Brooks bends down towards her feet and rips open the Velcro flap on her police bag.
‘Mr Jensen asked me to give you this as well. He forgot to take it when we met. He said he’d pick it up from you later.’ Brooks hands me a small brown envelope, the insides padded with packaging. On the front someone has addressed the envelope to ‘Mr Jack Jensen’.
Brooks stands abruptly once I’ve taken the envelope. She doesn’t ask me if I have any questions. She smooths her dark-navy polyester trousers. ‘I think that’s all for now,’ she says and she flicks another small smile towards me before she leaves.
I stay sitting in the windowless nurses’ room for a few minutes after Brooks leaves, the envelope in my lap, my forefinger twitching against the flap. It isn’t sealed well; half of the envelope flap is unstuck, puckered and raised. I wonder if Brooks noticed it wasn’t stuck down properly. I run my fingers along the opening, tease it open a little more. I know I should get some tape, seal it back down, but it’s already almost open. Wouldn’t it be better to put it in another envelope, one I can seal properly? It looks like it’s been tampered with already. I don’t want Jack to think someone he doesn’t know has been fiddling with it.
Before I have time to talk myself out of it, I move my chair so my back is towards the door in case anyone comes in. I move my finger under the lip of the envelope, which tears easily. Inside, there’s a small, clear, plastic evidence bag holding a turquoise ring. I’ve seen it before; it was on April’s thin finger in the photo I saw on Cassie’s Facebook – the one of Cassie, April and the white-haired guy in the hospice. The turquoise is marbled, the silver band worn and bumpy, as though it’s full of stories. There’s a white label stuck onto the front of the plastic bag. It says the ring was found on the third finger of Cassie’s left hand. Her wedding ring finger.
My heart leaps as there’s a knock at the door. I shove the bag back in the envelope and stand, holding the envelope behind my back. I turn towards the door as Sue, the ward technician, pokes her head into the room and asks if I’ve seen Mary or know anything about an order Mary made earlier today. I shake my head and Sue frowns quickly, muttering something about systems being in place for a reason before she closes the door.
I find a new envelope from the small stationery cupboard and quickly write Jack’s name on the front, just like the police did. As I hold the gummy edges of the envelope together I search for a coherent way into my thoughts, like trying to find the end of a ball of wool, I know there was something, something I saw about Cassie’s wedding rings. Holding the fresh envelope, I walk back onto the ward and stop by Cassie’s bed.
I pick up her left hand, feel where her wedding ring should be and finally my memory unfurls itself. I remember Jack the day after Cassie was hit; I see him again dropping Cassie’s engagement and wedding rings into his shirt pocket. I remember how he patted the pocket, how the rings rested safe just above his heart. I thought the trauma team would have given them to him, but now I know I was wrong, Cassie wasn’t wearing his rings when she was hit; she was wearing her mum’s. Jack must have brought them specially from home.
I place Cassie’s curled hand back on the top of her bed, and look at her withering face. Each day that passes is like a year on her, her skin greying and the lines carving deeper into her skin. I wonder what Jack was planning on doing with those rings; did he have them with him to feel close to Cassie? Or was he planning on sliding them back on her finger, reclaiming her as his own when no one was watching?
I think about Jonny running onto the ward; he would’ve thrown himself on Cassie if I hadn’t stopped him.
As I pull the curtain around Cassie I remind myself that it’s Jonny, not devoted Jack, I should be questioning, and I try to distract myself from the memory of his eyes, Jonny’s eyes that were full of something like love.
It was Carol’s birthday just before New Year so Mary and I take her for a drink after work. The Ox and Cart is a chain pub with spongy carpets and a fruit machine that explodes every two minutes with tinny music and brash lights. The only thing in the pub’s favour is that it backs onto the hospital car park. Mary and Carol are already at a round table for four; Carol’s tight, black dress strained over her chest next to Mary’s zip-up grey fleece make them look like unlikely companions. They’re sitting on stools, a half-empty bottle of white wine in front of them. I forgot to bring a change of clothes so I’m still in my dark-blue scrubs. I do a little pirouette as Mary wolf whistles and says, ‘Sexy outfit, Alice!’
I buy a bottle of wine for Carol’s birthday and remind Carol and Mary that I’m on ‘dry January’ to avoid comments when I get myself a lemonade. Carol fills us in on Shane, her new man. They met on a dating site, a fact that seems to have turned Carol off even though she was on there herself.
‘I know, I know it’s irrational,’ she says. ‘I just feel a bit ashamed when people ask how we met, you know, that we don’t have a sweet romantic story.’
‘So make one up.’ Mary shrugs. ‘Everyone lies about their life from time to time.’ Mary takes a gulp of wine.
‘I don’t,’ Carol says primly back to her.
‘Well, that’s my point. Maybe you should give it a go.’ We always promise not to talk about work when we meet as friends but this evening we break quicker than usual as Mary says, ‘Bet even Cassie Jensen, with her gorgeous life, stretched the truth every now and then.’
‘Well, she obviously did about this baby. I still don’t buy it that she didn’t know she was pregnant.’ Carol shakes her head as she talks.
I clutch my glass and think about going to the loo for a few minutes, in the hope the conversation has moved on by the time I get back. I know some of the nurses have been whispering about it; I’d probably join in if I didn’t understand why Cassie didn’t tell people about her pregnancy. She was protecting Jack, so he didn’t have to go through the pain of another miscarriage. I know that takes guts … guts and a lot of love.
‘Earth to Alice, whoohoo.’ Mary snaps her fingers in front of me. I blink twice and say, ‘Sorry.’
Mary holds the stem of her wine glass between her index and middle finger like a snooker cue. I’m craving a glass myself; lemonade just doesn’t cut it when I’m with these two.
Carol leans forward towards me, conspiratorially. ‘We were just saying we’ve got some great gossip for you. It turns out she was in an advert.’
‘Who was?’
‘Cassie Jensen.’ Carol sounds vaguely irritated that I’m being slow, ruining her big news.
‘An advert?’ I frown. My mind’s a blank; I can’t think of any adverts.