All of this just to keep him alive.
The cancer eating away at him, winning the battle against Western medicine.
Bermuda stood in the doorway in jeans and a white shirt, leant against the frame with a sullen look on his face. His fractured eye socket had healed, his eye now framed by a deep purple bruise and a smattering of cuts.
His collarbone, for the second time that month, had healed, the bone fusing itself back together and allowing him movement. The rib that had punctured his lung had been reattached, the lung itself blocking the gap and keeping him alive.
His left arm was still strapped to his chest, his hand tightly wired to a metal cast. There was only so much they could do with a bag of dust. But they were confident that, given time, his hand would at least reform, but the muscle fibres and nerves might never recover.
Still, as Bermuda watched the closest thing he had to a father clinging desperately to life, he realised his situation wasn’t so bad. It had been a week since he had been flown back from Glasgow, treated by the BTCO in their secret medical facility on one of the Shard’s upper floors. With a view spanning the length and width of London, Bermuda was reminded of Ottoway once more.
The elegant chairman had always enjoyed the view, spending most of his days literally watching over the city from the viewing platform.
The city and the organisation was Ottoway’s life.
A life that was slowly fading.
Bermuda cursed the world for the way it worked, allowing good people to suffer such pain while the worst got to live healthy, full lives of sin and debauchery. He was a fine one to talk, the number of beers and loose women that had passed his lips.
Things would change.
He would change.
He had already met with Brett at their local watering hole, the Royal Oak, in Bushey, the quaint pub set back from the street and surrounded by the well-maintained green and expensive houses. Sat inside the snug, rustic property, Bermuda ordered a diet Coke to the shock of the landlord, Paul.
Brett was livid.
But after a thorough explanation of what had happened, including a detailed account of Argyle’s heroics for Brett’s benefit, his best friend understood.
Bermuda was changing his life.
The only thing he wanted was to spend some time with his daughter. Seeing the heartbreaking pain of Sam McAllister when he had discovered her empty nursery had been a wake-up call.
He had the daughter that she was denied.
And he wasn’t doing enough.
McAllister had sent him a message the day before, excitedly telling him that she and Ethan were going to make a second go of things. The marriage and family they had always planned for was back on, and she thanked him for being the worst mistake she ever made.
He replied with a middle finger emoji and congratulations.
When he had called Angela, she had instantly dismissed his notion of change. But as he had discussed his plan with her, she had slowly come around. Although their love had long since left, he admired how protective she was of their daughter.
He had to mean it.
And he had to prove it.
Starting with dinner that evening
As he stood in the doorway, offering his silent goodbye to Ottoway, he turned and almost collided with Vincent. He startled loudly before resting a hand on his chest.
‘Christ, Vinny. You almost gave me a heart attack.’
‘An exaggeration, I’m sure.’ Vincent glided past Bermuda towards Ottoway, the man he had partnered with for sixty years.
‘How is he?’ Bermuda asked.
‘So-so.’ Vincent spoke sadly. ‘We are trying our own ways to treat him. The results are sporadic. I fear he doesn’t have much time.’
‘He’s a great man. We all know that.’
Vincent nodded, his eyes not leaving Ottoway. ‘He would respect your decision.’
‘I know,’ Bermuda replied, the guilt of his decision to quit the BTCO clawing at him like a scared animal.
‘Is it because of Argyle?’ Vincent asked, turning to face him. ‘His crime is one that we cannot overlook. I assure you we have tried, but the law dictates he return to our world.’
Bermuda nodded, refusing to respond. While Argyle would face the death penalty, it was the fate he would face before then that worried Bermuda.
The Otherside despised Argyle.
The BTCO was doing nothing.
‘I’m going to go, Vinny. I am going to go and spend time with my daughter.’
‘Very well.’ Vincent extended a thin, bony hand.
Bermuda looked at it, slapped it away, and drew him in for a hug. Taken aback, Vincent eventually patted Bermuda on the spine which no longer twisted in pain.
‘Look after him, yeah?’
‘Of course.’ Vincent released him. ‘What will you do now?’
‘I don’t know.’ Bermuda shrugged. ‘Tram driver?’
Vincent looked at him blankly. ‘You know where we are.’
‘Yeah.’ Bermuda patted him on the arm. ‘You guys still owe me a new car.’
Vincent smiled, a rarity that caught Bermuda unaware, like when a dog winks.
‘I’m sure Mr Black will be thrilled.’ Vincent nodded knowingly. ‘Remember, Jones. Two worlds.’
‘One peace.’
With that, Bermuda turned and left the medical centre, riding the fastest lift in London down to the ground floor before navigating his way through the gift shop. He stepped out into the cold, wrapping his coat around his body and walking away from the BTCO HQ.
He stepped into London Bridge Station, ignoring the Other that sat in the cold, dark corner of the platform.
Venturing deeper and deeper underground, he eventually appeared on the Northern Line platform, hopping onto a train that was just about to depart.
It would take him to Euston where he would get the over ground to Bushey. The train grunted to life and disappeared into the darkness.
A smile cracked on Bermuda’s scarred face.
He was heading home.
The End
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Copyright © Robert Enright, 2019
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, photocopying, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Edited by Amy Jackson & Emma Mitchell
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