Free Cut to the Bone by Alex Caan

returned dressed in black trousers and turtleneck jumper. She’d made them flavoured tea. His was lemon and mint; hers was vanilla with cinnamon. His smelled better than it tasted.
    Millie took her place in a rocking chair; Zain opted for a beanbag. He sat cross-legged on it.
    ‘Thank you for seeing me,’ he said. ‘I know you were hesitant.’
    She looked into her tea, then at him. ‘It’s still very raw. I didn’t want to rake it all up,’ she said. Her accent was clipped, as though she came from a finishing school somewhere.
    ‘I’m sorry if that happens,’ said Zain. ‘I wouldn’t have insisted unless I thought it was important. And that you could help.’
    Millie moistened her lips with her tongue, drank her tea. ‘You promised none of this would re open anything. I don’t want our conversation to get back to . . . certain people.’
    ‘You have my word, on my honour as a member of Her Majesty’s finest,’ he said, smiling. She laughed lightly. ‘The file summary was so clinical. It said you were thrown from the tenth floor, into a swimming pool. The Days said it was empty. The report didn’t mention how full it was.’
    ‘I doubt I would be alive if it had been empty.’
    ‘The Days were embellishing, then?’ said Zain. Millie shrugged. ‘I interviewed Dan today, about Ruby. He denied ever having pushed you.’
    Millie’s eyes flared and her nostrils did, too. It was brief, her expression neutralising quickly, her temper drawn in. Is that why she was interested in Buddhism? Was she learning to tame that anger?
    Zain understood. Maybe he should try meditation. Might be better than the pills. The ones that might contain alligator testicles. Why was he fixated on that concept?
    ‘Why would Dan lie so blatantly? To the police, as well?’ said Zain.
    ‘In his head it’s over, a closed case. He thinks because he didn’t end up in prison, it’s not real. He’s damaged, detective.’
    ‘Please: Zain.’
    ‘Zain, he’s damaged,’ she said.
    Zain ran the sentence over his tongue, in his head. Someone might say that about him. ‘And for you? Is it real?’ he said.
    ‘I have metal splints in my legs; I fractured my ribs, my collarbone. It will be real for years, maybe even my whole life.’
    ‘I thought the swimming pool wasn’t empty? I don’t understand?’
    ‘Falling at the speed I did, hitting the water the way I did . . . it was like hitting an ice sheet,’ she said. ‘Luckily, I had some sense. I managed to shield my head, turn to my side. In those seconds, hundredths of a second, even, a survival instinct kicked in.’
    She held her mug to her chest, the hot tea comforting her no doubt.
    ‘I’m sorry, that sounds horrendous,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand – why did you drop the charges?’
    Millie looked away from him, staring at the Monet replica he had noticed on arrival. It was above his head. She seemed to feel the art, looked lost for a few moments. Then she turned her eyes to his.
    ‘It’s complicated,’ she said.
    ‘These things always are. Try me.’
    Millie lowered her eyes, recalling what had happened? Zain tried to lighten the atmosphere.
    ‘How did your parents feel about it? When they saw you in that state.’
    ‘Let’s just say we aren’t the closest of families. They kept me in a boarding school most of my formative years. They visited me in hospital, of course, played the role of concerned parents. But even then it felt as though I was an inconvenience.’
    Zain thought about Ruby’s parents. Were they playing a role?
    ‘Surely even more reason to sue him for everything he has? If you are alone, in a sense, I mean.’
    ‘And dredge the entire incident up in court, relive the horror of my injuries and face him again? It sounds so easy, suing people.’
    ‘I suppose it does to me. I still don’t understand why you didn’t.’
    Millie stared through him, then directly at him.
    ‘Your honour, Zain, is it intact? This conversation won’t