Dead Wrong

Epilogue

Shock cushioned me through the next twenty-four hours. And it was weeks before I could resume any normal activity, like walking the kids to school. I had deep bruising to my hip, ribs and thigh, and I’d been running around on a broken ankle.

As for my psyche, I had a few sessions with the counsellor who had helped me after a previous near-murder experience, and I’ve also been seeing Eleanor since then for hypnotherapy. I’ll keep it up until the gremlins leave me alone. I’m getting there. The nightmares have gone, I sleep more easily now and it’s been three weeks since I had a panic attack. I’ll be OK.

Luke Wallace is home now, his case discontinued. Dermott Pitt has been in touch – he sent flowers. Made me cry. Mind you, the state I was in, crying was a way of life for a while. He tells me Zeb suffered severe concussion from his beating at Rashid’s hands, and they still don’t know whether there will be any lasting brain damage.

No new charges have been brought against anyone for Ahktar Khan’s death. I’ve asked Pitt to make sure Dr Khan hears the tape or, failing that, someone tells him what Joey D saw. The system might not deliver him justice but he has a right to know the facts. Will Pitt let him in on Jay Khan’s role in it all, or not? I don’t know. I got a hint from Pitt that the police are currently more interested in gathering information on the Khans’ drug smuggling than in their part in the death of Ahktar. Especially with Siddiq dead.

Chris McPherson has been unable to work since his ordeal. His physical injuries have healed, but he has post-traumatic stress disorder. Ricky has been charged with GBH. Gary Crowther has continued to stalk Debbie Gosforth, ignoring the injunctions issued. Until the law is changed he could go on indefinitely. Debbie has plans to leave the area.

Sheila keeps giving me homoeopathic remedies which she swears will help rebalance my system. I’ve told her it was never balanced in the first place, and as I can’t stop drinking coffee they won’t work anyway, but she smiles and tells me to take them regardless. She has been helping out with the school run and the shopping and the other chores.

Things are still uncomfortable with Ray. We’ve tried to talk about it a couple of times but we both overheat too quickly. He is baffled at how I can contemplate continuing in my job after all this, and I am outraged that he thinks I’d even consider giving it up. I have promised to do a self-defence refresher course when I’m up to it. It’ll help my confidence, I suppose, though to be honest when faced with a Rashid Siddiq or knives and guns I’d have to be a martial-arts fanatic to be able to escape safely. I will practise running fast as back-up.

They’re still rebuilding Manchester; no one knows how long it will take. The Corn Exchange and the Royal Exchange remain closed, along with part of Market Street. The people of the city will be invited to contribute to plans for redesigning the Centre. I think a lake would be nice. Whatever they come up with has got to be an improvement on what was there before.

Rebecca Henderson is doing a job for me now – seeing if I can get some compensation for my injuries. It would help with the cost of the holiday. We made it to Anglesey towards the end of the summer holidays. It rained. We peered into rock pools and drew pictures in the sand. We ate blackberries from the hedgerows and chips in the car. We found lucky pebbles to wish on and wove scraps of bright nylon rope into a mermaid’s blanket.

It was magic.

But it wasn’t enough.

So I called at the travel agent’s yesterday and booked a last minute flight – a week on the island of Rhodes for my girl and me, leaving Sunday. I used my credit card. I’ll miss another week working, she’ll miss school. But I reckoned we deserved it, a bit more sunshine in our lives.

You only live once.