on, you can do it. ‘I’m afraid to tell you there’s been an accident. It’s ...’

She cut him short.

‘Chris,’ she murmured, her eyes riveted to the uniformed man.

‘Your husband has been involved in a car crash. At least, we think it’s your husband ...’

She closed her eyes tightly for a second.

‘Is he hurt?’ she demanded, her voice cracking.

‘We need you to identify him,’ Cobb said.

There were tears forming in her eyes.

‘How do you know it’s him?’ she said frantically.

‘We’re not sure; that’s why we need you to come with us and look at him. We have this.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small, plastic-wrapped package. With a trembling hand he held it out towards Donna, who snatched it from him.

‘Those are your husband’s initials, aren’t they?’ Cobb said, indicating the CW on one corner of the bloodied handkerchief.

‘Oh God,’ Donna said, her eyes brimming with tears. She put one hand to her mouth. ‘Is he dead?’

Cobb had been expecting the question but he still didn’t know how to deal with it. No amount of training could prepare you.

‘If you come with me, there’s a car outside,’ he said, trying to sound efficiently detached. ‘We’ll take you to ...’

‘Is he dead?’ she snarled through clenched teeth.

‘Yes.’

‘Oh God, no, please.’ She tried to swallow but couldn’t. The tears began to flow.

Cobb felt helpless. So fucking, pathetically, screamingly helpless. Jesus Christ, he wanted to help this woman, but what did he do? What could he do, except drive her to the hospital to inspect the body of the man they were convinced was her husband?

There was a coat stand close by. Donna reached for a leather jacket and pulled it on, pushing past Cobb and out of the front door towards the waiting police car. He slammed the front door behind her and followed her to the car, helping her into the back, scurrying around the other side and strapping himself in.

Donna wiped tears from her face.

‘We don’t know for sure that it is your husband, Mrs Ward,’ he said, as if that were some kind of comfort.

‘Just take me to him, please,’ she said.

The car sped away.

The sun slipped away, leaving the last of its colour to fade from the sky. Night closed in.

Now there was only darkness.