Snowflakes Over Bay Tree Terrace (Willowbury)

by Fay Keenan

  Remembering that he hadn’t checked in with Aidan, he pulled his phone out from the zipped breast pocket of his overalls and thumbed the screen to unlock it, just to check to see if Aidan had been in touch. Vaguely irritated, but not surprised his phone carrier didn’t have a signal on top of Cheddar Gorge in a snowstorm, he put it away again and decided to contact Aidan, just to check in, when he set down in Bristol or back at base.

  Sam was used to waiting around; a lot of the time, the casualty would be stabilised and sent by road, and it was his job to fly the medics safely back out again. That said, he’d also had to acclimatise himself pretty quickly to having a medical team working on a casualty in the main body of the helicopter while he concentrated on flying to hospital without incident. There was more room to work on a patient in the back of a road ambulance than there was in the back of the helicopter, so it was, contrary to the popular perception of the public, often better to take them by road. More than once he’d been hit by the spurt of various bodily fluids, which was something he couldn’t quite get used to. He had a strong stomach, but there were limits.

  He glanced at his watch; the team had only been gone for ten minutes. Depending on how tricky the snow was making things, it could be a while yet. Unsurprisingly, in this weather at the top of Cheddar Gorge, there wasn’t anyone else around. Sam was used to questions from onlookers, too, and to be honest, chatting to people passed the time when he was waiting to see what the situation with the casualty was. No such luck today, though. He couldn’t even log into his phone and check his emails.

  As the minutes ticked by, Sam’s thoughts kept drifting like the falling snow back to Florence. She was unlike anyone he’d ever met before, and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if he let himself, he could quite easily fall in love with her. The other night had been miraculous and Sam could feel his emotions deepening. He had the feeling that Florence was more special than anyone he’d ever met before.

  Sam glanced around to see if there was any sign of them, but still nothing.

  As if on cue, his radio crackled to life.

  ‘Sam, this is Neil.’

  Sam clicked the transmit button. ‘Go ahead, Neil.’

  ‘This guy is critical but stable, hypothermic with a cut to his head. We’ll need to go to Southmead. ETA to you is five minutes, with the rocks and snow underfoot.’

  ‘OK. See you soon.’ Sam clicked the radio back into place on the dashboard of the helicopter and got out of the cockpit, opened the cabin door and moved the patient-loading system into position. The weather was worsening, and he felt a most uncharacteristic tingle of unease at the thought of navigating off the top of the gorge. He’d been in worse, but it still made him mildly anxious. Hours of flight time had taught him to close off, to be in a state of heightened alertness without panic, but it still took a moment to ground himself before taking to the air.

  The cabin prepared as far as he could, Sam was relieved to see the team returning, carrying the stretcher between them. They walked at an admirably brisk pace, given the conditions. Sam waited outside the helicopter, shielding his eyes from the snow flurries, which seemed to be growing heavier by the second. Snowflakes stung his face and hands as he waited for the team to get close enough to load the casualty and he wiped the visor of his helmet to get a clearer view.

  They drew closer, and it was when they were within a couple of metres that Sam felt his heart lurch painfully and horribly. Surely not? A familiar mop of messy, dark curly hair, some of it crusted with drying blood was visible at the far end of the stretcher. Though his eyes were closed, and the rest of his body was hidden by the straps and blankets, there was absolutely no doubt of the identity of the casualty on the stretcher.

  ‘Oh no…’ Sam whispered.

  ‘You all right?’ Neil asked, obviously noticing the colour draining from Sam’s face but misinterpreting it. ‘Is it the blood? Do you need a minute?’

  Sam shook his head. ‘I’m fine.’ His eyes were still fixed on the patient on the stretcher.

  ‘Good, because we need to get this guy somewhere warm, fast.’ The three of them lifted the casualty onto the patient-loading system and smoothly moved it back into the aircraft. The minute the casualty was secure, a cannula was inserted into his hand in case he woke and needed to be sedated. The last thing anyone needed was a patient kicking off in the middle of a flight.

  Sam’s knees were shaking. He couldn’t take his eyes off the man on the stretcher, whose skin was an unnatural shade of pale due to the exposure; a colour made all the more shocking in contrast to the drying blood in his hair. He gripped the door of the helicopter for support, trying desperately to get a hold of himself, to be calm enough to do the job he needed to and fly the helicopter to Southmead.

  Detach, he told himself over and over again in that endlessly long moment. Detach and be neutral.

  ‘Let’s get this bloke off the gorge,’ Darren glanced over his shoulder, and his face registered his concern. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Sam?’

  Sam nodded automatically. ‘Sorry. Just a bit cold, that’s all.’ He shook his head and returned to his seat in the cockpit.

  ‘He wasn’t carrying any ID on him, either,’ Darren continued as Sam slammed the cockpit door shut and started preparing for flight. ‘What the hell possesses someone to come up the top of Cheddar Gorge in a snowstorm, wearing only jeans and a jacket, not even a warm jumper, and without any ID or a mobile phone? He’s lucky that dog walker found him when he did, or he’d be a whole lot worse.’ He shook his head as he straightened the stretcher in the back of the helicopter’s cab. ‘I suppose that’ll be another job someone’ll have to do when he’s booked in – find out just who the bloody hell he is.’

  Sam looked down at the instrument panel in front of him, flipping switches and preparing to take off. No, he thought. I can save them a job, there. What he couldn’t yet articulate, but knew he’d have to when he set down at Southmead, was that the man on the stretcher, currently being treated for a head wound and hypothermia, was his brother Aidan.

  34

  ‘Thank God the snow’s lighter here than in the countryside,’ Neil said as Sam set the helicopter down on the helipad at Southmead.

  Sam nodded, concentrating, as always, on landing as neatly as he could. In lighter moments, his team would tease him about setting the helicopter down perfectly in line with the ‘H’ on the helipad, but they were too preoccupied tonight.

  As he cut the engines and the paramedics prepared to disembark Aidan from the aircraft, Neil turned back to Sam. ‘This shouldn’t take too long. Let’s hope we don’t get another callout and we can get back to base before the weather closes in again.’

  ‘Definitely,’ Sam murmured, but he knew something in his voice sounded off.

  Neil regarded him quizzically. ‘Everything OK? Is it flying in the snow?’

  Sam shook his head. ‘No.’ He took the helmet off his head and ran a nervous hand through his hair to unflatten it. ‘Look, Neil, the guy on the stretcher… I know who he is.’

  ‘You recognise him?’ Neil looked surprised. ‘Why didn’t you say something when we brought him in?’

  ‘I just wanted to get him here as quickly as I could.’ Sam looked at Neil, for the first time feeling helpless under the scrutiny of the medic. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. He’s my brother, Aidan.’

  The temperature in the cabin seemed to drop lower than the air outside as Neil and the rest of the team digested this bombshell.

  ‘Shit…’ Neil breathed out. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell us?’

  Sam immediately noticed Haleh, quietly efficient Haleh, shooting Neil a warning look.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she asked.

  Sam laughed hollowly. ‘I got us here, didn’t I?’

  ‘You did, and for that I’m relieved,’ Neil replied. ‘I’d better get him booked in. But, briefly, is there anything we need to know about his medical history?’

  Sam nodded. ‘He was disc
harged from the army with PTSD and is on anti-anxiety medication, but nothing that should interfere with pain relief, from what I recall.’

  ‘You didn’t think to mention this before we loaded him?’ Neil reprimanded Sam. ‘What if he’d kicked off in the back of the helicopter?’

  ‘It’s unlikely,’ Sam replied. But you’re right. I should have told you straight away. I just…’ he trailed off.

  Neil shook his head. ‘Let’s get him in and sorted, and then we can talk.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Sam said quietly. ‘In the interests of getting us all here, I needed to lock it off, to put it in a box while we got off the gorge.’ He slumped in his seat. ‘I didn’t intend to put anyone at a disadvantage.’

  Neil, obviously sensing that Sam was getting pretty close to a precipice of his own, put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. ‘We got here,’ he said. ‘And, thankfully, there’s no harm done, except what he’s already done to himself. But next time, if there ever is a next time, don’t hold something like that back.’

  Sam nodded and Neil withdrew again, pushing open the helicopter door, getting ready to admit Aidan.

  ‘Do you want to go with him?’ Neil asked as they began to unload.

  ‘I will, but don’t worry, I’ll fly us home.’ He pushed open the door of the helicopter.

  Neil laughed hollowly. ‘Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.’

  Mercifully, there were no other callouts in the time it took to get Aidan into Southmead and, some time later, Sam made ready to lift the helicopter again. As he went through his pre-flight checks, with Neil confirming by his side, he heard Haleh calling his name.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK to do this?’ she asked, concern written all over her face. They’d worked a lot of shifts together since he’d joined the SAA and become accustomed to each other’s quirks and idiosyncrasies, like any team who worked closely together in moments of stress. In some ways it was like being back in the navy – that sense of comradeship, especially during and in the aftermath of a difficult job, was what kept them all going at times. Sam was grateful for it now.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Sam replied. ‘Aidan’s stable and his condition isn’t life-threatening. When Mathias comes in to take over, I’ll drive back here.’

  ‘You know, even at this stage, we can’t let you take off if we have any doubt that you’re a risk to fly,’ Neil said.

  ‘I know,’ Sam said. He forced a smile. ‘But I learned to switch off when I was in the navy. Even when I was flying injured friends. I’ll get us home safely, I promise.’

  Haleh leaned forward and squeezed Sam’s shoulder. ‘We just need to make sure that you’re OK. It must have been a hell of a shock, seeing your brother on that stretcher.’

  ‘I’ve seen worse,’ Sam said wryly. ‘He looks similar after a skinful of booze. And it won’t take long to get back up here on a Christmas holiday morning, anyway. He’s safe now.’ He was already closing off, mentally, the part of himself that wanted to collapse in anguish at seeing Aidan unconscious on the stretcher when the team had brought him to the air ambulance. The time to rail, scream and panic would be later, when he’d got his team back to base. He glanced at the weather reports. ‘We’re cutting it close in terms of the snow conditions, but if we get off now, we’ll be back at base in half an hour. I’m not sure we’d be safe to get out on another call anyway, tonight.’

  ‘That being said, I’m going to call for one of the relief pilots to come in and meet us back at base,’ Neil said. ‘The last thing I want is you with your head up here if we get another job in.’

  Sam was about to argue, but Neil’s set expression brokered no disagreement. ‘Fair enough,’ he conceded. ‘Everyone good to go?’

  As they all confirmed, and the crackle came through from Air Traffic Control, they took off. Despite his earlier assurances to the team that he’d put his worries about Aidan on hold, as he saw the Southmead helipad vanishing into the distance, he felt a sharp stab of desolation. Seeing Aidan lying in the hospital bed, knowing how close he’d come to disaster up there on Cheddar Gorge, was difficult to put out of his mind. Sam kept reassuring himself that Aidan was safe now, that he was stable and being cared for, but the minute he set down, and another pilot had arrived to cover the last few hours of his shift, he would head straight back to Southmead.

  35

  Florence cursed herself as she listened to Sam’s voicemail message for the third time. She’d been snoozing in front of Home Alone when the phone had rung, but, since she’d already spoken to her folks again from her brother’s house in Australia and hadn’t been expecting any calls, she hadn’t bothered charging her phone. Subsequently, when it had rung, the last of the battery had been sapped and it had taken five minutes to reboot once she’d located her charging cable.

  ‘Oh, Aidan!’ she gasped as the realisation hit her about what had happened earlier that afternoon. Sam hadn’t said much, merely asked her if she’d mind coming up to Southmead Hospital with some bits and pieces for Aidan since he’d gone straight back there once he’d landed the helicopter and hadn’t thought to pick up anything from the house. He explained that there was a spare key above the frame of their back door, and hoped that she’d be able to find everything she needed. He’d mentioned the names of Aidan’s medications, which should be in the cabinet in the bathroom, but said he’d leave the rest to her.

  Wandering around to the back of the terraces, which were reached by way of a communal path that bisected the gardens from the back of the buildings, Florence let herself in. The house felt chilly and was eerily quiet. As she crossed the kitchen and headed through to the hall, towards the stairs that led up to the bedrooms, she shivered. The place felt unloved and unwelcoming without Sam and Aidan’s presence.

  It didn’t take her long to find Aidan’s bedroom, which was further along the landing than Sam’s. When she caught sight of the electric guitar, still with the Bluetooth adaptor for the headphones plugged into the side of it, resting casually against the pine footboard of the single bed, her heart ached.

  The room was surprisingly tidy for a single guy, Florence found herself thinking, but then remembered that army discipline must have rubbed off on Aidan during his years of active service. The bed was made, the drawers of the chest by the window were neatly closed, and the wicker hamper for dirty washing had its lid positioned just so. Perhaps this need for control was part of his recovery, or self-preservation, just like Sam’s reticence and reserve.

  Without wanting to intrude too much, Florence swiftly found a clean set of clothes and some nightwear and popped them into the backpack that she saw hanging up behind the bedroom door. Heading back out to the landing, she paused outside Sam’s room. The door was ajar. She couldn’t resist pushing it open slightly further, just to take a quick peek. With the newly rising winter moonlight streaming through the window, she saw again a neatly made bed, double this time, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe. On top of the chest of drawers was a photograph of himself and Aidan that she hadn’t noticed when she’d been in this room with Sam. Both Sam and Aidan were in their uniforms and Florence caught her breath at how handsome and composed they looked. Sam wore the dress uniform of a lieutenant, and Aidan was in the equivalent for the army. Pride and confidence poured out from their faces and in their stance, and Florence was suddenly kicked in the gut with the realisation that, for both of them, not just Aidan, leaving the armed forces must have been a huge wrench.

  Remembering why she was in the house, Florence made her way to the bathroom, where, in the medical cabinet, she found a variety of packets of tablets identified with Aidan’s name on pharmaceutical labels. She wasn’t completely clear about which were the current ones, so she grabbed all of them she could see and shoved them into a washbag she found in the cabinet under the sink, along with a spare, unused toothbrush as she wasn’t sure which of the two in the holder over the sink belonged to Aidan. Scooping up a new tube of toothpaste as well, she zipped up the bag and put it inside t
he backpack. Then, glancing at her watch, she headed back downstairs and locked up, pausing to nip back into her own house to grab her phone and her handbag.

  Setting Google Maps to direct her to the hospital, she contemplated phoning Sam from the car as she began the drive but thought she’d better get to the hospital first; she wasn’t the greatest driver and she needed to concentrate if she was heading out on unfamiliar roads. The snow had stopped in Willowbury, and thankfully it was already starting to dissipate, but she wasn’t sure how bad it would be as she headed north towards the city of Bristol.

  Even on a dusky Christmas holiday evening, it took just over an hour to get to the hospital. Florence quickly parked the car and headed up to the imposing glass doors of the main entrance. With its tall and imposing frontage, the hospital was intimidating in the winter darkness, but as she saw the signs for reception, she felt grateful for the warmth and light inside the building.

  Florence walked through the doors of Southmead and paused. From Sam’s garbled voicemail message, she realised she had absolutely no idea where to go. Should she ask at the main desk? Would hospital staff divulge patient information to someone who was, to all intents and purposes, a stranger?

  The entrance hall was a hive of activity, with medical staff crossing the scrubbed floors, advising patients and relatives and guiding them to the right places. Florence felt a distinct sense of panic. She hated hospitals at the best of times, and all she knew was that somewhere inside this building was Aidan being treated for hypothermia and God knows what else, and Sam, quietly falling apart.

  ‘Can I help you?’ A kindly-looking porter came to her rescue. ‘Are you looking for a particular ward?’