by Gait, Paul;
He shuddered, his stomach knotting, as he passed the site of their accident a month before. The crash had disrupted their life and left Joanne hospitalised.
Fortunately, at the time, he knew very little about it before he was rendered unconscious in the collision and subsequently evacuated by Air ambulance.
How he wished he could go back and do things differently. It was, after all, his insistence that they left the wake when they did, that put them on the motorway at that time. It had been the wrong time in the wrong place.
If only Andy hadn’t told him about the hospice CCTV recording and Sue being released, then he wouldn’t have panicked as he did.
He felt guilty about it. For although he didn’t cause the accident, his hysterical reaction to being told that Sue was free, combined with the fact that he and Joanne had swopped places in the car, was the reason for Joanne being so badly hurt. It should have been him who was still in hospital, not Jo. Worst still, his actions had put the life of their unborn baby at risk.
To add to his depression, he feared for the real reason for Sue’s insistence that she had been in the car with them. He was frightened that the Police would find out he had lied to provide her with an alibi.
Sadly, his new won courage deserted him, in spite of his intentions not to support her lies. But the threat to harm Joanne had been enough to unravel his resolve and bow to her demands.
Consequently, he was now complicit in whatever she was involved in – but what could he do?
The trip to Monaco had been a disaster and had just exacerbated his problems.
The violence during the weekend was dreadful. It upset him so much that he relived every fearful act over and over again. The terror in his mind had paralysed his thinking. He felt like a rabbit caught in the headlights. He allowed himself to become a victim, again.
First it was Sue’s assault on him, then Carrie coming to his defence, as well as the fight trying to get the video footage. It had all been too much for him. God, would it always be like this? Why couldn’t he grow a veneer to make himself less sensitive?
At the end of the day, the trip had all been a waste of time. No-one got any money. All they had succeeded in doing was getting Sue angry and he knew that he and Jo would be in her sights for punishment. He feared most for Joanne’s safety. She was so vulnerable, for in spite of Carrie’s talk about protecting her, it was unlikely to have been put in place.
Even now, Sue could be there at the hospital carrying out her threat. Perhaps he should have called the Police before they left Monaco.
What would he find when he got there? Were they both still alive? Had there been any complications? Would Sue be waiting for him and force him to take her into the ward?
He was shaking with fearful apprehension by the time he drove into the hospital car park, his palms sweaty on the wheel as he steered into a vacant parking place.
He dug in to his pocket for change and got himself a ‘pay and display’ parking ticket and ran quickly to the hospital.
Hurriedly, he made his way to the Neuro-Surgery ward, going along corridors he knew well. It had become a familiar routine for him.
He stopped at the nursing station which he always thought looked like a shop counter with its imitation teak veneered front panels hiding the desk and computers used by the nursing staff, who sat typing behind it.
The nursing Sister, Sister King, looked up at his approach. Could he read anything in her facial expression? Did he detect a sorrowful look? What would they tell him? His heart beat faster as he anticipated her report.
‘Oh, hello Mr Screen. Did you have a nice trip?’
Was she just preparing him for bad news? he wondered, or was the question a genuine show of interest?
‘Yes thanks,’ he lied, his trembling voice betraying his nervousness.
‘Monaco, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes…umm.’ He was working up courage to ask about Joanne. Did he really want to know?
‘Very nice too. Next time you go, I’ll carry your suitcase for you,’ she joked.
‘How is, how are things…with Jo?’
‘Well actually, we were just about to ring you.’
‘Oh!’ Rupert’s heart sank, his mouth dried. They are going to tell me bad news, he thought. He wanted to run away, stick his fingers in his ears so he wouldn’t hear what she was going to say. Perhaps she’s died. He grabbed for the counter to steady himself, as he became light headed.
‘You OK?’ the Sister said, standing up ready to grab him. ‘You’ve gone very pale. You’re not going to faint on me are you?’
‘Is she…is she OK? he stammered.
‘Well come and see for yourself,’ she said, coming to his side. ‘Are you sure you’re OK? Do you want some water?’
‘No, no. I’m OK honest,’ he lied. ‘Just a bit tired from the weekend, that’s all.’
‘So you obviously had a lively weekend then? Good for you. You needed to get away from this for a while and re-charge your batteries,’ she said, smiling, leading him towards Jo’s side room.
‘At least they haven’t moved her,’ he thought, thankfully.
Outside the room, sitting on a chair, reading a Kindle, was a short, thick set man with a ‘number one’ haircut, who looked like a bouncer.
‘Hi Sister, is this Mr Screen?’ he said, standing.
‘Yes, it’s OK John. He’s Joanne’s fiancée.’
Rupert was surprised to hear her explanation of his relationship with Joanne for, although he had always intended to propose to her, he had never actually got around to doing it.
‘I gather you’ve employed your own security team to look after Miss Carr?’ the Sister said, leading him into the room. ‘How very exciting.’
‘So Carrie’s plans had worked after all.’ He was pleased to see that his scepticism had been ill founded.
Rupert’s attention was then fixed on the figure lying in the bed and the electronic traces on the monitor screen.
‘Joanne, you have a visitor,’ Sister King said, leaning down to talk closely in her ear.
Joanne stirred and opened her eyes. She slowly moved her head and blinking, she focussed on Rupert.
Tears leapt into Rupert’s eyes. ‘Joanne you’re awake. Oh thank God.’ He rushed over to her and gently lifted her hand, raising it to his lips. He kissed it tenderly all the while gazing into her eyes. ‘Oh darling, I’m so glad you’re awake. I’ve missed your smile.’
‘Good news isn’t it?’ the Sister said, looking at the couple. ‘Now. She’s only been wakeful for a short time,’ she counselled. ‘So don’t stay too long and exhaust her. There will be plenty of time to catch up later on.’
‘And the baby?’ Rupert asked, putting his hand on Joanne’s stomach.
‘Yes it’s fine, too.’
Joanne smiled at him. Although not fully awake, she was conscious enough to understand that Rupert now knew about the baby. Their baby.
CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE
25th January
Tim stood on the bridge parapet gazing down at the river a hundred feet beneath him; his target, a large golden pool.
To his left he could see Rupert and James slowly slipping and sliding their way down the steep cliff path that led to the pool. Their slow progress sending loose rocks and stones tumbling down into the void. But he was going to get there first and stake his claim. The risk was worth it, he’d decided.
He edged himself gingerly forward, his palms sweaty as he raised his arms for the dive. This was the crème de la crème of all bungee jumps. He balanced on the edge and leant forward, gravity taking him.
As his body went from the vertical, he sprung gently forward into a perfect dive. Gracefully he plunged down towards the distant water, gathering speed, the wind taking his breath away. He plunged further and further down, going faster and faster as he plummeted down towards his goal. Suddenly he felt the tension increase on the bindings around his ankles as the bungee rope reached its full elasticated limit. But the str
etch wasn’t enough, the rope brought him up short and jarred his newly transplanted legs.
The recoil pulled him back up, away from the golden pool. There was a moment of inertia before the secondary fall took him back towards his target.
As gravity again took him down, he could see the golden footpath leading towards the pool getting closer and closer. He reached out to claim his prize, his fingertips tantalisingly close, but the elasticity of the rope dragged him away yet again.
As he plunged down for a third time his head went into the golden lake. His face submerged in liquid gold. He felt a sharp pain on the top of his head; he must have hit something submerged. He was having difficulty breathing. Something was very wrong. The euphoria of getting there first had turned to terror, as he struggled to fight his way out of the liquid. His dream had turned into a nightmare. He was going to drown in liquid gold.
He woke with a start, bathed in sweat. Someone was pulling his hair. His head was being yanked back so much so that it was hurting his neck. He felt something hard across his throat, digging into his Adam’s apple, making it hard to breathe.
Initially he thought it was Carrie boisterously waking him for another passionate session, until a voice he didn’t recognise screeched in his ear.
His fuggy thoughts tried to grasp for an explanation of the verbal onslaught. ‘My God. It’s that mad woman Sue, she’s broken in,’ he thought. She said she’d get even.
Although he didn’t understand the words, they were delivered with such venom that he couldn’t fail to comprehend the intensity of the speaker’s hatred.
As the verbal assault continued, the loathing and animosity in the voice increased, as did the pressure on his throat. He reached out for something on the bedside cabinet to use as a weapon, but his desperate, floundering hands found nothing.
All the while he was wondering what had happened to Carrie. Was she OK or had that mad woman already killed her?
His assailant was lying behind him on the bed. He felt the pressure of legs being pushed hard into the small of his back. He moved his hand to pull the object away from his throat, so that he could breathe. His fingers touched metal. It was a knife, he thought.
His exploration was rewarded by increased pressure against his throat and his head being yanked even further back and a stream of indistinguishable words being shouted into his ear.
He was dry mouthed. He was seeing stars. And he was starting to lose consciousness, vivid flashes of light, swimming across his vision.
He was going to die unless he could do something quickly.
He stretched his arm out to the bedside cabinet again, in desperation to find something to fight back with, his muscles protesting as he extended his arm beyond their normal length.
As he was about to give up, finally his fingertips touched something. He couldn’t grasp it. His frustrated attempts to grab the object pushed it further away, sliding further from his desperate fingers.
‘Carrie must be dead already. Otherwise she’d sort it.’
He was starting to blackout, as his oxygen starved brain shut down.
Summoning every ounce of his remaining strength, he made a last lunge at the thing on the cabinet. His fingers at last made contact. The object stayed put, allowing him to get his fingers around it. He realised he had the table lamp.
He lifted it up and swung the lamp behind him, hoping that he would make contact with his assailants head.
He felt the lampshade crumple as it found its mark. The light bulb shattered shortly after as the lamp continued its backward trajectory. Fear had given him a maniacal strength that he never knew he possessed.
Momentarily his attacker eased the pressure on his throat. Tim swung his elbow backwards and felt the point hit the assailant in the ribs, causing a yelp of pain.
The hand pulling his hair let go for a second and Tim quickly turned to face his attacker. Quickly he balled his fist and was about to punch the face that swam into his vision, but it wasn’t the husband batterer Sue after all. He was shocked to see that it was Carrie.
Carrie was still fighting. All the time screaming and shouting in a foreign language. Tim couldn’t comprehend what was going on. She had now lost some of her maniacal strength making it easy for Tim to leap on top of her and pin her down, stopping her flaying arms from hitting him.
This was no passionate advance. They were not into S & M. The stark reality of it was… that Carrie had been trying to kill him.
She was hysterical. He had never seen a person in this state before and was frightened by what he saw.
He let go of one of her wrists and slapped her across the face. She immediately stopped struggling and started wailing. It was a frightening sound.
Tim couldn’t comprehend what was going on. This tough woman was crying like a baby, her body wracked by uncontrolled sobbing. He switched on the lights over their bed and looked down on the contorted face of the woman he loved.
‘Carrie, what the effing hell are you doing? You nearly killed me, you stupid bitch.’
He let go of her other wrist and tentatively explored his throat with his fingers to see if it was bleeding.
Fortunately the metal comb that she had been holding across his throat, like a knife blade, had not pierced the skin.
He looked at her crumpled, tear soaked face.
‘What the hell were you doing? I thought you were that witch Sue come to murder us. You scared the shit out of me. I could have hurt you.’ His words tumbling out. ‘I thought you were already dead. That she had killed you. Carrie, what’s going on?’
It took him five minutes to stop her sobbing. Her hair sticking to her hot blotchy face, tears cascading down her cheeks in torrents, soaking her nightie.
He couldn’t get his head around seeing her like this. His tough, ex-soldier girlfriend had dissolved into a gibbering wreck.
‘Ah’m sorry,’ she sobbed, ‘Ah’m so, so sorry. Ah thought they’d gone.’
‘Gone! What do you mean gone?’ he said, puzzled, hugging her to him. Her tears wet on his chest, as she buried her face into it.
‘The nightmares. The awful nightmares.’
‘Nightmares, what nightmares?’
‘I thought Ah was out there again.’
‘Out where for chrissake?
‘Afghanistan. Ah thought you were…an… an insurgent in my tent. It was you or me. I was going to have to kill you,’ she sobbed.
‘Jesus,’ he said, rubbing his hand across his throat.
‘Battlefield survival. If has to be instinctive to survive. It just kicked in. Close combat. Fight to the death. You can smell their fear. It’s you or them.’
‘My God, you could have killed me then!’
‘Ah thought you were the bastard that blew my legs off. The bomb maker, come to finish me off.’
‘Oh Carrie you frightened the ‘be Jesus’ out of me,’ he said, tightening his grip on her and kissing her hair. ‘I’ve never seen you cry before. It’s all so scary. Out of character for my soldier girl.’
‘Ah’ve been having them since Geoffery’s funeral. I saw that Union Jack on his coffin.’
‘Union Jack?’
‘Yeah on his coffin.’
‘Carrie, there was no flag on his coffin. When you mentioned it earlier at the wake, I just thought you were pissed.’
‘No flag?’
‘No.’
‘Oh! The funeral reminded me of my mate who…who didn’t make it.
‘You never told me about this before.’
‘Ah felt guilty I survived and he didn’t. He lost his life. Hell, Ah only lost my legs,’ she said, welling up.
‘Oh Carrie.’
‘The Doctors told me that with PTSD… things…things that aren’t there, can suddenly materialise. The brain makes images of what it thinks it ought to be seeing. During my own convalescence, I saw too many flag covered coffins.
Homecomings of our guys who didn’t make it. Ah felt I’d let them down by not being there to he
lp in the battles.’
‘Carrie, Christ you’d already done enough.’
‘You might think I’m losing the plot, but I saw infantrymen in Geoffery’s grave before they lowered the coffin in.’
‘You what?’
‘Soldiers with guns. Full battle kit. His grave was just like one of many foxholes Ah dug out there. I just hope that it’s not the start of another episode.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘When I was convalescing from you know,’ she said, looking at her stumps. ‘I was pretty bad with… with PSTD.’
‘Do all you army guys come down with this problem?’
‘We’re not the only ones to get it. Some civvies get it as well,’ she said, trying to explain the problem.
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, it’s not only a Military Services problem. Fire and Rescue, Policemen, ordinary people get it too, if they’re unfortunate to be involved in a nasty incident.’
‘Is there a cure?’ he said, hoping that it was a temporary condition.
‘Apparently. But it’s a long road.’
‘Does that mean you’re likely to try and kill me again then? he said, wondering if he could cope with further episodes.’
‘Probably,’
‘Oh shit. Just as I thought life was starting to get better.’
‘Do you still want me around then?’ she asked looking into his eyes for a truthful answer.
‘Course. I…I like having you around.’
‘Only like?’
‘Yeah well…you know,’ he said, awkwardly. He was too embarrassed to tell her his true feelings, that he loved her. ‘Anyway, I’ll help you sort it.
We’ve got money from the old man now. Well, soon, once we get this project off the ground,’ he clarified, remembering the money was still conceivably a long way away.
‘You mean that?’
‘Yes. I owe you,’ he said, kissing her face, tasting her salty tears.
Carrie responded, hugging him tightly.
‘You were speaking in a foreign language too. I didn’t recognize your voice.’
‘Afghan,’ she said.