The Long Walk Back

by Rachel Dove

  His eyelids were fluttering in sleep, but his colour was better. Kate checked his stats on the monitor next to him. He was stable, and he was looking good. He wasn’t even sedated, but she supposed that this was more down to his stubborn attitude than his medical condition. The chopper started to get ready for take-off, and she looked out of the window at the place she had called home for the past couple of months. A few tents in the desert, and she would gladly stay another ten years than face what she was coming home to. They hadn’t been able to get Neil back on the phone, and Kate feared the worst. Her boy needed her, and she had left him to come here, to this warzone, where men killed each other daily, snuffing out life wherever they found it. What kind of mother does that, she asked herself for the millionth time. Jamie needed her, and she prayed to god that he was still alive. A god she hadn’t seen much evidence of lately. She prayed silently. Save my boy, please, save my boy. If you save him, I promise, I will put him first for as long as I live.

  She hadn’t cried yet, but she knew it was coming. Her tear ducts weren’t functioning, not listening to the brain’s command to release some of the pent-up grief, worry, anger and chest-crushing fear that invaded every nerve ending of her body. All she felt was a constant stinging, a never-ending pain in her eyes, in her head. She wanted to gouge her eyes out, to stop the pain, but she concentrated on slowing her breathing instead. In, out. In, out. Her heart had not stopped racing and she was feeling light-headed. She had to get it together. A sob erupted from her and she tried to squash it down, but more came, till she was racked with them, loud throaty sobs that stung her bone-dry eyes to the quick, that made her heart stab with pain. The medics sat nearby looked at her with concern, but knew well enough to leave her be. Nothing could be done to make her feel better, and they had work to do, with the sleeping heroes surrounding them. The sobs kept coming, and Kate was panicking, her breath getting shallower with every gasp. She started fumbling with her seatbelt, desperate to get up, get away. The medic nearest to her started to shout at her, telling her to stay buckled, stay down. At take-off, anything could happen, she needed to stay the hell down. She ignored him, focusing only on the monster of panic that sat on her back, weighing her down, till she heard a strong voice close to her.

  ‘Sit down,’ it said. She looked across at the medic, and he was busy talking to the pilot, the headset buzzing with their concerned voices in her ear. She ripped off her headset and heard the voice again, louder this time. ‘Sit down and shut up, doc.’ She looked around her, desperate to find the source of the voice. Was she losing her mind?

  Something brushed against her leg, pushing it down as she half-sat, half-stood, wrestling against her seatbelt restraints. She grabbed at the hand, and it closed around her fingers tight. Cooper was looking right at her, a mixture of pain and concern etched on his features. She was blacking out, her breath rushing in and out of her too fast to help her stricken body. He squeezed her hand, and pushed her back down into her seat. She gave up and sank down into the chair, gripping the hand tight. ‘Look at me,’ he demanded, his voice dry and husky. She looked at him then, his eyes immediately shooting through her body, pinning her in place. Those eyes, she thought to herself randomly. I saved those eyes, and now they hate me. They hate me, and my son is probably dead. Her vision started to dim a little, a tunnel of black appearing around the edges of her vision.

  ‘Look at me!’ the voice said again, and she locked onto those eyes again. Cooper gave a little smile, so quick she debated whether it had really been there.

  ‘Slow down. Concentrate on my voice, okay? Calm down. Breathe, just breathe. In,’ he said, doing it with her. ‘Out,’ he said, pushing out a slow breath, wincing at the pain he was feeling.

  Kate concentrated on those eyes, and the ins and outs of her breathing, as it slowed down. The fear, like a boa constrictor around her throat, slithered looser, before slinking off to another poor mortal. She lined up her breathing with his, focusing on those pools of colour in his beautiful, pale, scratched face, and she felt a little snatch of peace. She went to move her hand away, a little embarrassed that the man who hated her was her saviour, but he gripped her tighter, not giving her an inch to wriggle away.

  ‘Just …’ he started, struggling with his next words. ‘Just stay, okay? I’m here. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m here.’

  She looked at the man on the gurney in front of her. Broken, battered, bruised, angry. She thought him, in that instance of time, the most exquisite thing she had ever seen. The strongest man she had ever known, and the thought was her undoing. Silent tears ran down her cheeks as she brought her hand to meet the other, sandwiching Cooper’s strong warm one between them.

  ‘I’m so sorry, I am so sorry, it’s my fault, it’s all my fault,’ she said, rambling softly. She lowered her head and kissed the back of his hand, a hot tear dropping onto the skin, making the hairs stand on end. He said nothing, just ran his thumb over her fingers, holding hers fast, an anchor holding her into this moment in time. She lay back on the seat, exhausted now, and started to close her eyes. Every time she opened them it felt as though her corneas were being sliced with razor blades, so she kept them closed, focusing on the sound of the chopper blades and the feel of his steadying hand between hers. ‘I think my son is dead,’ she whispered. The hand squeezed tighter, and the tears kept flowing, silently running down onto her clothes, and their entwined hands.

  Hours later, Captain Thomas Cooper woke to the sound of the medic readying his gurney for moving. The chopper was still, and Coop could hear trucks nearby, people milling around the hangar. He looked across, but the seat was empty. His hand, still wet from her tears, was placed at the side of his body on the bed and as he flexed it, he felt something in his palm. Lifting his hand, he saw a piece of paper, ripped out of a notepad, the clumsy way it was torn causing a jagged edge, softer than the harder, neater edges. He recognised the handwriting from the walls of the hospital, from the notes written on chalk boards and white boards around the tent he had been housed in. He unfolded it fully, ignoring the medics milling around him, the groans of his comrades as they were moved gently, one by one. The note read:

  Thank you. I don’t deserve your kindness, but I will never forget it. Now you need to do something for yourself, you need to live. You need to fight, this is not the end for you. Please, for me, fight. Make this mean something.

  Kate

  Cooper refolded the note carefully, holding it tight. When the medic came back to move him, he looked at him enquiringly. ‘The doctor who was here, where did she go?’

  The medic, a young lad who looked like he had not slept in months, looked at him wearily.

  ‘She went home, Captain. Family emergency.’

  Cooper nodded. ‘Where’s home?’ he asked.

  The medic shrugged. ‘No idea, man. You ready to go?’

  Cooper sighed. ‘Sure, nothing else to do, have I? And it’s Captain to you.’

  The medic blushed. ‘Sorry Captain. Roger that.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Kate thanked the taxi driver and heaved herself out of the car, her duffle bag dragging along behind her. The night was still, and warm and she found herself grateful for the coverage of darkness. Everything was so familiar to her, yet so alien and different. She reached into the rockery, picking up the fake stone hide-a-key and let herself into her home. She had been surprised that Neil’s car wasn’t there when she first pulled up, but then she remembered. The accident. Their son had been cut out of their car. It was now lying in some police impound lot, or a scrap yard somewhere, waiting to be dealt with. She never wanted to see it again.

  The hallway was in darkness, and she called for Neil. His keys weren’t on the hook, and there was no noise coming from the living room. He must have gone straight to bed. To get some rest. She would still have been at the hospital, but they had forced her to go home, get changed and sleep. Jamie would be in surgery for hours, and then recovery. She couldn’t do anything, and she kn
ew her presence there was distracting the staff. She needed them to concentrate on saving her son. She looked into the lounge but it was empty. There was a plate on the coffee table, a piece of toast crust sitting on it. Remnants of jam sat on the plate, congealed. Jamie’s Lego beaker was placed next to it, no doubt once containing milk. She imagined Jamie sat there earlier in the day, eating his breakfast and watching cartoons. Probably leaving sticky jam fingers and toast crumbs on his clean navy uniform. A boy on his way to school, and now fighting for his life. She left the crockery where it was, she couldn’t bear to alter anything of her son’s just then.

  ‘Neil?’ she called. ‘Neil, I’m sorry. I was mad, I should never have sent you away. I was angry, and worried. He’s still in surgery, he’s stable.’ She sat on the bottom step, dropping her kit bag and unlacing her boots and dumping them on the hall floor. She pulled off her thick socks, her bare feet feeling odd against the plush carpeting as she took the stairs one by one.

  ‘I know you were hurt too, I’m really sorry I never thought of you. We can go back in a few hours, together. At least we have my car in the garage, we can get around still.’ She rounded the top of the stairs and pushed open their bedroom door.

  ‘Did you get a taxi home?’ she asked, looking at the bed. It was unmade, the pillows tousled, the sheets flipped back. It was empty. Kate blinked hard, as though expecting Neil to appear when she opened her eyes again. The wardrobe door was open, a coat hanger on the carpet in front of it. She crossed the room, energy suddenly bursting through her as she pulled open the doors to see what she already feared. His clothes were gone. She ran to her bedside table, dialling his number from the landline. It went straight to voicemail. He must have it, he rang me from the side of the road. Did he ring on his phone, or use someone else’s? Was his phone broken? Maybe it was lying on the floor of his mangled car? She couldn’t remember. She dialled the hospital, and got put straight through to the operating theatres’ office.

  ‘It’s Kate, sorry, Dr Harper. Is Neil back there now? With Jamie?’

  ‘No, we haven’t seen him. Jamie’s still in surgery. He’s doing okay.’ Kate thanked the voice at the other end, not knowing or caring who it was.

  She sat down on the bed, and looked around. Neil’s laptop bag was gone, but she had no idea of knowing what had been in the car. What the hell was going on?

  FOUR MONTHS LATER

  Kate watched as her radio alarm clock sprang to life, signalling the start of her day. She turned it off, not wanting to hear the happy chatty tones of the radio presenter as they celebrated another day dawning, waking the world up with their dull small talk about the weather, the traffic, the latest fashion faux pas of the rich and famous. She stretched lazily, her body not willing to leave the relative comfort of her single bed. She looked around her room, taking in the depressingly stark surroundings that she now called home. Her comfy king-sized bed at her house knocked spots off this one, but she hadn’t spent a night there since the accident. She doubted that she ever would again. Going back for clothes was bad enough; the last time she had filled her car to the brim, carrying all she could, knowing that it would be a long while before she ever went there again. The ‘for sale’ sign outside mocked her when she pulled into the drive, like a banner, declaring her previous life a failure, the house just another casualty of that day. The day.

  She went into the wardrobe, selecting a clean starched work uniform from the pile. She showered in the en suite, brushing her teeth, not bothering to even look in the mirror, let alone apply war paint to cover up her pale, drawn face. The bags under her eyes made her look haunted, a shadow of the person she once was. She brushed out her blonde hair, tying it tightly into a low ponytail, and putting on her shoes, she let the door lock behind her and headed for Trevor’s office.

  When he had followed her home after his tour was over, a month after she’d come home herself, Trevor had hounded her, constantly contacting her any way he could, offering her a job and accommodation on-site in the rehabilitation centre he now ran. The tour had been his last, and he wanted to put down roots. He was being headhunted to run the state of the art centre, nestled in Yorkshire. The first of its kind in the area, it would house several dozen war veterans, specialising in rehabilitation and prosthetics. The centre would also have an impressive program for PTSD sufferers, meaning that the wounded service personnel they took in had a one stop shop at their fingertips, providing accommodation, a safe haven for their recovery and transition into life post service. Trevor was so excited about the project that eventually Kate couldn’t help but say yes. Her old job was no longer possible anyway, not now. And Trevor had made her an offer she couldn’t refuse – so here she was.

  ‘Morning Trevor,’ she said, sitting down in the chair opposite his large walnut desk. Trevor looked up from the pile of files he was poring over and winked at her, his grin dipping when he saw her.

  ‘No sleep again? You need to get some rest you know, why don’t you let me prescribe you something, to help you sleep?’

  He didn’t push it further. Kate had started shaking her head the minute the words had reached her ears. ‘No, thanks though. I need to be alert, in case.’

  Trevor nodded, his lips pursing with the effort of keeping his thoughts to himself.

  ‘We have a new intake today, and I want you to be his doctor.’ He passed the file over to her, and got up, walking to the kettle which stood on the small kitchen area he had in his office. Kate looked at the label on the folder and pushed the file away with one finger.

  ‘No Trevor, you can’t give him to me,’ she said, turning around in her chair to face him, crossing her arms across her chest huffily. He ignored her, pouring a large cup full of hot water. He stirred in coffee and sugar, repeating the action in another cup. He added milk to both and handed one cup to her without even asking if she wanted it. She took it gratefully, gulping at the steaming hot drink as best she could without burning her lips. He sat back down at his desk, taking a swig of his cup whilst pushing the file back over to her side of the desk.

  ‘I can, and I will,’ he said, forcefully, and she glared at him.

  ‘It won’t work,’ she said like a petulant teenager. ‘You know that, right?’

  Trevor smiled and waggled his eyebrows at her. She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. She hated his bloody chirpy demeanour on a morning. She couldn’t raise half his optimism after a full night’s sleep and a vat of coffee, and she didn’t want to try.

  ‘Fine,’ she said tersely, reaching for the file.

  He grinned at his triumph. Kate wanted to poke his eyes out.

  ‘How is the patient today?’ he asked, his tone softer. Kate stood up, tucking the file under her arm and gripping the coffee cup in the other. ‘Just the same.’

  Trevor sat forward on his desk, resting his elbows on the table. ‘You know what I’m going to say, Kate. You need to call him.’

  ‘No!’ Kate exploded, splashing coffee down her arm. She felt the hot liquid burn her skin, and felt an odd sense of relief at the pain. I am alive then, she thought to herself. Lovely.

  Trevor ignored her outburst, accustomed to her every mood after so much time working so closely together. He pushed a box of tissues across the desk, and she put the cup down, drying herself off. A splodge of brown coffee was spreading across the label on the file, and she dabbed at it ineffectually, only to see the stain spread across the name typed across the white surface. His name was tainted now, different, and there was no one to blame but herself.

  ‘Is that all?’ she asked, wishing the conversation away in her head. Trevor nodded, his face implying that he wanted to say more, but thankfully he kept silent and Kate left the room. Rounding the corner, she gripped the file tight to her chest, leaning against the wall for support. She could feel the blood pulsing in her ears, and her head swam. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths. Pull it together Kate, stop it. Get through the day, just get through the day. She repeated her new mantra a
loud, over and over, till the pulsing subsided and she trusted herself to move. She heard a noise and opened her eyes, looking down the corridor, hoping that no one saw the mad woman talking to herself and hugging the wall. No such luck. A nurse was walking down the corridor trundling a suitcase along with her, a man in a wheelchair just behind. He wasn’t moving though, and her breath caught in her throat when she looked closer. The man had stopped his chair in the corridor, and was looking straight at her, a mixture of disdain and disbelief in his features. Kate didn’t linger on his tight lips or his furrowed brow though; she had been taken hostage by his eyes. His big, green eyes, that were staring right back at her. One look into them, and she knew he had just witnessed her meltdown. She was grateful when the nurse addressed her. Nodding hello, she looked back at him, and he was still staring back at her. Looking away quickly, she turned on her heel and strode off down the corridor to her office.

  Cooper

  So, it was true. Someone up there really was having a laugh. I was dreading coming to this hippy hellhole as it was, but now I had the woman who sawed my leg off to look at every day. Just what every washed-up cripple needs. I wheeled myself after the nurse, who was waddling down the corridor at a leisurely pace to my new room. Opening the double doors on the corridor, she pointed at a button on the wall. ‘All the doors are opened by button entry, so no problem moving around the facility, and there is a call button in your room.’

  I nodded once, glaring at the button as we passed through. Pressing a button like a child, whenever I needed help or simply wanted to open a door. It would be laughable if it wasn’t so tragic. The nurse, a sour looking rotund woman with ‘Yvonne’ sewn onto the lapel of her uniform glanced back at me, stopping outside a room labelled ‘room 15’. She pressed the button and walked through to the room, eyeing for me to follow. Once inside, she walked over to the curtains, opening them and cracking a window. Dust motes danced in the sunshine that fell onto the tiled floor and I squinted at the sudden change in light. ‘You should have left them closed,’ I growled, my short temper evident in my voice.