by Mark Eklid
She crumpled under the weight of it, like a plastic cup that someone had stamped on, and it pinned her to the road, face down. Evelyn gazed, her eyes wide, stunned by the blow and gasping for breath against the crushing force of the limb, her cheek pressed against the road.
She attempted a pitiful cry for help but made no sound and could do no more before slipping, swirling into unconsciousness.
4
Martin opened the lounge door and was startled by the blue light as it flashed through the window, lighting up his front room. He had been baking in the kitchen at the back. The two women who regularly helped out had been so understanding, working extra hours to make sure the café stayed open while his attention was diverted by the tree protection protest, but it was time to get back to normal now and stocks of the fresh goods his customers loved had run low.
Without bothering to switch on the main light, Martin walked straight to the window to find out what was happening. He saw the ambulance and a small gathering of concerned neighbours.
My Lord! Has somebody been knocked down?
He hurried to the front door, slipping on his canvas shoes and pulling on a waterproof jacket, to join them.
The path was littered with twigs and leaves left by the storm, which had all but passed now and was offering only a few short belligerent blasts as a reminder.
A figure was being carefully lifted into the back of the ambulance by the two paramedics. Martin could not make out who was on the stretcher. Their face was hidden by the two bright orange blocks that had been fixed on either side of their head.
‘What happened?’ Martin asked the first neighbour he recognised. She was one of the people who had helped out in the protest.
She sighed and rolled her eyes, pointing towards the large branch which still lay in the middle of the road.
‘What do you think?’ she said, curtly, and moved away.
Martin stared at it, still not able to fully comprehend the situation. He saw Samir.
‘Samir, what’s going on?’ he asked.
Samir paused for a moment, as if working out the best explanation. He appeared shaken.
‘A tree branch broke off in the storm and hit the old lady from across the road,’ he replied at last.
‘Oh, Lord!’ Martin, shocked, struck by the seriousness of it all, looked towards the back of the ambulance. The stretcher was now inside and the paramedics were securing it, getting ready to take the old lady away.
‘How is she?’
Samir shrugged. ‘She was unconscious when they found her.’
‘This is awful,’ said Martin, feeling sick.
The two of them stood in silence as the paramedics finished their preparations and watched as the ambulance was driven away. The blue lights coloured the houses as it moved steadily down the road and the crowd began to disperse.
A group moved past Martin and Samir with their heads bowed but one of their number turned back, unable to restrain his need to say what was on his mind.
‘Nice one, Martin. How’s your victory feel now? Looks like the council might have got it right this time, eh?’
Martin was crestfallen. Only a few hours earlier, these same neighbours had shared with him the joy of their apparent success in saving the tree and now an old lady was – what? Dying? Critically injured? It was all his fault. If he hadn’t been so quick to pick a fight with the council workers, who were only trying to do their jobs, none of this would have happened.
I’ve been so stupid.
‘We weren’t to know,’ offered Samir, seeming to understand what was going through his friend’s mind. He laid his hand on Martin’s arm.
Martin nodded to acknowledge the gesture, though it was no comfort.
They stayed a few moments longer until they were the last on the street. It began to rain.
‘Anyway, I shall see you soon,’ said Samir with a sympathetic smile and then he, too, turned to go home.
‘Yeah, see you later, Samir.’
The rain was coming down heavier but Martin stood still on the quiet road. The branch had been dragged away, so that it could do no more damage this night. He looked up, to where it had broken off the large, treacherous tree.
He sighed. Sometimes nature reminded us that it is still our master.
It was time to head back inside but, just as he turned to go, Martin saw something, leaning against the tyre of a parked car. He moved towards it. It was a light-brown shoulder bag.
Martin glanced up and down the road. No one was hurrying back to reclaim it.
Then he thought, maybe it was the old lady’s and the paramedics forgot to take it in the ambulance with them.
Either way, he reckoned, he should not leave it there. Martin picked it up and carried it into his home, for safe keeping.
***
Wearing his cycle helmet and now repaired bright yellow safety jacket, Martin pushed his bike down his path. He was already aware the council workers had arrived and cordoned off the area in preparation. This time, there were no protestors to delay them.
He had absolutely no desire to engage with the workers again and deliberately avoided looking towards them. He hoped they did not recognise him. As Martin jumped on his bike and prepared to pedal away – up the hill so that he did not have to ride past their lorry – he noticed the sound of the chainsaw chugging into life.
It had been two days since the accident. He made several calls to the hospital to check how the old lady was and was relieved to hear she was fully conscious and expected to make a total recovery. His self-chastisement had been brutal enough without having to deal with further burdens on his conscience.
Now it was time to try to make amends. Martin decided he should visit her in hospital, to apologise and to see what he could do to help her.
The four-mile ride to the Northern General Hospital was as relatively straightforward as it gets when you are cycling in a hilly city while competing for space with cars, vans and buses. Martin arrived there without ever really being in danger of completing his trip in an ambulance.
The spinal injuries unit was on the far side of the sprawling complex of specialist departments and he stopped to buy fruit after securing his bike in the shelter.
‘I’m here to visit Mrs Dawes,’ he whispered to the nurse at the station on the ward. He had never had to go to a hospital before and was painfully wary of making the slightest sound, in case he should disturb some terribly poorly patient.
The nurse briskly checked her list. ‘Bay three,’ she said. ‘Just there to the left.’
Martin looked towards where he had been directed but turned back to the nurse, feeling slightly awkward.
‘Would you mind,’ he asked, grimacing. ‘It’s just that... I don’t actually know who she is. I’m a neighbour, you see, and I knew about her accident, but we don’t, err, know each other. Could you tell me which one she is?’
The nurse smiled. ‘Certainly. Mrs Dawes is in the far bed on the right.’
‘Oh, great, thank you.’
Martin hesitated and shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot.
‘Sorry to keep bothering you, but is there anybody else in there with her? I don’t want to barge in if she’s being visited by family or friends.’
‘That’s perfectly all right. No, Mrs Dawes does not have any other visitor today. In fact, we’ve not been able to trace any family or friends to contact since she came to us. I’m afraid Mrs Dawes has not been very communicative.’
‘Oh!’ Martin absorbed the information and it made him feel worse. He had only been vaguely aware of her, even though they had lived opposite each other for at least a couple of years, and had not known her name until he called the hospital for the first time to ask about the ‘old lady who was hit by a falling tree branch on Spring Hill Road’. Now he had been told she had no family or friends and he had not so much as bothered to knock on her door to say hello all this time. Would it really have been so much of an effort to be a better neighbour? Shame s
tabbed at his already raw sense of guilt.
He said his thanks to the nurse and walked, hesitantly, toward the bay. The far bed on the right. That had to be good. Don’t they say they put the most ill patients closest to the nurses’ desk?
The old lady lay still in the bed, her eyes closed, looking frail and vulnerable. She wore a hospital gown and a white neck brace but, apart from that and the cannula attached to a drip, which pierced the thin skin on the back of her bony hand, she appeared fairly unscathed. That was a relief.
Martin tightly gripped the brown paper bag of grapes and three satsumas, holding them in front of him like a protective shield, as he stepped softly towards the bed. He stood at the foot of it and looked at her, trying not to be overcome by the guilt he felt. She hadn’t noticed his arrival. She must be asleep. Martin briefly considered tiptoeing away and leaving the fruit at the nurses’ station but her eyes slowly opened and she stared at the short figure in a yellow coat and cycle helmet.
‘Hello, Mrs Dawes,’ he said. His mouth was dry. ‘How are you?’
She did not answer. Her eyes narrowed into a glare.
‘I’m Martin. I live across the road from you.’
Again, she said nothing. She knew who he was.
‘I wanted to come to see you, to see if there was anything I could do for you. Anything at all. And to say how sorry I am for what happened the other night. I’m just so...’ His voice tailed off and tears sprang to his eyes.
‘Anyway, I brought you these,’ he said, suddenly aware again of the bag he was grasping and thrust them towards the old lady. She did not move and his discomfort grew. He laid it uneasily down on a table at the side of the bed.
‘I’ll just leave them here for you.’
She stared back at him, giving up no ground in her displeasure.
He stood a few moments longer, shrinking in her scrutiny, and decided he should go.
‘As I said, if there’s anything I can do for you – anything – don’t hesitate to ask. I can bring back whatever you’d like me to from your house, if you’d like. Oh, actually...’
Martin suddenly recalled an important point he had told himself he should not forget.
‘I found a light brown bag on the road on the night of the accident and I thought it must be yours. Would you like me to bring that in for you?’
Evelyn’s expression immediately changed and she spat out the word ‘No!’ with close to horror in her eyes. The urgency of her reaction made Martin jump.
‘Leave the bag! Don’t touch the bag!’
He was dazzled by the sudden change of mood.
‘OK,’ he replied, meekly. ‘I’ll just keep it safe until you’re well enough to come home.’
She was glaring at him again. There was fury in her eyes. Martin began to back away and then turned, walking much more briskly from the bay than he had going on to it.
The same nurse was still at the station and he stopped, flustered but still in need of more information.
‘Could I just ask,’ he said, and she looked up at him again, ‘Mrs Dawes, do you think she will be kept in for long?’
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ she replied. ‘Mrs Dawes suffered a slight concussion and a little trauma to her spine which we will need to keep an eye on, but the MRI showed no lasting damage and I think, with a little physiotherapy, she should be well enough to go home in a week or two.’
She set down her pen. ‘It depends a little on how she reacts to the physio. At the moment, I must say she’s showed no great willingness to want to work with us but it’s early days. She’s an old lady and she’s had a nasty experience. I’m sure it would be a big help if you came back to visit her a time or two more, just to help her come to terms with getting back to normal. She can soon be back on her feet once she gets over the initial shock of it all.’
Martin nodded and said, ‘thank you’, before turning for the exit. He was not at all convinced his presence would help Mrs Dawes’ progress but perhaps he should be willing to try. Until she was ready to show him some other way he could make it up to her, maybe that was the least he could do.
5
Colin Perkins gathered his courage with his papers and stood, readying himself to step into Cranford Hardstaff’s office again. For whatever reason, the council leader had been particularly short-tempered of late, as if he were under mounting pressure. As the boss wound down towards the end of his tenure in just less than two months, Perkins had thought there might be more of a mellowing in the old man’s manner, but it seemed the opposite might be the case.
He tapped on the slightly open door and poked his head around it. Hardstaff glanced over the top of his glasses.
‘Yes. What is it?’ he asked, wearily.
‘The agenda for next week’s Cabinet meeting for your final approval, sir,’ said Perkins, holding up half a dozen sheets of paper like a white flag of peace.
Hardstaff gestured for his assistant to bring the documents to him without lifting his head from studying the other documents already before him.
Perkins timidly laid the new papers where he found a small space on the large desk.
‘There was one more thing, sir,’ he said, backing off as he spoke.
Hardstaff looked up, his eyes challenging the officer to make sure this new information was worth his while.
‘The man you asked me to find out about – the one in the tree protest video?’
‘Oh, yes!’ The memory and his amusement at the news that followed the next day appeared to lighten his mood and a broad grin broke his surly expression. ‘Karma was on good form with that little twat, wasn’t it? What about him?’
‘His name is Martin Bestwick, sir. He is the owner of a vegan café called Better World in Broomhill.’
‘Vegan? Ughh!’ Hardstaff pulled a face like he had stepped in something nasty. He hadn’t much time for lifestyle choices which were not in line with his preference for eating a ‘proper’ cooked breakfast most mornings.
‘He’s also a member of a group called the Sheffield Environmental Action Network.’
‘An eco-mentalist. I might have guessed,’ Hardstaff added, with contempt.
‘They are the group hosting the Climate Emergency rally in the Peace Gardens on Saturday, sir,’ Perkins prompted. Hardstaff’s eyes widened as the penny dropped.
‘That’s right. I’m going to give a speech about how the city council has led the way on green issues etc. The city council has spent a bloody fortune on all that stuff in the last decade or so. There’s no way I’m going to let those buggers steal the moral high ground.’
‘Precisely, sir.’ Perkins allowed himself a smile.
‘Yes, I’ll put them straight. That bastard Bestwick had better keep out of my way, that’s all.’
***
Martin looked out from his lofty position towards the top of the steps by the town hall and smiled. There must have been 300, maybe more, official protesters in the Peace Gardens and plenty of interested onlookers were milling around the information stalls to swell the numbers further. The fountain glistened in the sunshine and a carnival atmosphere was building, with a steel band playing on the grass and the smell of whole food cooking in the air. The weather had been kind to them, but still, he could not remember such a well-attended rally.
He clutched his ‘Declare A Climate Emergency Now!’ placard with pride.
‘Great sight isn’t it?’ said Vivienne, who had moved to stand beside him.
‘It certainly is. I didn’t think we’d get this many.’
Vivienne nodded her head. The turn-out had surpassed her hopes, too.
‘A lot of this is down to you, you know, Martin,’ she said.
He gazed back at her, puzzled.
‘The stand you took over the tree. I know it had an unfortunate ending, but it caught the attention of a lot of people. Anna said so many of her student friends saw you on social media and it kind of struck a chord with them. A lot of the people here are students and they are precise
ly the type of people we’d love to attract into the group.’
‘Wow!’ said Martin, looking out over the crowd again.
‘It’s not only the students as well,’ Vivienne added. ‘You gave those of us in the group a real boost, too. Personally, I found your brave decision to take a stand in the face of aggression rather... inspirational, and I thank you for that, Martin.’
She took his hand and squeezed, smiling.
He was moved and nodded gratefully. ‘Thanks, Vivienne. That means a lot.’
She released her hold and looked at her watch.
‘Almost time for the speeches. We’re giving Cranford Hardstaff the chance to speak first. No doubt, he’ll want to shoot off as soon as possible and it’s a good tactic to keep the council on side as much as possible.’
Martin agreed.
‘Might be a good idea if you stayed in the background for that one,’ Vivienne looked at him, knowingly, ‘bearing in mind your little challenge to him the other day. If he wants to bury the hatchet with you, great, but we’ll let him make the first move on that one.’
Martin agreed again. He didn’t want to confront the council leader face to face if he could avoid it.
Vivienne gave the introductory remarks, thanking people for joining the rally to show their support for what she soberly called the biggest crisis facing the planet. The people in the Peace Gardens took their cue to shuffle closer to where she was speaking from, midway up the steps, and the band took a break. Martin looked down on it all from the top of the steps, from where he felt he could stay unnoticed while the council leader gave his speech.
Hardstaff was there now, standing beside Vivienne. He seemed to have taken his lead from the Countryfile weather presenters and had decided that dressing down was the suitable look for this occasion. His large belly hung heavily over the beltline of his blue jeans, into which was tucked a red and black checked shirt, and his sleeves were rolled up. He beamed at the crowd in feigned affinity and waited for his chance to give them the benefit of a few key platitudes.
