by Robert White
I had made a decision, and even though slightly insane, I considered it to be the right one. I told myself, I’d be there to see Rick through the first few days of his treatment. Once he was stabilised and out of any danger, well, then I’d turn around and go on holiday as I’d planned. It was a purely clinical decision.
Back in Leeds, after Des had left my flat, I’d stared at the closed lift doors for ages. I stood there with wet hair, dressed in a five-year-old dressing gown. It had a very fetching iron burn around arse level. I realised that I’d had a gorgeous guy back at my flat for the first time in living memory and I was dressed like a bag woman. I looked at my feet and was horrified to confirm I was wearing Snoopy slippers.
Since becoming single I’d dated one man for three awful hours. I’d drunkenly snogged a doorman outside The Ritz in Manchester, and had my backside felt by a couple of overzealous patients.
That had been the sum total of any excitement in my life for the last three and half years. For a woman of my age it was a bloody long time. I was in my prime. I’d read it in Cosmo.
As Des exited my block, and with him, any chance of further excitement, I turned, went back inside, and started to wash dishes. After the water had finally drained, I prodded some peas down the plughole with my finger and I realised the truth. I didn’t want to have a relationship with Des. I didn’t want a boyfriend or a lover or a husband. I just wanted to be in his world for a while. I’d listened to his amazing story on that one fascinating evening, and, I was ashamed to say, it excited me. It was physical. I could’ve been part of his world if I’d wanted, but I chose safety, as I always did. That’s why I chose my husband Phillip. He was safe, from good stock.
Safe as bloody houses, I was.
It had all ended as quickly as it had started and Des was gone. I’d frightened him away.
I rang Jane.
“Alright?” she chirped.
“Not really.”
“What’s happened now?”
“Nothing.”
“There must be something, you’ve got that ‘nobody loves me, everybody hates me’ tone.”
“No.” I tried to sound a little happier. “I just rang for a chat, nothing wrong with that, is there? Ringing a mate for a chat?”
“Okay.” Jane let each letter drag. She didn’t believe me.
“I am okay, honestly I am. It’s just well you know how it is with me and opportunities. I get a prospect of some real excitement in my life and I push it away.”
“This is the new guy we’re talking about then, eh?” I heard Jane reach for her cigarettes and take the first long drag. “This Jock?”
“Scot,” I countered.
“Whatever. So he’s dumped you then?”
“He didn’t dump me, I sort of dumped him. In fact there was no dumping at all.”
“Hmmm.”
“It’s true!”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I felt as close to tears as I could, but as usual none came, “Jane, I need to banish some ghosts, once and for all.”
There was silence other than the static of the phone in my ear.
“I need to get on a plane right now, where nobody knows about me, where nobody gives me pitiful looks and where Phillip and his fucking cronies don’t sneer across the dining room at the crazy frigid bird in the corner.”
I heard Jane take a deep breath. She was about to go into her ‘Support Lauren’ speech, the same one she’d delivered to me on countless occasions in the past. Jane was my personal self-confidence counsellor. Before she could start, I heard myself say.
“I’m going to take some leave, right now.”
I was owed four weeks annual holiday and I decided to take two of them from that night. Jane tried to argue about the staff rota, but I had made my decision.
In my mental wanderings I’d forgotten that Jane and I had planned a holiday in Greece together. I’d promised her two weeks in Crete, but I needed to stand firm. I needed to go.
I tried to explain the inexplicable to her but of course I couldn’t. I just had to get away from Leeds for a while, that was it. I was going to go to the ward right that minute and tell the on-call unit manager what I was doing.
When I’d finished, I heard Jane stubbing out her cigarette, as she exhaled slowly.
“Suit yourself.”
The phone went dead.
I cursed my useless self all the way to the hospital.
I thought I’d done the hard part when I’d convinced the unit manager to let me change my leave at a moment’s notice. I virtually hopped down the last few steps to the car park, mentally booking my holiday on the net. I’d always promised myself a trip to Egypt and the Pyramids.
I was almost to my car when I heard the unmistakable sound of the resuscitation team alarm flooding out of the open casualty doors. It always filled me with dread, that dreadful siren. I pulled my keys from my bag and opened the car door. I was glad that I didn’t have to deal with any death for a few well-earned nights. A little devil on my shoulder, the one you should never listen to, told me what the alarm meant. I just knew it had something to do with Des. Des and Rick. I knew he was there, in my ward, stealing my patient. My heart raced and I started to run. I ran around the side of the main building toward the path lab. I had no idea what I was looking for until I saw the camper. Come on, who goes to visit a sick relative in a camper van?
Within seconds I saw him.
Des was pushing Rick with all his might towards the van. I was so close I could see Des was pouring with sweat and smiling.
His face was a real picture when he jumped right into me ten seconds later.
“Lauren! Jesus H Christ, love, you frightened the life outta me.”
I didn’t speak but looked at Rick moaning steadily inside the van.
“He’s a very poorly man, Des.”
Des closed the back of the van. There was obviously no time for sentiment.
“You know I’ve got to move him.”
I must have been out of my mind. “Where are you going?”
“Scotland.”
I opened the passenger door and climbed in. The cab smelled vaguely of pipe tobacco.
“I’ve never been to Scotland. Is it cold?”
I checked my map and made the final turn toward Hillside Cottage. Rick slept as the camper bounced along the track to the house.
If I had ever wanted to escape, to find peace and solace, Scotland would have been my place. The mid-morning sun flashed in fresh puddles ahead of me and I blew a low whistle as the whole of Hillside came into view. The cottage had everything you might ever dream of. Its stone-built whitewashed walls were fixed firmly to the Scottish landscape by thousands of ivy fingers which covered a full two thirds of the house. The living structure supported a recently thatched roof. I suppose the place may have needed a lick of paint, but unbroken views of the whisky trail, as far as the eye could see, more than made up for it. A large private walled rear garden pricked my girlish imagination. The cottage had it all.
The place belonged to Des’s ex-wife. She had inherited the place as part of their divorce settlement. I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous as I compared my grotty Leeds flat with the relative rustic charm of Hillside.
Des had been forced to contact his estranged partner to get access to the place, and from the telephone conversations I sensed it had been a tough job for him. He was one of those men who wore his emotional heart on his sleeve.
He had used the story that holidaying American fishermen had approached him for accommodation. She had only been too glad of the four hundred quid a week offered. The conversations had been businesslike. I got the impression Des was somehow saddened by her detachment.
I pulled the camper to the rear of the cottage and killed the engine. I heard Rick cough but he stayed asleep.
I sat listening to Rick breathe. The sun was suddenly dragged upward and sinister black curtains of cloud took most of the daylight.
I’d never witnessed such a frantic change in weather. It was if the sky had suddenly become embarrassed at the beauty beneath and attempted to preserve its modesty.
Then it rained.
Ten minutes later, the sound of the downpour hammering on the roof of the camper was covered by engine noise and Des pulled into the drive.
“This is it then?” I chirped as I jumped from the van, shielding myself from the torrent with a newspaper.
“Aye, nice isn’t it?” Des hid his sarcasm badly and didn’t seem to bother about the downpour and just got wet.
“The place cost me a fortune. Now I’m paying to bloody rent it.”
Des unlocked the front door. I followed and dropped what possessions I had in the middle of the lounge floor. The cottage had the chill that always comes from a house having lain empty, but I spun around in the centre of the living room and took in the decor.
“Very nice, Des. Mrs Fagan has extremely good taste.”
I stopped still and saw that Des looked slightly hurt.
“Sorry.” I sounded weak and felt stupid.
“Nae bother,” he said. “Let’s see to getting the big man inside.”
I felt suitably chastised. With some effort we carried Rick carefully to a downstairs bedroom. He was still drowsy. I got what medical supplies we had together on a dresser worth more than my entire collection of house contents, and Des got straight on with lighting the fire.
Rick looked pale. He’d had all the morphine he could take. I could see he was in some pain. I sat beside his bed. “How do you feel now?”
“I’m okay.” He stretched his neck painfully.
“Can I get you something?”
He lifted himself slightly. “A brew would be great, tea, no sugar.”
“Tea it is.”
I turned to leave the room, but Rick took my arm. He looked straight at me. His voice was soft and kind. I didn’t believe he could produce such a sound. “Thank you, Lauren.”
“Erm, no problem,” I said. “I’ll bring you some paracetamol with the tea. I’m afraid that’s all the pain relief you can have for a while.”
“Okay,” he said, as matter-of-fact as you like.
I motioned toward his scalded legs. “We’ll have to start physiotherapy on those first thing tomorrow.”
I saw him grimace, so I added, “Be thankful it wasn’t your bollocks.”
He smiled. It was the first time I’d seen it, and despite the swollen lips he lit up the room. I shook the shiver from my back and closed the door behind me. I walked into a small, tiled kitchen. It, like the roof of the cottage, had been recently refurbished. You could still smell new wood. A stunning Aga cooker was surrounded by beautiful oak and stainless steel. Des’s ex certainly had style.
Des himself had pre-empted Rick’s request and was boiling a fancy chrome kettle.
“He okay?”
I shrugged. “He’s in a bit of pain but he seems good enough considering.”
Des rummaged around in cupboards for mugs and I unpacked groceries obtained from unknown sources.
“He’s a good bloke really, Lauren.”
“I know,” I said. “Why don’t you take him his tea and I’ll finish the fire.”
Des nodded and I tapped along the polished wood floor to the perfect country lounge. I sat and stared as the first flames found their way through the jet coals. I added some wood and poked at it, not really knowing what I was doing. For the first time we were all together under the same roof and safe. I was exhausted. I felt my insistent muscles complain as I rested back on the sofa. The warmth of the fire grew and I was engulfed by it. I could barely hear Des’s voice echo along the hall, as he talked to his best friend. I was falling into the deepest sleep, strangely content.
I awoke to find Des had put me to bed in a beautiful attic room. He’d been the perfect gent and I was fully clothed minus shoes.
I stepped onto more stripped wooden floors and shuffled to a small en suite bathroom. Once again, no expense had been spared and yet it was just quality for its own sake. No flash.
I could hear voices and smell bacon. Both attracted me in equal amounts, so I hurried my shower and pulled on jeans and a sweater.
I negotiated a spiral staircase that would beat most Sherpas and marvelled at Des’s ability to get me up it the night before.
“Morning!” I shouted as I hit the bottom.
Des met me with a smile and a cup of tea. “Breakfast is on.”
I cupped the drink in my hands
“Have you seen Rick?”
He threw a thumb over his shoulder.
“He’s where you left him, except he’s got my laptop and he’s working.”
“Working?”
“Don’t ask. The guy’s fucking barmy.”
“He needs to rest. The physiotherapy sessions for new burn victims are a killer.”
Des shrugged. “Up to him, never was anything I could do with him.”
He walked back to the kitchen whilst I stuck my nose into Rick’s room.
“Hi,” I said.
Rick was propped up with pillows and he scrolled through documents on a computer on his lap.
“Hi,” he returned. Any hint of the soft voice from the previous night had disappeared with the dawn. I nodded toward the silver Apple on his lap. “You need some rest.”
He nodded, “We’re doing my legs this morning, yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I reckon I’ll be fit for nothing after that, so I thought, I’d do this now.”
“True.”
“So get your breakfast, and I’ll see you later.”
I was about to speak but he was back to the documents on the screen and I knew it was pointless. I wandered back to the kitchen. Des was dropping bacon onto kitchen roll and buttering fresh bread.
“I’ve seen most of those files of his,” he said. “There is nothing there that is going to lead us to Stern.”
I shook my head.
“I’m really not interested in what happens next, Des. As I told you on the way up here, as soon as Rick is out of any real clinical danger, I’m off back to Leeds, and this is all over for me.”
“Fair enough.”
Des looked a little hurt again and I wondered if he had read something more into my presence. I couldn’t blame him for that but I needed to put the cards on the table.
“It’s not that I don’t like you, Des.”
“I know.”
“I mean it. I do like you, but I just don’t want to get involved with a guy at the moment.”
“Especially one that could be dead next week, eh?”
Before I could answer he smiled at me and handed me a bacon sandwich. “Here. Get this down your neck. After you’ve seen to Rick, I’ll show you the sights.”
Rick Fuller's Story:
I scrolled through page after page of text, hoping to come across some clue that may lead me to Edgar David Stern the myth. I was more convinced than ever he was just that, a myth. Joel Davies had been dealing with him, through Susan, for some time. She had brokered several smaller deals prior to the Amsterdam disaster, obviously tasters for the big sting.
I had heard Stern’s name mentioned by various other villains, but nothing other than Robin Hood stories. No one had met him or dealt with him other than Joel Davies. And he had never met or spoken with him. The only direct link to him and his organisation was Susan. She had turned out to be the surprise package of a lifetime, beautiful, dangerous and elite.
Des had found me by a terrible accident. What he had seen at the cemetery defied belief. I couldn’t get my head around the ferocity of the aftermath of the Amsterdam job. Not only had Stern’s guys followed all the players of the Dutch disaster, and attempted to kill them, but the planting of an explosive device at a civilian funeral was way beyond anything any European drug baron had ever orchestrated.
From what Des had described, Stern had wiped out the leadership of one of the most powerful drug families in the north
of England in one move. We had to assume that Davies was either dead by Stern’s order or in hiding. What did that mean on the streets of Manchester?
I’ll tell you what. About half a million customers looking to get high. Not something to be sniffed at if you are a drug dealer, if you forgive the pun. The void would need to be filled and my guess was our friend Susan and her pals were working on just that.
As I mused, Lauren stepped into the bedroom. She had that nurse-like tone back; the same one from the camper. She insisted on being badly dressed, wearing poorly cut, cheap denims. Despite it all she was still attractive in a clean sort of way. I kept my thoughts to myself as I knew that she was about to hurt me. It was a pain that would enable me to walk and run again. Something that just days earlier, I could only have dreamt of.
The therapy was needed as burn tissue tightens and restricts movement. Most people have suffered a minor burn or sunburn, so understand how tight and sore the skin feels afterward. In the case of my burns, it was the area around my knees that would give me trouble.
Lauren rolled down my covers and gently removed the dressings from my legs. It was the first time I’d got a good look at them and it wasn’t a pretty sight. My left leg looked worse than my right. Most of the top of the thigh was one large blister. The remainder from my kneecap to my ankle was blood red. Smaller white blisters had formed on the inside of the calf. I got the distinct impression that I wouldn’t be wearing my Calvin Klein shorts this summer.
“First,” said Lauren, wiping her hands with a sterile cloth, “I’m going to apply an anti-biotic ointment to the whole area of each leg. We’ll do this each morning from now on. I won’t be replacing the dressings. I want to get some air to the burns.”
“Okay,” I said.
“It will be quite painful but we can’t risk any infection as we have no medical back-up. If you get infected you will get septicaemia within hours and you’ll be dead within days, understand? ”
I nodded. She raised my left leg slowly and rested my ankle on a clean white towel. Then she gently applied the cream. It actually felt soothing rather than painful. It seemed to take away some of the burning for a moment. I lay back and let her get on with it.
