But it’s tedious, and I hate that they tell me when I have to do it and for how long and then sit there monitoring me and assessing me, rather than just letting me do things for myself. Yet it surprises me that my motivation to get better is so low. I was always such a determined person.

Once again, evidence of the new Dani, courtesy of those bloody frontal lobes.

‘I’m really tired. I could do with some rest.’

‘Sure thing. Do you want me to hang around? Or come back later?’

‘No. Just go.’

For a second he looks crestfallen, but the look is gone in a flash and the next moment he appears relaxed and smiley again. It pisses me off even more that he won’t just say what he’s really thinking, that he treats me like this, as though nothing is ever a problem. Everything is a damn problem. Look at me!

He leans forwards and pecks me on the forehead again.

‘I love you,’ he says.

I say nothing, just shut my eyes and keep them closed until I’m sure he’s out of the room.

Chapter Thirteen

When her alarm went off the following morning, Dani wanted nothing more than to crawl into a dark, quiet space and hibernate. One day back on the job and she was already drained. The bottle of wine certainly hadn’t helped, and as she found the strength to open her eyelids despite her pounding head, she resoundingly regretted having been so weak.

She dragged herself out of bed and showered. Afterwards she stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. At the scar above her ear. At first, when the stitches were still present, the deep wound over her fractured skull would ooze a sticky fluid, and she could barely bring herself to look. Then, when the stitches had gone, the whole area around the wound had remained a patchwork of red and black and purple and yellow for weeks. Still, Dani had held out hope that the damn thing would go away. But other than the patch turning silvery there’d been no change, no improvement at all, for months. This, the scar, the bald patch, was now her permanent reminder of what had happened.

Dani growled in frustration and reached out to open the mirrored door of the cabinet. For a couple of seconds she stared at the various bottles of pills in front of her. She’d already taken the anti-seizure tablets she needed. What about the anti-depressants? Painkillers? She knew from recent experience that she could seriously take the edge off how she was feeling. With a strong enough dose she could glide right through the day ahead and be none the wiser to it all.

No. Not today. She was a DI once again, and she was determined to prove to herself that she was recovering well enough without needing all the pills.