by Penny Parkes
‘You mean keep an eye on Julia and smarmy Bruce?’
‘Wouldn’t you?’ Dan raised one eyebrow. There was certainly some truth in Taffy’s words. He couldn’t exactly protect his position from halfway up a cliff face in Anglesey.
Dan rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand, as he often did when searching for the right words. ‘It’s not as though the whole team’s going to split up into sides, but there will be an element of campaigning and I’m not sure I want Julia to get a head start, to be frank. If she hasn’t already with her new TV show.’
Taffy nodded in agreement, struggling to keep his attention on Dan, while three local girls perched on the other tall bar stools in tiny little skirts. The pretty little blonde toying with her glass had a cracking pair of legs, he could see, as the fabric rode up her thighs. Dan gave him a resigned nudge. ‘You ought to go over.’
Taffy cast one more lingering glance, as the girl struggled to keep her balance on the edge of the stool and a little more thigh was tantalisingly exposed. ‘Nah, not tonight. There’s always another day,’ he said with the supreme confidence of knowing that there always would be. ‘Besides, they’re no match for the rather delectable Dr Graham, are they?’
Dan raised an eyebrow. ‘The rather delectable, rather married, Dr Graham, you mean?’
Taffy shrugged, happy that Dan was at least trying to engage in their conversation rather than brooding into his pint. ‘I’m just saying, you kept a bit quiet about that one, didn’t you?’
‘What’s to keep quiet about? I did tell you she was lovely. But I can promise you that neither one of us would be her cup of tea. She likes nerdy guys and there’s also something else . . . oh yes, she’s Married!’
‘I know, I know,’ said Taffy, ‘but since she’s also gorgeous, a boy can dream, can’t he?’
They were interrupted in their conversation by the arrival of the three girls, who had apparently already clocked his admiring glances. A lithe brunette threw them a smile, before holding out an over-manicured hand. ‘I’m Ashley,’ she said. ‘This is Lindy and this is Jenny.’
Taffy put down his drink. If he was totally honest, he couldn’t remember their names already, but in all likelihood, he knew that wouldn’t matter. ‘I’m Taffy. This is Dan. Aren’t you girls cold?’
The girls chatted away to Taffy, acutely aware from their initial introduction that Dan’s interest and attention lay elsewhere.
Dan’s dark good looks and athletic physique were always enough to pique the girls’ interest when they went out in the evenings, but to Taffy’s ongoing dismay, Dan would insist on having proper conversations with them. He actually wanted to get to know every girl he spoke to and talk about movies and politics and travel. All very well if you’re out shopping for a girlfriend, but Taffy was of the opinion that if his friend cut loose a little, he might be a bit more chilled out in general.
Taffy was keeping an eye on Dan, whilst enjoying a little friendly banter with Ashley. Half his mind was trying to work out how to ditch the more brazen Ashley and Lindy. He was far more interested in quiet little Jenny, still wobbling on her bar stool and flushing adorably every time he looked her way.
The other half, arguably his better half, was worried about Dan. He knew perfectly well that Dan hadn’t told him the whole story about why he was off his game this week. He took in Dan’s pale face, taut jaw and tight, white grip on the pint glass. There was a faint pulse at his temple and he didn’t look good.
‘Hey!’ said Ashley suddenly. ‘I just realised, I know you two from the paper!’ Her voice was higher than before and her body language suggested she was determined to win their undivided attention. ‘You were the doctors at that big crash the other week!’ She grabbed Taffy’s arm excitedly. ‘You were both, like, heroes or something – saving all those kids!’
Taffy watched Dan flinch, eyes flashing wide with alarm. Ashley yabbered on, fawning a little and gushing to her friends all about the mini-bus crash that Taffy and Dan had attended.
Dan stood up abruptly, pushing his stool back so hard it toppled. He drained his glass, ignoring the full one awaiting his attention, voice strained, ‘I think I’ll call it a night actually, Taff.’
The bell for last orders rang loudly and suddenly right beside them and the glass shattered in Dan’s grip, the last dregs of cider running over the cuts in his hand. ‘Shit!’
Taffy stood quickly, filled with concern. It was all he’d needed to see, to convince himself he was right.
‘Come and have a quick fag with me before you go,’ Taffy said, getting to his feet. There wasn’t much he could do tonight, but at least now he knew what had been bugging poor Dan for the last few weeks.
Despite the lateness of the hour, there were still a few souls wandering around the Market Place. In only a few hours, this central square would be bursting with market stalls selling everything from gourmet sausages to bundles of dishcloths. The buildings along the older, south side of the square all huddled and leaned together like old women, their pinafores a muted rainbow of pink, blue and cream. This was the main tourist photo of Larkford market: the ancient buildings, each painted a different tasteful shade, with the stunning architecture of the church looming up behind them.
Perched on the wall beside the pub, Taffy expertly lit up two cigarettes and passed one across to Dan, ignoring his protests by claiming they were medicinal. Taking a deep drag, Taffy chose his words with care. ‘Bad shit the other night, wasn’t it. Still keeps creeping up on me.’
Beside him, Taffy felt Dan stiffen. There was no point in pretending that he didn’t know exactly which night Taffy was referring to. Even in a reasonably large town like Larkford, big pile-ups like that one didn’t happen very often. Was it luck that the two GPs had been some of the first to arrive on the scene? At the time, and for the passengers of the mini-bus, it must surely have felt like it. After all, they had been able to do so much to help, whilst waiting for the paramedics.
Taffy pulled his coat closer around him as a shiver ran involuntarily up his spine. He watched Dan closely, under the yellow haze of the distant street lamp. He too was obviously feeling a chill and Taffy watched, as Dan stuffed his trembling hand deep into his jacket pocket, still wrapped loosely in a paper napkin to staunch the blood. The other held a cigarette that was quietly burning itself to extinction. His voice, when he spoke, came out in a broken croak, ‘I still can’t believe that lad didn’t make it. We did everything right. He was wearing a seat belt . . .’
His voice petered out and Taffy nodded in agreement. ‘We did, you know. We did everything right.’ A heavy sigh escaped his chest. ‘And somehow, knowing that everyone else made it still doesn’t seem enough does it?’
Dan hunched his shoulders further and the two men looked out over the Market Place, carefully avoiding each other’s gaze. ‘He was just a kid, Taff. It’s so fucking pointless.’ His voice was hoarse and Taffy could hear Dan’s teeth chatter. He knew only too well it wasn’t the cold, but he couldn’t let the subject drop. They’d been here before.
‘I can’t get it out of my head either to be honest, mate. All those flashing lights and the bus going up like that . . . I keep wondering what would have happened if we hadn’t got everyone out in time . . .’ His soft Welsh lilt had a gentle hypnotism that often made people open up to him.
Dan was no exception. In the dark, with no one watching and Taffy beside him, the big man gave in to the drowning pull of his fear. ‘It’s like fucking Basra all over again. I just can’t . . . it just won’t . . . I keep seeing . . .’ And then his hands were out of his pockets and dashing away the tears that were threatening, as all his strength wasn’t enough to hold them back.
Taffy flung a supportive arm around his broad shoulders before Dan could crumple completely, as he muttered incoherently. Little snippets about the horrific crash seemed to have merged in his mind with the violent tour of duty he’d served in Iraq. Coming back a shattered shell of a man, he’d worked so hard to over
come the demons that haunted him, but with this one fatal accident, he was thrown back four years in one heartbeat.
He was sitting outside a pub in Larkford, but in his mind’s eye, he was continually reliving that one day. The day that American missile had accidentally slammed into a school in Basra, not half a mile from where Dan stood. The day that he and his team had spent eighteen hours pulling tiny, broken bodies out of the rubble and doing everything he could to save them, as their wailing parents surrounded him, alternately blaming him and begging for his help. By his own admission, Dan had wept that night, along with braver and stronger men than him. Some days it felt as though the memories would never leave and some days he asked himself why he would want them to. He wanted to remember mankind at its lowest ebb, so he could do everything in his limited power to make sure no child ever died on his watch again.
‘Why the fuck do I spend my life pulling kids out of wreckage?’ he asked Taffy, his voice suddenly tight and clear. ‘What’s the point of all this training, if I can’t even keep the kids alive?’
Taffy knew there was no point reasoning with him, pointing out that there were twelve teenagers on that mini-bus and they’d saved all but one, some of them against all odds. Because Dan wasn’t talking about the kids in the mini-bus on the A36. Every time, he was back in Basra, pulling more broken children from the chaos and failing time and time again to mend their shattered bodies.
Taffy leaned over and gently removed the burnt out cigarette butt from Dan’s fingers. ‘I can’t help thinking that holiday might be a good idea anyway, Dan. Go climb a mountain or hike someplace. Burn it off, like you said. Or go back and see Chris. Nothing official, but maybe have a chat?’
Going back to see Chris was the best suggestion that Taffy could come up with. He himself was certainly out of his depth when it came to helping Dan, but the army counsellor had been amazing when it first turned out that Dan had brought back more than sand in every pocket as a souvenir from Iraq. PTSD – post-traumatic stress disorder – wasn’t the everyday case load for a rural GP, but it had become Chris Rogers’ speciality.
You could acknowledge the symptoms in theory of course, the flashbacks, the fear, the insomnia and panic attacks. You could throw as many pills at it as you liked, but there wasn’t really a cure. It would always be lurking under the surface, waiting for a trigger to set the panic in motion again.
The door to the pub burst open suddenly and their quiet enclave was flooded with light from the bar. Teddy Kingsley stood in the doorway, his voice high and strangled with panic, ‘Dan? Taffy? Quickly – I need you!’
Teddy knocked a chair flying as he leapt aside to let the others come running into the bar, where one of the girls they’d been chatting to earlier now lay unconscious on the floor.
‘What happened?’ Dan quickly knelt down beside the young woman, whose face was strangely swollen and distorted.
‘I don’t really know,’ said Teddy, running a hand through his hair in despair. ‘She was all friendly and chatty one minute, her mates popped to the ladies’ and then suddenly her face started swelling up and her voice went all strange.’
Teddy hovered uncertainly, clearly squeamish, as Dan too seemed to freeze in a moment of indecision. The only activity was the sound of Taffy scrabbling through the girl’s handbag. ‘Dan, is she breathing?’ prompted Taffy, to no reply. He looked up sharply. Dan was shaking his head as if trying to jump-start his brain into action.
Taffy elbowed his mate aside, quickly starting to do a fast once-over of the girl’s vitals, before pulling up the woman’s skirt to expose her thigh and deftly swinging an EpiPen into the flesh with a click.
Her friends appeared moments later, with shrill screams and shrieks at the scene that confronted them. ‘Oh my God! Lindy? Is she going to be alright?’ squawked Ashley.
Taffy calmly assessed the situation and settled his gaze on Jenny, the only one in the room who seemed to be keeping her head. ‘Jenny, can you call me an emergency ambulance? Tell them it’s an Anaphylactic Shock. Cause unknown. Am guessing 26-, maybe 27-year-old female, right? Weight maybe 130lbs. I’ve given 0.3mg of adrenalin if they ask.’ He withdrew the needle after counting to ten and then began to rub at the puncture mark to ease the bruising. The possibility of bruising was actually the least of Taffy’s worries in that moment, but he had to do something while he gave the adrenalin chance to do its work.
Lindy’s breathing was barely more than a shallow grating now, as she struggled to pull air through her swollen throat, her lips and tongue all puffed out grotesquely.
Taffy rummaged through the girl’s bag for a second EpiPen, wishing that the girl had the foresight to carry a spare. If the ambulance didn’t get here quickly, he’d be forced to perform an emergency tracheotomy. It was all very well seeing these things on the television, but Taffy was the first to admit that a bottle of vodka and the tube from a Bic biro were not the ideal trach supplies. He looked over at Dan. ‘Run to the surgery, would you, mate? Bring me a sterile trach kit and another shot of adrenalin? 0.5ml should do it.’
Dan nodded blindly, stumbling to his feet, his pallor in contrast to the livid red urticarial rash climbing over their patient’s face.
Not waiting for a reply, Taffy began checking her vitals again, willing her to respond.
He turned to the girls. ‘This is Lindy, right? Do you know if she’s allergic to anything? Is she local?’
Once again, it was quiet little Jenny who proved the most useful. Ashley was whimpering on a nearby bar stool and Teddy appeared to be throwing up in the gents’ after watching the EpiPen administered – hardly a chip off the old block then.
‘Peanuts and shellfish,’ she managed. ‘Is she going to be okay? They said the ambulance might be ten minutes.’
‘She’ll be fine,’ said Taffy reassuringly with a composure he certainly did not feel. He hoped to God that Dan could get back in time and that he wasn’t somewhere outside, locked in his own personal breakdown.
Dan meanwhile was sprinting through the lanes of Larkford, jolted out of his stupor by the fresh cool air on his face and burning off the jolt of his own panicked adrenalin surge by pushing his body as hard as he could. There would be plenty of time for recriminations and assessments later. In the meantime all he could focus on was getting this kit to their patient before it became redundant.
A light drizzle plastered his hair to his forehead but Dan kept running, pushing harder and harder until his lungs screamed for a break. A little pain was a small price to pay in his opinion. Partnership or no, he needed to get his head together before somebody lost their life to his personal dramas.
He barged back into the pub with all the kit, just in time to see Taffy pulling down bottles of vodka. ‘I’ve got this,’ said Dan with authority, covering his embarrassment with brisk efficiency and giving Taffy a reassuring nod.
Dan rolled the girl on to her side, injecting the adrenaline into the large muscle of her bottom. Objectively, he couldn’t help but notice that their patient was clearly in excellent shape. Perhaps she was some kind of athlete.
He calmly withdrew the needle, automatically checking his watch and knowing it was their last chance before a more invasive intervention would be called for. In a moment, the trach tray was ready, scalpel and tubes all pre-sterilised and sealed. Dan swallowed hard. He wanted to give the girl just a few more seconds for her body to respond to the mega-dose of adrenalin he’d given her, before he made a decision which, although saving her life, would leave a beautiful young woman essentially scarred for the rest of it.
‘Come on,’ he willed her urgently, checking her vitals over and over again. Her skin was becoming clammy and cold, only warm where the vicious weals of bright red nettle rash disfigured her pale skin.
Taffy crouched down beside him, watching him like a hawk for any sign of nerves or tremor. ‘Dan, do you want me to take this?’ he said quietly. ‘Don’t let’s wait too long.’
Dan shook his head, one hand firmly measuri
ng Lindy’s pulse, stethoscope pressed to her chest. ‘Just one sec,’ he said, concentrating intently, listening for the sounds of her breath. Slowly he exhaled. ‘Taff? How long on the ambulance?’
‘Five minutes, at least,’ he replied.
Dan shook his head again, trying to differentiate between the blip in heart rate that the adrenalin had caused and whether there wasn’t just a small improvement in Lindy’s breathing. Her body juddered with the effort of every single breath, but Dan knew that the injections should be enough.
‘One more sec,’ he said, breathing deeply and holding her hand in his own, monitoring every change in her without distraction. A slow easy smile spread across his face as he felt her hand instinctively return the pressure from his own and her eyelids flickered open.
Startled by the vivid green colour of her eyes, Dan leaned back a little. She dragged another breath into her battered lungs and attempted a lopsided smile. ‘Am I okay?’ she rasped, before coughing hard and reflexively curling into a ball.
Dan checked all her vitals once again and debated the need for an IV. She’d probably be fine now the initial reaction had abated, but a course of hydrocortisone was a sensible precaution; as was a night in hospital if the swelling didn’t start to calm down soon.
He brushed her bobbed dark hair from her forehead to assess the swelling and saw her watching his every move.
‘Thanks, Doc,’ she managed.
‘My pleasure,’ he replied, his own adrenalin rush leaving him crashing and exhausted. ‘I’d give the peanuts a miss next time, though.’
‘Not my best look,’ she agreed.
He didn’t have the heart to tell her she looked like Quasimodo, albeit an obviously pretty, feisty Quasimodo at that.
