by Limey Lady
‘The chances of stopping it are maybe fifty per cent. Of reversing it . . .’ he shrugged. ‘Perhaps they are five to ten per cent. And even then, the extent of recovery will depend on the damage that has already been done.’
‘How bad is the damage that’s already been done?’
‘Bad.’
‘Can’t you tell me how bad?’
‘It is very difficult to measure. And I am not going to guess. Let’s simply say we need to stop it sooner rather than later.’
Penny somehow managed not to sob.
‘And when will all this happen?’
‘On the day we beat back this incidental infection. Our friends at Cookridge are standing by.’
Penny thanked Dr Strohl and maintained her positive front for Geoff's sake, but it wasn't easy. Once they were alone together all Geoff wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep. Not that there was much chance of that, with the nurses under strict instructions to check his levels every thirty minutes. When she chastely kissed him goodbye he was gazing with dull eyes out of the window.
The squirrel was nowhere to be seen.
*****
Sean’s beaming smile as he approached the two tables was completely unforced. He’d always been at home in front of an audience and, given the choice, would go for an audience of women every time.
‘You must be Joanna,’ he said to the vaguely familiar, good-looking woman smothered in birthday badges, ‘although surely those numbers should be fours, not fives?’
‘I'm afraid fifty is right,’ Joanna said amid her friends' laughter. ‘We're going to need a few firemen standing by when we light my candles.’
‘We've sorted that,’ one of the younger women put in. ‘Except he's a strippergram fireman.’
‘Yeah,’ another added. ‘We paid an extra fiver so Joanna can hold his hose.’
Sean couldn't think of a clean answer to that. He just grinned at the birthday girl while everyone hooted and swapped bawdy comments.
Hen parties, he thought. This lot could make Angel blush.
Well, almost.
‘We don’t have any firemen,’ he resumed when they finally stopped cackling. ‘But we do have a tradition for occasions with a nought in them . . . a champagne toast.’
He expertly opened the four bottles and filled glasses as Andy set them on the table. When everybody was ready he nodded to the landlord. ‘You do it. It's your turn.’
‘To Joanna,’ Andy said smoothly, raising his glass. ‘Here's to the next fifty.’
While Andy took away the empties Sean went around the hens, collecting orders for regular drinks, which he insisted on standing. When he got to Heather he was pleased to find she was the only red wine drinker.
‘Which red is that, dear lady in red?’
Heather was smiling, as though amused by his thickly-applied gallantry.
‘The Hardy's Shiraz,’ she said, not letting on that she knew him.
Sean got Andy to open three bottles of Pinot, two rosés and a Shiraz and helped him carry them across. When Heather saw he'd brought a whole bottle just for her she raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Not that the gesture had gone entirely unnoticed.
‘Oh Heather,’ someone crooned. ‘I think you just pulled.’
‘I've got to confess I'm after a favour,’ said Sean, trying not to get too hypnotized all over again by those startling green eyes.
A chorus of ‘whooos’ met this. Even Heather had to laugh.
‘There’s a small banking matter that’s baffling me,’ he continued. ‘I honestly would appreciate some advice on it. And I understand you are the expert.’
‘Is it ethical?’ Heather asked. ‘I mean, do you bank with us?’
‘It's completely ethical and absolutely nothing to do with your bank. All I need is some general advice.’
Sean just knew she’d oblige. Nobody could possibly refuse a titchy bit of advice to a guy who had just showered her friends in free booze.
Sure enough Heather stood and, after assuring Joanna she'd only be a few minutes, walked over to the smaller, more private table where he’d dumped his paperwork. As he followed with her glass and the bottle he did his best to look nonchalant, knowing several pairs of female eyes would be on his arse, just as surely as his were on Heather's.
Heather reached the table and paused, reading the nearby board of House Rules. Sean freed his hands and pulled out a chair for her then, grabbing a new glass and a second bottle of Shiraz, sat himself.
‘So,’ he said.
‘So,’ Heather replied. ‘Brought your own bottle, have you?’
‘Yes; that one's all yours. It’s a house rule: if you can't finish it before you go, you have to come back tomorrow.’
‘I didn't see that on the board.’
‘They're coming to add it on in the morning. The rule is in place already, though.’
‘Isn’t there another rule; one about never going back over old ground?’
‘
Not on my noticeboard.’
‘It’s a cardinal one for me.’
‘Don’t say that.’ He gave her his most sincere smile. ‘You can come back tonight, if you like, after Marco closes.’
‘Sean . . .’
‘Go on. You know you want to.’
‘Not so fast,’ she chuckled, shaking her head and trying to seem reluctant. ‘I'm out with Joanna, remember?’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘You have to help her with that hose. How about helping me with mine tomorrow night?’
‘Sean . . .’
‘Your memories aren’t all that bad, are they?’
She shook her head again and smiled back at him. ‘I remember you being seriously loved up. How is the girl, anyway? Is she eighteen yet?’
‘She’s twenty-three and she’s gone.’ Sean felt a stab of loss and ignored it. ‘I won’t be getting loved up again.’
‘Is that a threat or a promise?’
‘It’s a promise.’
‘You big fibber; you’re just like McGuire, ready to get clingy at the drop of a hat.’
‘McGuire’s clingy?’
‘It’s just a thought.’
‘I won’t ask where you get that from.’
‘Please don’t. Ask me your question instead.’
‘I already did. I'm still waiting for your answer.’
‘What?’
‘The one I asked about coming back tomorrow night.’
‘Not that,’ Heather laughed again, looking better than ever. ‘I meant your banking question.’
As she spoke she reached out and gave his hand a tiny, chiding tap. Sean felt the contact as if it was a small electric shock. And Heather clearly felt it too. It wasn’t imagination, it really happened. There was a definite jolt.
She reacted long before he could. ‘How did you do that? Have you got a buzzer from a joke shop or something?’
‘No,’ he said.
Obviously not believing him, she took his left hand and examined it. Then she took his right, finding nothing, of course, because there was nothing to be found.
‘Must have been static,’ she said finally.
‘More like the force pulling us back together,’ Sean countered. ‘Just imagine: this time it might be like that whenever parts of our bodies touch.’
Heather had a drink before looking him in the eye again.
‘Let's see if the force pulls me back to finish the wine,’ she said. ‘If Joanna doesn’t need me and the force is powerful enough to do that, it might be powerful enough break my cardinal rule. Now, are you going to ask me your banking question or not?’
Chapter Seventeen
(Wednesday 20th August)
It was getting late when Penny pulled up outside Ferrands Terrace. Her double-sized home was in darkness but that was no surprise; Jamie would have long since set off for summer rugby training.
Or, more probably, set off for Simone.
Miserable though she was Penny allowed herself a smile. Jamie had only rec
ently come clean about Simone but, having seen the girl, she suspected her son was getting more “training” there than anywhere else.
And what a little baggage she was!
In a way Penny was grateful Jamie had played his cards closely as long as he had. She was also, to a smallish extent, grateful this first girlfriend had turned out to be someone as obviously ready, willing and able as Simone. Jamie probably needed that sort of a girlfriend at this stage in his life. His new buddies in the Army would be dragging him into dives in the world's worst red light districts. It was best he didn't go there as a wide-eyed innocent.
Anyway, Simone's dad had just landed a plum job and the whole family was moving south at the start of September, so the danger of TRUE LOVE would go with her. Another month of cuddles and kisses, a couple of days feeling sorry for himself, then Jamie could concentrate on his studies.
Well, he could in-between rugby and Army training, of course.
As she got out of the car Penny felt a teeny stab of guilt about Ronnie. Ignoring it, she unlocked the door and let herself into the house.
Visiting Geoff twice a day was becoming more soul-destroying as every week crawled by. Nothing ever improved and that chest infection was yet another concern. The doctors’ mutterings might be only too right. Even if they weren’t, Geoff was still weakening by the day. She had given up taking him books ages ago, when his hands failed, and hadn’t been able to come up with any other diversions. Not that he had interest in anything anymore. Nowadays all he seemed to do was sleep or stare at the ceiling. Even when he had other visitors he soon ran out of things to say.
No wonder I often leave there desperate for a change of scenery.
She’d met Ronnie years ago, when she used to take Jamie to Mothers and Toddlers at the local pool. Ronnie was a relative rarity in Bingley: a single father. His wife had died of cancer and he had done what Geoff had at one time set out to try to do: he’d raised his family single-handed. Taking his twin daughters to their weekly swimming lessons was only one of the hundreds of mumsy things Ronnie had put himself through. Together with most of the other young mothers in the group, Penny had sincerely admired both his attitude and dedication.
Of course Mothers and Toddlers had been long in the past. She’d forgotten all about Ronnie. Then, one afternoon back in June, she’d bumped into him in the gym. The twins were as good as grown up, he told her; they’d be away to uni this autumn. He had joined the gym in a bid to get fit. Beer and Sky Sports had been his only pleasures over the last fifteen years. Almost free at last, he was able to spend time on himself. And, for now at least, that meant exercising rather than quitting the ale.
‘I’ve actually started going in pubs,’ he’d said with a broad grin. ‘I’m talking to other adults instead of swigging from cans in front of the TV. It’s like being eighteen again. And it’s great. If I have to spend an extra hour a day on the treadmill to keep up with the pace, so be it.’
Penny had secretly wondered if his missed pleasures included playing bunny rabbits. On balance she suspected it did. Ronnie had behaved so perfectly in every other respect; she simply couldn't imagine him bringing anyone into his kids' home just for bonking . . . as she would never dream of bringing anyone into Jamie's home just for bonking.
Maybe he hasn’t got round to that one yet, she’d thought, feeling a small twinge of . . . of hope.
Maybe that one’s still waiting until the twins are safely out of the way.
Quite innocently, Ronnie had let it slip that nowadays he met up for beers with old mates in The Star every Wednesday evening. Three Wednesdays ago, on her way back from the usual hospital visit, Penny had surprised herself by detouring off her regular route and pulling up in the pub's tiny car park.
What am I doing, she’d asked herself, flapping inside, what on God’s green earth am I doing?
Penny had never felt as conspicuous in her life as she did walking into that lounge on her lonesome. Fortunately Ronnie noticed her straightaway. Abandoning his mates, he'd bought her first drink and they had stood chatting for nearly an hour.
The same sort of thing happened again two Wednesdays ago.
And again last Wednesday.
And it had happened yet again tonight.
She’d started by justifying those pub visits as no more than a short break from her endless worrying. Geoff might die . . .
Henry might sack him . . .
He might not die, but could be bed-ridden for years and years . . .
But how fair was she being, sneaking around back street boozers? How would Geoff ever believe that she’d told Ronnie about his tragic condition and he was being the perfect gentleman? No, was he being a great friend-in-need.
Skipping the guilt trip (as Becky would have said), Penny went through her own sizeable lounge and into the kitchen, turning on lights as she passed the switches. There was no sign of Jamie but his muddy boots had been discarded in new positions in the back yard, suggesting he’d been there at some stage. A quick check of the fridge confirmed he’d eaten: the full stand pie and most of the tomatoes had vanished, along with half a kilo of Lancashire cheese.
Penny pulled out her mobile, realizing it had been off since half past six, when hospital visiting began. As it sparked back into life she saw she had seven missed calls. Seven! That wasn’t just more than usual, it was unheard of. Before she could go through them the kitchen landline rang.
‘Mrs Rodgers? It's Sister from Ward 5. I know you must have only just got home, but you’d better come back in. It's Geoff's infection; it's got a lot worse.’
*****
The quality of the colonel's troops had impressed Rick and his twelve man team. Over the years they'd had experience with African soldiers, ranging from very, very good to downright awful. This current force was as good as any they'd seen. Even the language difference hadn't turned out to be a barrier.
Not yet, anyway.
As the men hit the beach Rick signalled to Judd, who immediately began to escort Colonel K ashore. The colonel didn't look happy to be last off the boat. He was waving his arms about as he gave Judd an earful. Rick reckoned it was all for show. The old boy was in no shape to fight a war. By the time he made it to the presidential palace the fighting would be done.
Still, the former dictator had been adamant he was landing with his troops and they all seemed to be inspired by his presence. Fuck knew why.
Come to that, fuck knew why HMG wanted to have him back in power anyway. This wasn't even a Commonwealth country, ex- or new-fangled, and he'd made a proper balls-up of it last time. Not to worry, though: theirs was not to reason why, as per usual. Give it another century or so and the history books would explain about previously undiscovered oil or whatever . . .
The country in question had a coastal capital and only one other town bigger than a village. In theory the population would not raise a finger to defend the current dictator and would actually welcome the old one back. That went for the bulk of the army as well. There was only the capital-based Republican Guard to defeat.
A call came through as Rick cleared the beach. Ahead of him, from the direction of the palace, he could hear gunfire. Almost immediately this was drowned out by the larger raiding party as they opened up on the barracks, away to the east. He couldn't distinguish lesser noises, but knew half a dozen other assaults were going down simultaneously on smaller key targets.
‘Rick? It's Beefy. Airport secured. Repeat, airport secured.’
Rick smothered a laugh. The “airport” was little more than a strip of baked mud. Most of the other objectives weren’t as grand as their names either, Republican Guard very much included.
More calls followed in quick succession as target after target was taken. A week of special training had turned already capable soldiers into super-efficient machines. Within fifteen minutes the palace had been captured and Colonel K's hated successor had been killed “trying to escape”. Only the men holed up in the barracks were still resisting and, from the
sound of things, that wasn't going to last a lot longer. Rick collared Didier, their interpreter, and waited for the colonel to catch up.
‘Tell him the resistance is almost over,’ Rick said.
Didier rattled off in the local version of French and Colonel K's scowl was replaced by a big grin.
‘Tell him Mbobo is dead.’
Didier did and the grin spread all the way around the colonel's head.
