by Paul Watson
Max was heavy, but the short run to the car with Max in a Fireman’s lift was easy for Roberts. He placed Max into the rear of the BMW and fastened him in with the seatbelt. The pillows and the duvet wedged the boy upright. Roberts fixed the saline bag to the coat hook, over the door, and dropped the bag of urine into the footwell.
‘Sorry kid but it’s better than me pulling it out.’
Roberts closed Max in, jumped into the driver’s seat and pulled away. He approached a Zebra crossing and braked hard. The female police officer stood on the crossing in front of him, heading for the tube station across the park. She turned and glanced at him and waved.
The police officer turned again, and examined the vehicle this time, including the license plate, and walked back to the safety of the pavement, but too late. Roberts floored the accelerator.
Amy bounced over the bonnet and landed in the gutter. Roberts saw her motionless through his rear-view mirror. He obeyed the thirty limit all the way to the motorway.
TWENTY-THREE
‘Do what you’ve got to do Andy.’ Jess kissed him. ‘Whatever it takes.’
4 a.m. Sunday morning, a great time to drive; no cars on the road until Andy joined the other airport traffic. The sun rose as Andy parked.
He took his bag and walked up the ramp, under the canopy, towards the terminal.
‘Please stand there and raise your hands.’ The man at security ran his hands around Andy’s waistband and under his arms. ‘You’re good to go.’
No laptop today, thought Andy, as he picked up his bag from the tray and walked out into the alley of shops on route to the gates.
He passed a girl by a makeup stand. ‘Morning, have you ever tried a face peel?’ she said.
‘Sorry, got a flight to catch.’ The girl stood by the departures board. Andy paused a second; the board showed a delay to his flight.
‘Are you sure?’ said the girl. ‘I’ll just put a little on the left cheek, and you’ll see the difference.’ Without asking further permission, the girl rubbed cream into Andy’s cheek, stretching up to reach. She showed Andy the results in the mirror. Andy considered facial creams for women the most brilliant marketing deception ever created. He didn’t realise they were available for men. The reflection shocked him; the left-hand side of his face was smoother and younger looking.
‘That’s amazing,’ he said.
‘Only £19.99 for a month’s supply. Your wife will love it.’
‘I’m sure she would, but it’s not for me, thanks anyway.’ Andy continued through the valley of shops and came out into the central hub, crammed with benches and restaurants.
No seats remained empty in the hub. The travellers were couples or families; there were few single passengers. Andy wanted space and moved to the coffee shop in the corner. It was busier there though, and so he carried on to the business lounge on the first-floor.
The entry charge for the lounge was the same as for the exfoliating face cream, and the therapeutic effect less permanent, but better value in Andy’s opinion. He had an hour or more to kill.
‘That’s fine,’ the lady on the front desk said. ‘Is this your first time with us?’
‘First time here.’
‘The buffet’s over to the left and the toilets are just outside the lounge.’
Andy pressed a button on the coffee machine. Half a cup of Americano filled the white mug. He pushed the button again and took two croissants from a serving plate; expensive coffee but the space was worth it.
Andy left his bag by the chair and headed back to the entrance. He resented he had to exit the lounge to use the washroom; a poor design compared to the global carrier lounges.
‘Sorry,’ he said as he bumped a man at the washroom entrance; he needed to stop thinking about Max and concentrate on the present. The man didn’t reply, but paused and looked at him.
When Andy returned to his bag, the room was filling with delayed passengers. The man he’d bumped at the washroom sat a few tables away. Andy glanced over the top of his newspaper at him. Similar age, but a better condition, maybe the man used the exfoliating facial scrub, or perhaps it was the tan. He was better dressed than Andy; the polo shirt more expensive and the trousers a tighter fit: new ones, like he’d been shopping downstairs.
They both had a scar on their faces.
The stone had cut Andy, above the eye, when he was a kid. He remembered the blood running through his eyes, the tears and panic before transportation to hospital and stitches. The boy that threw the stone thought it great fun; the junior school was rough. Andy told Max and Sam that the scar was from a crocodile attack. Sam still believed him.
The other man’s scar was on his cheek; a better position than Andy’s: like Action man. What did he tell his kids: got it in a knife fight? Andy doubted Action man had kids.
The departure board showed the flight boarding at gate 100. On work days, Andy would wait for the gate closing sign to come up and the board to go red. Not today though; a slow walk would do just fine; time for one more coffee.
He left the lounge and walked the ten minutes to the gate, using the moving walkways and escalators. There were no stags in gimp suits or hens with horns today.
The short queue at the gate was stationary. Andy sat and looked at the planes on the tarmac.
A 737 arrived.
‘For passengers at gate 100, there will be a short delay; we’re preparing your plane for departure.’
Andy should have stayed in the lounge, but he took a photo of the plane through the window, using his phone, and messaged it to Max. The habit had started when Max was five and when Andy flew often for work. He used to send them to Jess via MMS using his old clamshell phone, and Max would laugh and text back: ‘Enjoy daddy.’ When Max got his phone in his early teens, Andy sent the photos by email. Not just pictures of planes but hire cars, hotel rooms. The mundane was fascinating to Max, a connection to his dad in the big world. It kept Andy connected to his family thousands of miles away. Andy stifled the tears about to run down his cheek. Later, in private, he would allow himself to cry.
Workers buzzed around the plane ushering a quick turnaround.
‘Passengers for gate 100, your flight is now ready for boarding, we apologise for the delay, while we awaited crew members.’
The first flight of the day. What did the airline do? leave it in Dublin the night before so the flight crew could have beers and then hitch a ride back? Andy picked up his bag and moved through the line, he showed his passport and printed boarding card at the gate. He would download the mobile app next time.
Down the stairs, onto the tarmac and a walk to the rear steps; the same end where Steve had sat. Andy got to keep his bag though; not busy today like on Friday when Steve made the reverse journey.
Good friends like Steve were few: friends that made you young again and made you laugh, talking the same old shit, year after year. And now a bastard with a gun had taken that from Andy. Andy breathed deep and buried his emotions; they were not useful in his opinion. When they surfaced, in the form of anger at work they’d never done him any good. He pushed the tears back; maybe he’d cry twice, later in a hotel room, alone.
He climbed the steps and flashed the boarding pass at the flight attendant. He appreciated this check. There were a few jets on the tarmac; it was possible to board the wrong plane, but it would take a man more careless than him.
Andy stuffed his bag in the overhead locker and sat in the aisle seat at the back. The same chair where Steve sat on Friday. The two places near the window were empty, and Andy intended to move into them if they remained that way. He’d allowed the computer system to choose his place.
The two seats next to him did not stay empty. A man tapped him on the shoulder.
‘I’m in the middle seat,’ Action man said.
Andy had expected such an unfortunate event and not buckled his seatbelt. He got out to let the man into the seat.
Andy disliked Action man: the superior sartorial standards
, the better haircut and swagger. These features all grated, but worst of all the man didn’t say please. Andy noted a black mark, in his mental log book.
They sat. A young woman, small and slim with a stripy top came next. She tapped Andy on the shoulder. ‘I’ve got the window.’
Andy liked her. The seating allocation system should have put her in the middle. She got out her book and disappeared into it, leaving her two reluctant companions staring forward at the safety briefing. The stewardess focussed on the two men as she looped the belt around her back and clipped it to the front. They were the only ones giving her their full attention.
Andy felt something pressing against his trousers. It was Action man’s phone. Big for a phone; it must be a PDA or something. Big and annoying. Why did the man need to wear such tight trousers? Andy couldn’t resist; perhaps it was a way to get rid of the tension, a way to reassure himself that he was still tough. He knew he was cheating as the environment provided security.
‘Excuse me, I know it’s only a short flight, but you must do something about that phone in your pocket.’
Andy sensed his throat tighten as he spoke; the emotion had to go somewhere.
‘Where should I put it?’
‘I could suggest a location.’ Andy lowered his eyebrows and tensed his lower eyelids.
Roberts understood body language. This man was out of control over a phone in his pocket. Anonymity was welcome today; Roberts did not need to lock horns with this loser.
‘No worries Pal, I’ll put it in the seat compartment. I’ll need you to stand up again though, so I can get it out.’
Andy unbuckled his belt and stood. He faced front while Action man put the phone in the seat pocket and then sat back down again.
‘Thanks,’ Andy said. He controlled his breathing and forced back the tears while shaking. A small victory, he could still take charge, always in control.
The 737 started its engines, and the flight attendant sighed in relief.
TWENTY-FOUR
‘You’re pastier than normal,’ said Rob as he ate a Cornish pasty by the bedside. ‘I won’t tell Mike you’re awake until later or he’ll be straight over with his goon.’
‘Thanks, I don’t feel too bad, I’ll be able to talk to him.’ Jamie pressed the button at his bedside, and his head and shoulders rose. Jamie rubbed his head and found the bandage. ‘What’s the damage?’
‘You’ll be ok, a good job they caught you in time, you lost a lot of blood.’ Rob dropped a few crumbs on the floor. ‘Do you want the end of the pasty?’
‘I’m all right thanks. I’ll save myself for breakfast.’
‘The guy stabbed you in the side, with a scalpel. It’s a good job he didn’t pull it out again. It turns out you’ve got a rare blood group, might have known, it was in stock though.’
‘I thought he’d punched me. Any water?’ Rob handed over his can of coke and Jamie sipped from the can. ‘Not sure the nurse would recommend that.’
‘Sugar, caffeine, hydration, what’s not to like about it?’ Rob took a swig. ‘You’d better get your story straight before Mike gets here, although a scalpel in the side is grounds for three bullets in the chest. Leave the bit out about thinking it was a punch.’
‘Has Amy been here?’
‘Amy spent most of yesterday here. She’s ok, Jamie, but she was in an accident last night.’
‘What happened?’
‘Hit and run on a crossing. Amy left the hospital after visiting you; I’d been chatting to her in the canteen downstairs, five minutes before the car hit her.’ Rob finished the pasty, screwed up the wrapper and threw it into the bin in the corner.
‘Where is she?’
‘Down the corridor and up a level, but you’ll want to wait awhile until you can get unhooked from all that gear.’ Jamie tried to rise out of bed and fell back down onto the mattress. Jamie put his hand on the bandage on his abdomen. ‘Don’t bother Jamie; you’re not going anywhere for the moment.’
A nurse arrived. ‘Could you try to take these for me please?’ She gave Jamie a paper cup with a tiny amount of water in and two pills. Jamie swallowed the pills and downed the shot of water.
‘Can I have more water please?’
‘Not now, we don’t want you throwing up all over the place; we’ll keep you hydrated.’
Rob stared at the coke can in the bin.
‘When can I get out of bed, my girlfriend is over on the other ward?’
‘I know, we’ve all been talking about you both. Amy’s asking the same, but she’s in no state to move yet either. If you’re both good, then we’ll take you to her later. Not the most romantic environment but at least you’ll get to visit her. Call her; Amy’s got her phone with her.’
Jamie called Amy.
‘Hey, you ok?’
‘Better now I know that you’re awake.’
‘I heard you got walloped last night.’
‘It was a low speed collision, I hit my head on the way down, but the CAT scan was ok. I’m in better shape than you.’
‘You’re always in better shape than me.’
‘I’ll give you privacy,’ Rob said. Rob shouted down the phone, ‘Amy do you want me to bring you something?’
‘Are you a professional visitor today Rob,’ Amy said.
‘If my young colleagues could look after themselves better and didn’t need wrapping in cotton wool then I could get back out and look after the public. I’ve dodged the Sunday morning calls well though.’ Rob walked out of the bay.
Jamie held the phone to his ear. ‘Did they get the man that hit you, Amy?’
‘No, I got a partial registration, but he knocked me unconscious.’
‘How did the driver not see you on a crossing?’
‘The driver saw me, that’s why he hit me. He was the man from the custody suite on Friday night. The man that was pretending to be the FME.’
‘Guess we’ve got catching up to do. I’m sure Mike will be along soon, with Tom, to get your story.’
‘The driver’s a killer Jamie; he killed that street robber from outside the pub while he was in custody. Do you think he’ll be back for me?’
Jamie noticed a twinge in his side. ‘He’s got more important people to kill.’
‘I’m worried.’
Another twinge. ‘Sorry, I hate talking to you on the phone.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I mean I want to come and visit you, but they won’t let me.’
‘Don’t worry Jamie, she’s safe, no-one’s having another pop at Amy.’ Robs voice came out of the phone. ‘Frank and I are taking shifts as guards, we’ll check on you too, but the conversation is better up here.’
‘Amy I’ll come over to you later. I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Shrek.’
‘See you later Jamie.’
A heart emoji appeared on Jamie’s phone a few seconds later.
The man in the bed opposite Jamie struggled to breathe. The oppressive heat was severe for a youngster, but the fellow opposite was pushing ninety years old at least. A woman sat at the old guy’s bedside; she reminded Jamie of his mother, with her mop of brown hair and full rimmed glasses. ‘I’ll find you more water dad; I’ll fetch the nurse or get a bottle from the machine downstairs,’ the woman said.
The old man gurgled and rasped; not good.
‘Hold on mate; she’ll be back soon.’ Jamie gave a thumbs up to the man. The man returned the signal but was struggling now. The old guy reached for an oxygen mask by his pillow but knocked it on to the floor. Jamie pushed himself up with his hands. The bandage around his waist was tight; it supported like a weightlifting belt. Jamie’s feet hit the floor, and he used the drip stand as a makeshift crutch. Jamie pushed down and stood upright, suffering a loss of vision, tingling behind the eyes and nausea; Rob’s fault for bringing the coke.
‘I’m coming over to you,’ Jamie said. The rasping and gurgling continued. The noise was a positive sign; it was the silence that was always a worry.
The gurgling stopped. Jamie couldn’t see, but it was a short stumble over to the old man’s bedside. Jamie scrabbled around on the stool beside the bed; his hand hooked onto the mask, and he lifted it and held it on the man’s face. A gurgle, a cough, the old guy was still going. Vision returned as Jamie sat on the stool; he leaned against the oxygen cylinder to steady himself.
The old man came into focus, lean, with wisps of white hair. Jamie pressed the bed’s elevate button, and the guy rose like Dracula from the coffin. ‘That should make you more comfortable.’
‘Hello,’ said the man’s daughter, who’d returned with a jug of water. The woman poured some into a tiny clear cup and held it out to her dad. ‘Are you ok?’
‘Your dad was struggling to breathe and knocked his mask on the floor. I put it back on him and raised him.’
‘Thank you.’ The woman stroked her dad’s head. ‘He’s one hundred years old tomorrow, and he’ll make it.’ The old man gave another thumbs up. His chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm, and a smile escaped the mask.
An achievable goal, Jamie thought, one more day, the man should make it. ‘And what about you, how are you?’ the woman said. ‘Real heroes are rare, and I’m sat here with two. I’ve seen the news, and your colleagues have told me all about you.’
‘The one that looks like Shrek I bet?’
A muffled laugh from inside the mask. The old man took it off. ‘I’m Fred.’ he said. ‘Well done son, we need a few more like you.’ The old man took another suck from the mask. ‘I’ll make it to tomorrow but not much further, this room will be the last one I see.’ Another suck. ‘Sharing it with you makes that better.’ The man strapped the mask on for an extended blast of oxygen.
‘You’re embarrassing him, dad.’ The woman looked at Jamie. ‘But he’s right, you’ve made his day and made mine too.’
Jamie smiled at Fred. The old man’s eyes glinted in return. Fred enjoyed telling Jamie the details of the incident at the college as recounted to him earlier by Rob. By the end of the story, the oxygen mask was on the floor, and Fred was buzzing with life.