‘Yes.’
I can bring it down but the rest is in the lap of the gods. Your client is aware of that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Miracles do happen,’ he said as he leafed through the bundle of fifty-pound notes he had pulled from the envelope.
She looked on for a good minute until the man was satisfied that the money was all there.
And then he looked up. ‘The tracker has been fitted?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’
‘The helicopter will be on The Isle of Wight in precisely seven days from now.’
‘Good.’
He was a man of few words. Another half-minute passed. He looked up at the woman,
who lingered uncomfortably. He pointed over to the door.
‘That’s our business concluded. You may go.’
The Calm Before the Storm
When you can’t control what is happening to you, you must try to control the way you respond to it. That is where your strength lies.
Grace
I wound the window down in the car and sang along loudly with Bruce Springsteen on the radio. I was struggling to keep awake, despite the fact it was early afternoon. It had been a tough couple of weeks with very little sleep, but I was on a high. I could still hardly believe it, but we had actually won Cowes Week, one of the most iconic regattas in the UK sailing world, and I was about an hour from home, having driven for almost five hours solid.
On the water, the racing had been tough, in a fleet of over 60 boats. The weather had thrown everything at us, from howling gales and big seas to flat calm with virtually no wind. I did my usual job of bowman on the boat, with my friend Maria on mast. The two of us had sailed together for a long time and our teamwork was solid, both of us being fiercely competitive. A few of my old friends from home, all super talented sailors, had joined us for the event. We had also got ourselves a local navigator, who turned out to be a bit of a secret weapon, with his knowledge of the notoriously tricky tides in the Solent. Daniel liked to win but had enjoyed little success himself with the boat recently and had suddenly decided to pay a professional helm for Cowes, assuring me with a wink that he would be able to put it through the company books. In the end, it proved to be a good decision and we won the regatta with a day to spare.
There was no feeling on earth as good as being part of a winning team, so naturally, we were all up for one hell of a crew celebration after the prize-giving ceremony in the Royal Squadron. Daniel and I had flown down to the Isle of Wight in the helicopter and were supposed to be leaving together a couple of days after the event finished, but immediately after the prize-giving, he took me to one side. I had a feeling I would not like what was coming.
‘I’ve just had a message from work. There’s been a breakdown on one of our machines. The customer is kicking off massively about it, as they’re losing production hand over fist. The lads have been down there all day but they can’t sort it, so I have to go and fix it myself. I’m so sorry to spoil the celebrations Hun, but I have no choice. I’ve clearly got a bunch of incompetent wankers working for me.’
‘Shit, that sounds bad. Don’t worry, I’m sure the guys will manage to party without us.’
I resigned myself to leaving immediately.
‘No, no,’ said Daniel hastily. ‘There’s no need for you to leave. You might as well stay here as planned and come home in a couple of days. It’s better if one of us is here anyway. I feel awful ruining the party and, to be honest, I’d feel happier if you were around to make sure everything is okay with the boat. You’re the only one I can always rely on where the boat is concerned.’
‘I don’t suppose I’ve got many choices as usual,’ I said, sulkily. ‘You’ve obviously got it all planned out. How am I supposed to get home then?’
He knew I was miffed.
‘I’m sure one of the guys will give you a lift, or just get a one-way car hire if you prefer and charge it to the company.’
I sensed the impatience in his voice.
‘Look, I really have to go now and I will be quicker on my own. You know you always take ages to pack.’
‘Okay, fine. Just go then and I’ll see you at home in a couple of days.’
I scowled at him, knowing there was no point arguing. It was becoming an all too familiar scenario, leaving me in the lurch.
‘Great. Have fun.’
He kissed me briefly on the lips and disappeared, leaving me to explain to the others.
I was annoyed of course, but I knew I would have a great night with the rest of the crew and, at the end of the day; the business had to come first. Daniel never tired of reminding me that the company paid for the house, the holidays, the lifestyle, the boat…. He had to look after it or we would have nothing. He always seemed to forget that I worked too.
I jumped as my mobile phone interrupted The Boss on the radio and I could see from the caller display it was Frieda. I picked up enthusiastically, assuming she was ringing to congratulate us.
‘Hi, how are you? I assume you’ve seen the results?’
I was dying to tell her all about it.
‘Yes, I have. Well done.’
She paused and sounded a bit odd, kind of distracted and flat. Strange reaction - I thought as she continued.
‘Have you spoken to Daniel?’
‘No, not since yesterday. He left straight after the prize giving to sort out a machine break down. Why? What’s wrong?’
Something in her tone told me I needed to be worried. She did not answer straight away.
‘Frieda? What’s happened? You’re worrying me now. Whatever it is, just tell me.’
‘Shit, I’m sorry, I thought you would know already. I didn’t expect to be the one telling you this. It’s Daniel. He’s had an accident.’
‘Oh Christ, what do you mean, an accident? Is he okay?’
Silence.
‘Oh fuck, not the helicopter….’
‘Yes, there’s been some sort of crash, but try not to panic. I don’t really know any details, but I think he’s okay. As far as I can gather, he was taken to hospital in the air ambulance with no serious injuries, but I can’t be sure….’ she tailed off.
‘Try not to panic! Oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening. Why has nobody been in touch with me?’
I realised I was screaming down the phone and could hardly see the road through my tears of panic. I pulled over into a layby.
‘They couldn’t find any next of kin information. I gave the police your mobile.’
The phone showed an unknown caller was trying to get through to me as we talked.
‘Frieda, I have to go. This may be them now.’
I cut her off and accepted the new call. The policewoman at the end of the phone spoke calmly and impassively, informing me that my husband had been in a helicopter accident and had been taken to Chesterfield Royal near our home in Derbyshire. I was to get there as quickly as possible. She wouldn’t tell me the extent of his injuries. Wouldn’t even tell me if he was dead or alive. She just kept repeating that I needed to get myself to the hospital urgently. My head felt like it was about to explode. This was the sort of thing that happened to other people. Not to me.
Half an hour later, as I was being led into a little side room in A&E to wait for the doctor, I still had no idea of the extent of Daniel’s injuries or, indeed, whether he was alive. It seemed to take an age for the doctor to arrive, but when he did he was smiling and I grasped that little bit of positivity with both hands.
‘You can come in and see your husband now, but you need to be prepared for how he looks. We’re still assessing his injuries and he’s hooked up to a lot of monitors while we do tests. He’s in quite a bit of pain, so he’s had morphine, which will make him behave a bit strangely and maybe say odd things.’
He paused, allowing me to take in the information.
‘What are his actual injuries?’ I asked tentatively, terrified of the answer.
‘The
X-rays show that he has broken his pelvis, hip and ankle. Also his neck and collar bone.’
‘His neck?’
This was far more serious than I had hoped.
‘You can fix him up though, can’t you? He will be able to walk again, won’t he?’
‘I’m sorry, I really can’t tell you any more at the moment. His injuries are very serious. To be honest, he’s lucky to be alive. We need to operate as soon as possible and check for any internal bleeding. There will have to be an extensive period of rehabilitation before we will know the level of recovery he will make. Let’s just take things one step at a time. Would you like to see him now?’
I could see he was keen to end the conversation and avoid any further questions.
‘Yes please,’ I answered flatly.
Numb shock replaced hysteria and I moved as if I was in a dream.
Daniel was laid out practically naked on the trolley in a neck brace, wires everywhere, just as the doctor had warned. His legs were bruised and swollen and seemed to be set at strange angles to his body. He was breathing rapidly through an oxygen mask and was sweating profusely.
To my amazement, he greeted me cheerily, as if I had just walked through the kitchen door. I assumed that was down to the drugs.
‘Hiya, Hun.’
Don’t call me ‘Hun’ - I wanted to scream but decided to cut him some slack.
I took hold of his hand and plonked myself down in the chair they gave me.
My voice came out in a whisper.
‘Oh my God, what have you done to yourself?’
‘I know. Turns out helicopters don’t glide so well,’ he laughed, probably on account of the morphine.
I tried to rally myself and attempted to sound positive, for his sake.
‘The doctor says you’re going to be okay. They’re going to operate on you soon and put you back together. Everything’s going to be fine.’
I didn’t entirely believe my own words but felt I should reassure him. I didn’t know what else to say. The doctor had implied to me that it was highly unlikely he would ever walk again. How could I tell him that?
I was glad when a nurse came in a few moments later and said that they really needed to get him down to theatre and I should go back to the waiting room. I was more than happy to escape out of there. I didn’t want to look at him like that; I didn’t want it all to be real.
When I finally left the hospital at 10.30 pm, I was physically and mentally exhausted. They had said that the operation on his pelvis had been a success, although he was probably going to need further surgery. I had passed the time in the waiting room ringing around family and friends to tell them what had happened. Many of them knew already, as the crash had been plastered all over the news that evening. The helicopter was in pieces, strewn across a field about three miles from our house. I shuddered as I remembered the pictures of the shattered remains on the TV screen and found it difficult to believe that anyone could have come out of that twisted wreckage alive. Something had obviously gone horribly wrong, but now was not the time to look for answers.
Despite my exhaustion, I could not sleep that night, tormented by unwelcome thoughts that kept running away with me. How the hell was I going to cope with a husband in a wheelchair? I would have to become his carer. My life would change beyond recognition and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.
I immediately hated myself for being so selfish. Clearly I was a terrible person. Daniel needed me now and I would have to step up and be there to help him through this. He was the most strong-willed and downright bloody-minded man I knew and if anyone could beat the doctors’ doom and gloom predictions, he could. In any case, being in a wheelchair was not the end of the world and, if that happened, we would simply adapt to the situation. I would have his back, no matter what.
As I arrived in the ward the following morning, it was clear that Daniel was not going to be an easy patient. He was already demanding to be discharged, although that was clearly not an option the day after surgery. Despite my earlier optimism, all positive thoughts vanished and I felt physically sick as the reality of his situation, our situation, began to sink in. He could do virtually nothing for himself, could feel nothing from the waist down and would probably never walk again. He had zero control over what was happening with his bowels and the nurses were wiping his backside for him.
Would I be expected to do that? How did people come to terms with that? - I wondered.
My mind continued to work overtime. Given the nature of his injuries and going on the internet research I had done, I deduced we were unlikely to ever have sex again and he would in all probability be left impotent. I hated myself for being so shallow, but I was still a relatively young woman. One who had been hanging onto the vague hope that we would have a family one day.
My sympathy turned abruptly to anger. How could Daniel have played so fast and loose with his life? Why did he always have to show off? He had insisted on buying a helicopter, largely because Charles had one and he wasn’t going to be outdone. He was cocky and always quick to trot out the famous quote by R.J. Childerhose:
There are old pilots and there are bold pilots, but there are no old, bold pilots.
He should undoubtedly have heeded that quote, but his undoing was always going to be his arrogant streak. I knew he took too many risks, without having the flying hours behind him to support his overly strong self-belief. I rarely flew with him and even Charles made sure he always had an excuse to avoid it.
He had cheated death this time, but at what price? I couldn’t stop thinking that he had ruined my life as well as his own. Bitterness and resentment were eating away at me, but I also knew I had to stop thinking like that for the sake of my own sanity. I was not the only person to be dealt a shit hand in life and I had no choice now but to look to the future and deal with it.
Daniel seemed to go straight into some sort of weird acceptance phase after the accident and began talking almost immediately about motability cars, motorised wheelchairs, lifts in the house and a whole load of other things, as calmly as if he were buying a new TV. He was also completely obsessed about getting his mobile phone and laptop back from the police. He would not stop banging on about it and was furious with me for failing to get either of them out of the clutches of the local constabulary.
I stared at him blankly, having endured yet another tirade about my lack of effort and understanding.
‘The police won’t release your phone yet. I already spoke to them before I came in today.’
I decided I could make allowances and was determined to remain calm with him, despite his unreasonable behaviour.
‘I tried my best, but they were having none of it. In any case, I think you’ve got bigger fish to fry right now. And don’t you think it’s a bit early for all that other stuff? You don’t know how much movement you will get back in your legs or how good a recovery you will make yet. You might not need any of it if you just give yourself time. You need to slow down a bit and take one day at a time.’
I was taken aback by his aggressive tone as he barked at me in retaliation, ‘What the fuck would you know? Shit happens and I need to deal with it in my own way. I need to accept the way things are now and move on. If I can do it, I don’t see why you’re finding it so fucking difficult. At the end of the day, it’s not you it’s happened to. The bottom line is I can’t run my business from a hospital. I need to get out of here and you need to help me sort it out.’
He was shouting, but I kept my voice low, conscious of the other patients and staff on the ward who were looking disapprovingly in our direction.
‘Well, that’s all very well, but how the hell do you think I’m going to cope with you at home in this state? Our house is not exactly suitable, is it?’
Tears of frustration and anxiety sprang to my eyes. He was being so bloody unfair.
‘Charming! Because it’s all about you as usual.’
His sharp words did not change the fact of how vulnerable he lo
oked lying there in the hospital bed and I softened, knowing he was simply lashing out in frustration. I did not want an argument in front of everyone.
This was not the Daniel I was used to seeing. After nearly seventeen years of marriage, I felt I knew him pretty well. My husband was usually the one giving the orders and liked to be in control. This was torture for him. I just couldn’t understand why he was so desperate to go against the doctors’ advice and get out of hospital so urgently. How the hell did he think he was going to function in our three-story house? It could not possibly have been worse equipped for someone in a wheelchair. Surely he could see how ridiculous he was being? Maybe further down the line we could look at adaptations or even consider moving house to somewhere more suitable, but none of that was going to happen overnight. The immediate priority surely had to be getting the best possible treatment and at least giving himself a chance of a full recovery. Obviously, that meant staying in the hospital. Why couldn’t he accept that?
Days went by and, little by little, despite his constant complaining to the doctors and nurses as well as me, Daniel had no choice but to accept that he was going nowhere fast. Inexplicably, he refused point-blank to allow any of our friends to visit him in hospital, insisting that he didn’t want people to see him like that and begging me to keep people away. He didn’t even want me hanging around there and seemed determined to deal with it all on his own. I didn’t agree with his logic, but the nurses said I should respect his wishes and so my time away from the hospital was spent fielding calls from people who couldn’t understand why they were being shut out when all they wanted to do was to offer support to a friend.
At Daniel’s insistence, I endured pointless visits to the house from occupational therapists, whose remit was to assess the suitability of the property for a disabled person. They went through the motions of discussing things such as altering the height of the toilet seat in our en suite on the third floor, to make it easier for him to transfer from a wheelchair. I looked at the woman in disbelief, realising that she actually believed she had just made a helpful suggestion.
Twenty Years a Stranger (The Stranger Series Book 1) Page 9