by Rosie Howard
‘Top Down? Is that where we’re going?’ Maddy looked in disbelief towards where Ben was pointing: a craggy, chalk hill, silhouetted against the skyline.
‘It’s only about five miles as the crow flies. We’ll be taking the scenic route back, mind you … that’s about another seven.’
‘Is this what you do for “fun”?’ she grumbled, as Ben hauled two rucksacks from the boot of the Land Rover, handing Maddy the smaller one.
‘Yup. It’s even more fun if you’re doing twice the distance. At night. In the rain. With kit.’
By the time she had wriggled her way into her rucksack he had already shrugged his onto his back and set off briskly down the track.
‘So I presume you’ve done the whole night-time, route march thing, being in the army,’ she puffed, trotting after him.
‘Yup. The South Downs are our training ground. I love it.’
‘Weirdo,’ she muttered under her breath.
Soon, though, she fell into a steady stride beside him and started to enjoy herself. It was a beautiful day, with barely any wind.
Soon, the exercise and the sunshine had warmed them both through, and they stopped to remove a layer of clothing. She began to regret not bothering with breakfast.
‘How’s your ankle faring?’ he asked, looking down appraisingly at Maddy’s feet.
‘Fine,’ she said, although it was starting to ache.
‘Those shoes are no good,’ he commented, gesturing at her faded high-top sneakers. ‘No ankle support if you have a fall.’
‘“Have a fall”!’ she scoffed. ‘Get you … Twenty-five-year-olds don’t “have a fall”, they just fall over. Ninety-year-olds “have a fall”…’
‘Alright,’ said Ben amiably, ‘try not to “fall over” then. I might have to ration your beer at lunchtime.’
‘Oo, is there beer?’ she said longingly, looking at his backpack. ‘I could do with one of them,’ she added in a wheedling tone, ‘… keep me going, that would.’
‘No rest stops,’ he said, his mouth twitching in amusement. ‘Stop slacking; look, we’re nearly there, anyhow.’
It was true, the summit was tantalisingly close and she could already imagine sitting against the sun-warmed rock, resting her legs, which were now burning with the effort.
Ben was keeping up a relentless pace. God, his backside looked good in those shorts, she thought inconsequentially. Really, the view was very pleasing indeed – and the landscape wasn’t bad either. She shoved her hands into her pockets. Feeling the impossible ‘to-do’ list between her fingers her heart sank again.
‘You’re quiet,’ said Ben after a few minutes. ‘Worried about Patrick?’
‘Worried about everything,’ she admitted. ‘He’s coming out soon. It feels like he’s a ticking time bomb … What if he has another heart attack? He’s always been this strong, energetic man, not old … not frail … It’s hard to think of him the same now it’s happened.’
Ben nodded, musing. ‘I honestly feel,’ he said slowly, ‘with Patrick we shouldn’t think too far into the future …’
‘What do you mean? That there’s no point planning ahead because he hasn’t got long?’ She tried to sound matter of fact, like Ben was, but she couldn’t help her voice wobbling a little.
‘God no, far from it. I’m sure he’s got years in him yet, for heavens’ sake. I’m just saying do what you need to do for him now and don’t meet trouble halfway. We need to help him regain his confidence, if anything. Not treat him like an invalid for the rest of his life.’
‘You’re right. I need to concentrate on the here and now.’
‘Talking of which, we’re here!’
He slipped the rucksack off his shoulder and efficiently unrolled the rug he had strapped to the back of it. Sitting out of the wind and warmed by the midday sun, Maddy stretched out her aching legs gratefully and sighed. Ben was right, there was only any point dealing with things one at a time. Tomorrow, in between shifts, she would tackle the mountain of client work still being sent by Simon for her to deal with. Next week she would worry about Patrick coming out of hospital. Her mum would be arriving on Tuesday – Maddy wasn’t sure if this was a problem or a solution – but either way, she decided, she had nothing to worry about at that precise moment.
Ben handed her a roll stuffed with ham and an open bottle of beer.
‘So,’ he said, around a mouthful of ham roll, ‘we can tick Patrick off the list for now, at least. What’s next?’
‘I’ve got a lot of client work to do,’ she said, feeling a familiar twist of anxiety in her stomach. ‘The stuff that’s due for Monday I thought I could tackle between shifts tomorrow. There’s five hours so I should be able to nail the urgent bits, at least.’
She didn’t admit there was every chance she would be continuing for at least another five hours after shutting up the bar on Sunday evening. It was early closing, thank goodness, so she might even be able to get through it all before two in the morning.
‘Load some of it back onto your bloke, what’s-his-name.’
‘Simon,’ she said. ‘It’s not … the actual work itself; that’s not really his thing.’
‘Not “his thing”? So, what exactly is “his thing” if it’s not getting the work done?’
‘Erm, not sure really,’ she said, feeling she was being a little disloyal. ‘He – sort of – schmoozes, I suppose. Has the meetings and persuades the clients …’
‘So you can do all the donkey work.’
‘It’s not “donkey work”,’ she insisted, slightly stung, ‘it’s actually highly skilled, and it’s fine, it’s just that now isn’t a particularly good time to be unavailable. We’ve got a lot on.’
Thinking about it, Maddy had to admit they had a little less on than they had done. With a couple of pitches being unsuccessful – her fault, according to Simon – the silver lining was at least to reduce the pressure a little. Hell, if she kept letting him down there wouldn’t be a business at all. That would really take the pressure off.
‘I don’t think he appreciates you,’ continued Ben, breaking into her thoughts.
Maddy said nothing.
‘And he’s your boyfriend too, I gather?’
‘Sort of,’ she found herself saying, before pulling herself up short, but Ben was onto it like a greyhound after a hare.
‘Sort of?’
‘I mean, no … I mean, yes, he is. My boyfriend,’ Maddy stammered. ‘We’ve been together for a while.’
‘Have you now,’ he said quietly. ‘Far be it for me …’
Maddy dragged her eyes up to his face. He was lying, relaxed, up on one elbow and regarding her frankly, his eyes not moving from her face, despite her meeting his gaze with uncomfortable directness.
She noticed his eyes weren’t just blue, as she had thought, they had green and hazel flecks in them too. In fact, there was a solid patch of green in one eye, just like her own. She had never seen it in anyone else but herself. In fact, his eyes were mesmerising. She felt herself being drawn helplessly in until, after a long moment, he broke the connection and let his eyes lazily drift over her face, resting for a long time on her mouth, making her wonder if she had a beer moustache. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand and looked away.
‘Right,’ he said, with sudden energy. ‘We need to pack up and leave. Seven miles to go and it’s starting to look like rain … On your feet, soldier,’ he added, reaching a strong arm down to help her up.
‘Does that mean we’re marching all the way home?’ she complained. ‘I thought this was supposed to be fun. Can’t we just – I dunno – stroll … ?’
‘You’re not dressed for bad weather’ – he looked pointedly again at her plimsolls – ‘so I think we’d better get you back before the storm breaks, don’t you?’
Within minutes the wind had whipped up but Ben’s chosen route back to the car took them through a valley. It was further but more sheltered than the path they had taken to get there. For a time,
they walked in silence, Ben subtly pushing the pace enough for her to feel a little breathless, making her realise how unfit she had become living in London with the Tube and buses at her disposal.
‘Keeping up?’ he said, turning to watch her puffing as she caught up.
‘Yes thanks,’ she replied, smiling through gritted teeth.
‘We need to keep moving. Don’t want that catching up with us.’ He tilted his head in the direction of a steel-grey storm cloud that had crept up on the horizon. Sheets of rain had already softened the edges of the rocky outcrop making it fade into the sky as if it were dematerialising.
Minutes later, the rain swept over them, so heavily that Maddy was instantly drenched. Drat, she thought, seeing her khaki T-shirt clinging to her breasts, closely enough to show the pattern of her bra beneath. Thank goodness she was wearing one. Worse, her hair was instantly reduced to dripping rats’ tails. Her mascara wasn’t waterproof either, she remembered, cursing that vanity had made her put it on before they set off.
Ben barely seemed to notice the rain, keeping a steady and efficient pace, his feet surely planted at every step, despite the uneven ground.
‘Watch out here,’ he cautioned, turning sideways to give his feet more purchase as he navigated a chalk slope treacherous with rivulets of water and loose shingle. ‘Take my hand,’ he said, reaching back.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, wiping the make-up out of her eyes.
‘It’s slippery.’
‘I’m honestly fine.’
He shrugged and glanced at his watch. ‘Five miles to go, then back home for tea and medals.’
She wondered if he meant his home and hoped he did. She was curious to see how he lived; in a shelter in the garden probably, covered in camouflage paint and wearing one of those funny helmets with twigs and leaves sticking out of it. So preoccupied was she with her vision, she barely noticed when the slope steepened and the surface reverted from tough grass to shingle, scattered over embedded rocks.
Suddenly, her left foot slipped sideways, jamming tight into a gap between two boulders. With her foot firmly stuck, there was a sickening crunch as she lurched forward, her left leg impossibly twisted behind her.
Before she even registered what was happening he had grabbed her, holding her up off the ground. ‘Don’t move,’ he said urgently, his hands clamped onto her arms, holding her still.
Maddy dragged a shuddering breath into her lungs and then held it, fearful it would come back out with a scream attached.
‘Stay completely still,’ he continued, assessing her leg’s position as he held her up. ‘Right, I’m going to really slowly lower you to the ground …’
‘Don’t,’ she whispered, feeling the blood drain from her face.
‘It’ll be okay; just relax.’
He was gentle, but it wasn’t ‘okay’. Her foot came free with an agonising bolt of pain as he lowered her backwards onto the ground. The ankle was grotesquely distorted and a little blood was already soaking through her sock.
‘Breathe,’ he said. ‘Or you’ll pass out.’
Nothing wrong with that idea, she thought, panting obediently and wiping away the sweat that had already beaded on her upper lip, mingling with the rain, her jaw clenched tightly against making a sound.
‘Shit,’ he muttered, as he loosened the laces of her plimsoll, removing it with the utmost delicacy then lowering her sock to get a better view. ‘It would be the one you already broke, wouldn’t it?’ Despite his care the knitted fabric snagged on a sharp edge in the open wound. Without looking, she couldn’t tell if it was bone, or the metalwork from her previous injury. She didn’t want to know.
‘Is it … ?’ she asked, through gritted teeth.
‘Broken? I should say so,’ he replied grimly. He looked around and glanced at his watch, running his hand through his hair before leaning down to her.
‘Now listen, Maddy, we need to get you to a hospital. I’m going to run down to the car and call for help. I should be able to get a mobile signal there, if not, I’ll drive ’til I can. There’s no chance they’ll be able to send a helicopter in this low cloud so it’ll have to be an ambulance. I’ll bring a paramedic who can stabilise your leg and give you something for the pain before we move you.’
‘Please don’t,’ she implored.
‘Don’t what?’
‘Don’t leave me here … on my own.’
She hoped he wouldn’t make her say why. She barely knew why herself, and couldn’t put it into words. She looked up at him beseechingly, the familiar fear hovering in the periphery of her consciousness – the one where she was lying in the dark, cold, injured, waiting for someone or something to come, something that terrified her.
‘Maddy, come on, I need you to hold it together.’ He fixed her gaze with his own, putting his hand on her cheek. ‘You’re freezing,’ he added, going to take off his jacket and draping it around her shoulders before running his eyes over her again.
‘Damn,’ he muttered, looking again at her leg. Seeing the concern in his face she steeled herself to look too. The skin was turning grey, the nail beds a dusky purple. It was clear her ankle was swelling dramatically quickly too. The rain lashed down, mixing with the blood from her ankle and turning the puddle beneath a rusty red.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Change of plan. No time for a paramedic. We need to get that leg seen to more urgently than I thought, so – actually – you get your way.’
‘Wh-what do you mean?’
‘The blood supply is compromised.’
‘So?’
‘So, it needs sorting fast.’
‘Or I lose my foot?’
‘Not going to happen,’ he said, but she knew that was exactly what he was afraid of. He must have seen battle injuries. He knew.
‘I’ll have to take you with me now,’ he said, grimly. ‘It’s not going to be comfortable, I’m afraid.’
Next thing she knew, he was rummaging amongst the picnic remains in his backpack.
‘This’ll work.’ He brought out one of the beer bottles.
‘We’ve drunk it,’ said Maddy, ‘and, to be honest, painkiller-wise, I was hoping for something stronger.’
‘I know,’ he said, with a twitch of a smile, ‘but it’ll make a brilliant splint. Okay,’ he shrugged, ‘it’ll make an alright splint, but it’s the best we’ve got.’
‘I can’t go to A & E with a beer bottle strapped to my leg. They’ll think I’m PFO.’
‘PFO?’
‘“Pissed, Fell Over”. I read it in an article once. Doctors, they use these acronyms on their notes.’
‘Not far off the truth,’ he teased, grabbing hold of his T-shirt and tearing a long strip off the bottom, all the way around. ‘Drinking at lunchtime’s the thin end of the wedge, I’ve heard.’ He gave a final yank to rip through the seam.
‘Steady on,’ she said weakly. ‘I’m not really in the mood for a striptease, thanks all the same.’
‘I’m crushed – but keep talking,’ he said. ‘You’re doing really well.’
‘Sure? I thought that last one was a bit “lame”, geddit … ?’
He didn’t answer; he was concentrating totally as he laid the bottle alongside Maddy’s ankle and then gently wound the T-shirt strip around them both to form a rough brace.
‘Ow, ow, ow …’ she moaned, biting her lip, tears springing to her eyes at last. Overwhelmed with a wave of nausea and pain, she slumped back onto the ground and breathed in short gasps.
‘Sorry, but I daren’t move you without a bit of support around it. There. That’ll have to do,’ he said, tying a double knot in the jersey strip. ‘I’ll have you know that was my favourite T-shirt too …’
‘I’d hate to see your least favourite,’ but her words turned into a gasp of trepidation as he put one arm under her knees and the other round her shoulders.
‘Ready?’
She nodded.
Although he was gentle, being lifted was agony. She bit down hard on her l
ip again and buried her head in his shoulder.
‘Tea and medals, remember,’ he murmured in her ear, as he set off down the incline.
CHAPTER EIGHT
An age later, both of them bathed in sweat for different reasons, they arrived back at the Land Rover and Ben propped Maddy carefully on the back seat, grabbing a hairy old tartan blanket from the boot to wrap around her.
‘Am I having a nap now?’ she joked weakly.
‘You’re cold and in shock,’ he said. ‘Only I can see how white you are.’
But he wasn’t the only one. She could see a reflection of her own face in the driving mirror and it wasn’t great. What was left of her mascara had streaked down her cheeks with the rain and the tears she had not managed to stem. Her skin was waxy white, even her lips. By contrast, the colour of her foot was worse than ever. What if it was already too late to save it?
‘It’s not too late,’ he said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘Now hold on, I’ll try not to bump you around too much, but these roads are pretty rough.’
It seemed another age until they made it back onto the main road. After that, she must have dozed or passed out because the next thing she knew, Ben was pulling up in the ambulance bay just yards from the ward where Patrick lay.
‘It says you can’t park here,’ she protested, gesturing at the sign.
‘Actually it says the bay is reserved for emergency vehicles. And that’s what this is, temporarily, with you in it.’
‘Fine,’ muttered Maddy. ‘Fight your own battles.’ She was more than happy for Ben to take charge as waves of exhaustion flooded through her. Also, she had started to shake, which was a shame because keeping still was the best way of minimising the agonising jabs of pain travelling up her leg.
Still carrying her in his arms, Ben was arguing politely but firmly with the receptionist at the signing-in desk when a junior doctor in scrubs wandered vacantly towards them on the way to the vending machine.