The Reluctant Phoenix

The Reluctant Phoenix

By Phil Smith

Copyright 2012 by Peter Smith

Published at Smashwords

ISBN 978-1-4658-1140-0

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

For Dad

The winds have welcomed you with softness

The sun has held you in his warm hands

You have flown so high and so well

That God has joined you in your laughter

And set you gently back down

Into the loving arms of Mother Earth.

Balloonist’s prayer (Unknown)

Chapter 1

Matt Davies reached for Thundercloud’s fuel valve. Move over, bird! he yelled at the buzzard hovering mere feet below him. You’re not the only one that’s peckish!

As the hot-air balloon’s vast shadow engulfed it, the startled raptor soared and banked left – straight towards Matt! He ducked and heard the twang as the bird’s body strummed a guy rope, a rush of air as its wings spread and slapped desperately, then a brief commotion, a single reedy screech – and then there was silence.

Matt straightened cautiously upright and a brown-barred, tan feather slipped off the basket’s padded rim. We’re dropping faster, warned his co-pilot Julie, tugging at a control line. I think the para’s stuck!

Matt glanced around, then squinted up into Thundercloud’s dim yellowness. Stupid bird’s gone up inside! Probably dislodged it! He spun the fuel valve, but the bird’s wings had presumably doused the pilot light and no roaring flame resulted.

He fumbled for his lighter, but Julie stayed his hand. You’ll kill it!

Julie, it’s over a hundred up there! Shouldering her aside, he fiddled with the burner until hot propane gas ignited with a roar like distant thunder and sent a yellow-edged tongue of flame into Thundercloud’s yawning mouth. It’s probably already dead. He read the meters. And we’ll soon be likewise at this rate!

The burner roared on, and he was relieved to see that the variometer said their fall was slowing, but they were low now, and the valley breeze they had been descending in order to ride was carrying them towards a motorway’s high embankment, presenting Matt with a dilemma. He could let the basket smack painfully, but otherwise relatively safely into it – and create havoc as twenty metres of collapsing fabric draped itself over all four lanes. Or he could try to get across – safer for the traffic, but worse for them if they happened to collide with a fast-moving vehicle.

Think light! he said with a tight grin and checked the fuel valve, then wriggled in next to Julie and, like her, braced himself between the load frame’s padded uprights. For a moment it seemed they must fall short. Then the wickerwork scraped the near barrier, trailed at an acute angle across the central reservation and all but catapulted them down the far slope as it slammed against the boundary fence.

Out! he growled as Thundercloud’s envelope, slowly deflating onto scrubby growth a good five metres below, threatened to drag the basket with it. He closed the valve and followed her over the basket’s rim, where, unusually pale behind her freckles, she clung to him until the tension began to ease. An odd car hurtled by, but with no obvious sign of a problem, none even slowed.

Unfastening his helmet, Matt rubbed his bearded cheek. There was I, hoping that – just this once – we’d reach the farm without having to drag George out!

Julie glanced down the carriageway towards the slip road her brother would use. At least this time he won’t have much trouble finding us.

If he can drive for laughing! Matt’s own laugh was rueful. Brought down by a buzzard! Won’t he have a picnic with that? And your dad!

Not to mention certain lads in your classes.

Matt’s face fell. Don’t remind me. He waved his head. That prospect’s enough to make me wish you’d never seen the blasted bird!

I was only trying to help, she bridled as she removed her helmet and released a tumble of dark brown, wavy hair. You’re always on about how hard it is to judge wind direction near the ground, now that chimneys don’t smoke anymore.

I know, I know, he pacified. Hovering, head into the wind – it was the perfect weather vane. Only I expected it to dive long before we got that near. He shrugged and took Julie’s cellular telephone from a pocket on the basket’s rim. Let’s hope George gets here sharpish! If this lot isn’t on his truck before the police see it, there’ll be trouble.

But it was hardly our fault. And I don’t think we’re breaking any laws.

No? A grin tugged the corner of his mouth. What about roasting a protected species? Then he scowled, not so much at the possibility of prosecution as the certainty of schoolboy scorn. Look, do we need to mention the bird. Just tell everybody the para came adrift.

And if the police turn up and want to see it?

He glanced up and down the motorway, then after throwing his gloves into the basket realised his fingers were slightly shaking from the shock of the crash landing. He thrust the mobile at her. You call George. I’ll dispose of the body.

She eyed the scrubby embankment. Oh yes? Where?

Matt briefly considered pulling up enough of the winter-bleached tussocks beyond the embankment to cover it, but as he stepped over the barrier, the grin returned. In the basket of course! Tell George to warn your mother we could be late – but we’re bringing our own meat.

The sour retort on Julie’s lips was forestalled by a screech of brakes. They turned to see a silver off-road vehicle approaching from the east, black smoke belching from its bonnet. It stopped beside the section of barrier that Thundercloud had crossed minutes earlier, and the driver’s door slid open, liberating billowing black clouds – but no driver.

Matt quickly grabbed a fire blanket and extinguisher from their brackets on the outside of the basket, and racing to the burning vehicle he turned and shouted back to Julie Call an ambulance.

When he reached the blazing vehicle, he ducked down to look under the smoke and saw the driver, the only occupant, feebly struggling to release his seat belt as flames spurted from the bulkhead round his legs. No time for the extinguisher in this blaze, Matt grabbed the flailing right arm and tugged, but the belt was restraining the man’s head and left shoulder, and Matt whipped his hand away when a larger burst of flame briefly engulfed the unfortunate fellow’s upper torso and head, causing him to scream in agony.

Matt winced in sympathy; even from his crouched position, the heat was overpowering. Cursing the realization that his gloves were still in the basket, he drew his hands back into his parka sleeves, gritted his teeth, threw his arms round the now inert legs and heaved them out of the door. A further tug drew the head under the belt and the man slumped heavily onto the road.

Meanwhile another car had pulled up and its driver ducked alongside Matt. They hauled the unconscious victim hurriedly clear of his vehicle and threw the blanket over him to smother the flames. Matt tore off his smouldering parka and blew on his reddened hands and arms, scorched despite the sleeves. The other motorist spotted the extinguisher and aimed it at the car, but gave up when the fire flared to become a raging inferno. I’m qualified in first aid, he said. Is there anything I can do for you?

Matt spotted Julie crossing the carriageway. Better see what you can do for him. He turned to her. Any luck?

They’re on their way – and the police. She threw up her eyes. Phew! What next? Mum reckons disasters always come in… Matt, your poor arms!

Looking down, Matt saw that huge blisters had already erupted and he caught a mixture of odours – the smell like burning wool from the smoking nylon, the characteristic stink of singed hair, and another, richer component. Lowering his head, he located the source – a black-rimmed pink flake adhering to his right wrist and causing the most pain. Instinctively he flicked it, but only after his finger had contacted its hot softness and it was curling off into the road did the texture and the savoury smell come together in his mind. Grilled pork! Flesh from the poor guy under the blanket! A cold nausea washed over Matt. He staggered a few paces, then fell beside the barrier in a dead faint.

Chapter 2

The flash of colour that moved into the two-bed bay in the Burns and Plastic ward and brought Matt out of his sombre reverie was not the wife, who was already late, but his colleague and co-pilot Julie. As his eyes cleared, she smiled, leaned over and kissed him cautiously on each cheek.

How’s our hero? You look surprised to see me.

No! No, it’s just that… He took in the simple but elegant yellow frock she was wearing. You’re a refreshing sight for jaded eyes.

This? She glanced down. Hardly! I bought it before I left Paris; must be five years old. Nevertheless she stepped back and did a sprightly half-twirl of the full skirt.

A change from your jeans, or the – well, the…

Go on, say it – the dowdy two-pieces I wear for teaching.

I was going to say the shell-suit you fly in. But I wouldn’t call your school outfits dowdy.

Everyone else does – even Mum.

No, they lend you an air of dignity.

That’s the intention. She sat on the chair beside the bed. Being so – let’s say longitudinally disadvantaged, if I were to dress down, like most of our colleagues, you wouldn’t know me from the kids. Matt found that hard to believe; some of the senior girls might be more shapely, many were taller, but none could match her air of authority when she was with them, not even some of the teachers – and certainly not he himself! She placed her handbag on the locker. Enough of me, Matt. What’s all this about jaded eyes?

I’m bored stiff! As I said on the phone, I’ve only partial burns, yet here I am, arms stuck out like I’m a horizontal sleepwalker. Can’t even read the papers.

She peered through the bags. They’re improving.

I suppose so. But you can cut the hero bit! Heroes don’t swoon… He glanced at the other bed in the open bay and lowered his voice. …at the smell of burning flesh.

Julie shook her head. That man who helped you said it wasn’t unusual to pass out after extensive burning. Something about a drop in blood pressure. Her face hardened. But he’s really got up my nose! I was telling your A-levels they wouldn’t be seeing you for a bit, saying you risked your life pulling a driver from a blazing car.

My life wasn’t in danger.

What if the petrol tank had blown up?

It was a diesel. And I think you’ll find it’s only in films that burning cars always explode.

Anyway, I thought I saw one or two we-know-better looks…

There you are! Kids have got loads of street cred these days.

She shook her head impatiently. That wasn’t it. Her thick brows came together. "That pipsqueak has been mouthing off on local radio!"

No harm in that; he was a great help.

"Help? He made it sound like he’d pulled the driver from the car! And then exercised his skills on both of you till the ambulance got there."

Didn’t he? He gave her a rueful smile. Remember, I wasn’t paying that much attention.

There was hardly time; the paramedics were soon on the scene. But from the way he talked, you’d got your burns as a passenger in the car! No wonder those kids were disbelieving; probably assumed I was glamorizing your role for… well, for personal reasons.

Matt laughed. They would! But does it matter? The whole school knew of his frequent ballooning trips with Julie and inevitably assumed there was more to their association than a love of lighter-than-air flight. As long as the police know the facts…

Oh, the police! They were a real bunch! I told them all that had happened, starting with the buzzard. Right? She saw his grimace. I had to, Matt! It was still in the envelope. A good job, too, because they weren’t for believing me! Rolled about laughing at the idea of a mere bird bringing down a balloon! And scoffed at the likelihood of two disconnected accidents happening at the same time and place.

Obviously they hadn’t heard of me!

"They said it was more likely the poor man had lost control trying to avoid us! In fact one of them was all for taking me straight off for questioning, but I managed to coax him down to Thundercloud with me and fish the bird out."

Despite his concern, Matt smiled to himself at the thought of her coaxing; although normally placid, he had heard she could be a tartar when roused. It was a hen, she continued. Feathers singed off and done to a turn. Smelled a bit like... She bit off the ‘your arms’. "Like mum’s cooking! Anyway, no wonder Thundercloud came down so quickly, Matt. The buzzard’s legs were tangled in the rip-line, so the para was held open."

Mm, we were lucky; it could have been a very painful touchdown.

After that, they were a bit more reasonable. One of them reversed his patrol car quite a way along the hard shoulder and came back with a piece of fuel injector. It was off the Honda and had been exposed to flames. They messed about taking measurements and making chalk marks round the basket. Then they let me call George. But I still had to go with them and sign a statement.

"So George had to pack Thundercloud all by himself?"

At first. He was still struggling when they took me back. One of the officers took pity and gave us a hand loading it on the truck!

So it all came right in the end.

That’s what I thought. She flared again. Till I saw this evening’s paper! I was ready for the `LOCAL HERO SAVES COUPLE FROM BLAZING CAR’ bit, and for most of the rest. But the last bit took my breath away: ‘It is understood that the fire started when the car got into difficulties avoiding a hot-air balloon that had come down on the motorway.’!

Matt laughed at the ferocious glint in her eyes. Local papers never get a tale straight. Your pipsqueak probably gave them that last bit. In a more sober voice he asked: Have you told anybody about the bird?

Well, the police, obviously. She placed a placatory hand on his shoulder. And George, of course. And Mum and Dad.

Keep it at that, please! Even as he spoke, the irony struck him. There was Julie, young and diminutive, who ran her classes with a firm hand. If news of their ridiculous aerial encounter should reach the school, she would have no problems. Whereas he was quaking at the prospect.

A fit of hoarse coughing from the other bed caused her to glance back. The driver? And when Matt nodded: How bad?

Physically, not as bad as you might expect. He leaned closer and whispered: He has twenty percent burns, mostly on his legs and hands, though some of them are quite deep. And they don’t like that cough.

Julie’s thick brows rose. You’re very knowledgeable!

Matt shrugged. They seem to think I should hear every detail, more even than about my own condition. Probably to help relieve my boredom.

"So what’s your prognosis, Doctor Davies?"

Matt grinned. They’re hoping to do plastic surgery on him tomorrow. They say his chances are reasonable, even at that age.

How old is that? The man had a good head of hair, where it had escaped the flames, but it was snowy white.

That’s the trouble; he hasn’t said a word to anybody, so they can only assume it was his own car he was driving. In which case, fine; the police say he’s eighty-two, but fit as a fishmonger’s cat. He’s outlived all his relatives and runs the ancestral home without help.

And if it’s not him?

Then before they operate, they need to know all sorts of things, like if he was already bronchial before the fire, what medication he’s on, whether he’s got any allergies, or a heart condition. Is he dumb, possibly? Sitting up without support from his elbows was a strain, so Matt lay back. They’ve asked me to hit that bell push the moment he murmurs.

Julie eyed Matt’s arms. Oh yes. How?

I can unhook them if I need.

They certainly look better without those awful blisters. I’ll bet your wife was horrified when she saw them.

She hasn’t. Matt saw Julie’s eyebrows rise and explained: They didn’t manage to contact her till this morning, and she told them she couldn’t make it till late. Coaching a couple of hopefuls for the Tennis Cup.

But that’s not till…! Julie hesitated, then glanced at the window. I suppose they have to catch the fine weather while it lasts.

Matt, too, had been surprised at his wife’s sense of priorities, although perhaps less so than Julie, in view of the state of his marriage. He craned his neck and saw bare branches rocking against the evening sky. They’ll be all right. The wind’s from the west. The school courts are sheltered on that side. Too gusty for flying, though. He turned a crestfallen smile on her. Not that I can offer you any of that for a while.

That’s fine. I can catch up with some of the jobs I’ve been putting off.

The alacrity of her response caught Matt’s attention. During the time they had been flying together, she had become keener than he, always the one to ring whenever conditions looked right and George was going to be available for retrieval duties. He remembered too her unusual pallor as she climbed out of the basket. That landing shook you up more than most. Are you getting cold feet?

"Of course not! But I’ve been promising for ages I’d go down to Ann’s for a weekend. And if you like I’ll see about getting Thundercloud mended. The hand was back on his shoulder. Does that reassure you?"

Matt was about to answer when a movement behind Julie distracted him. Virginia! he exclaimed. We… We were just talking about you.

So it would seem, said his wife, her half-lidded eyes on Julie’s outstretched hand and her head turned away and held high in what Matt recognized as her ‘bad smell’ expression. Virginia Davies was a slim ash-blonde, much taller than Julie and fifteen years her senior. She was wearing a figure-hugging floral dress with flounces at neck, hem and wrists, and Matt watched her glance flick over the younger woman’s simpler but more elegant attire. No need to leave on my account, she elocuted in a soft, but icy voice with a faint, equally cold smile, eyes focused just beyond Julie’s head.

I’ve only… Julie glanced back at Matt, whose discomfort was clearly no longer merely physical. I was just leaving. She leaned forward and pecked him on each cheek, then picked up her handbag. I’ve been bringing our hero up to date.

Virginia, her gaze still distant, stepped past her and sat on the edge of the chair. Julie paused at the foot of the bed. I nearly forgot; Mum and Dad send their best wishes. And George, of course. She raised a hand. ‘Bye Matt, and take it easy! I’ll try and pop in again tomorrow evening.

Matt raised a bag in acknowledgement and turned to his wife. It’s good to see you.

Is it? snapped Virginia, her smile gone.

Well of course! He forced a chuckle. I thought our phone might be on the blink again.

I rang from school. Didn’t they pass the message on?

Oh, yes! I meant yesterday. Sister says she tried two or three times. You usually have your phone switched on.

I wasn’t expecting a call. Not even when I didn’t return? thought Matt, but let it pass. Up came her nose again. I see no reason why I should sit at home…

It doesn’t matter, soothed Matt. They were busy on me…

She scarcely paused. "…while you’re off floating round the country in that thing, with that woman – who seems to think it brave to cause some poor driver to be burned almost to death!"

Matt nodded frantically in the direction of the other bed. The fire wasn’t down to us, he soothed. The reports are a bit garbled.

The police wouldn’t put out false information. She had great faith in the infallibility of the establishment.

No, but the press did. He sat upright. You see, what actually happened was this…

I’m not the least interested in details! That toy, which takes up so much of your time, is uncontrollable and unsafe!

’Tis now, sighed Matt. It’s grounded!

And I hope it stays that way. She shuddered her disgust. I get parents coming up to me saying: `I saw your husband floating by the other day. Aren’t they a daring pair!’ Daring? Foolhardy, more like! She turned her face and addressed the bay entrance. My friends’ husbands fill their spare time playing cricket or golf, or watching football, not exposing themselves to ridicule, blundering about in – in a glorified laundry basket! With a woman half their age!

Matt hitched his back and sighed. Virginia, I don’t take Julie along because she’s a woman. There’s simply nobody else willing to risk their neck! They all know my record for mishaps.

You used to use sixth-formers, before she came on the scene.

I tried a couple, yes. And a real liability they turned out to be! Forever wanting to go higher, go farther, try and land on that roof – I’d have been safer flying solo! What was more, in Matt’s opinion school kids were for school hours. Not for him the various extramural activities she seemed to thrive on. Besides, without her, do you suppose George would be willing to turn out in his four-wheel drive and collect…

Oh I know the sort of woman she is all right! Although Virginia had not raised her voice, she was so incensed she was almost spitting. An innocent, helpless female, who has men falling over themselves to win her favours!

Virginia, please! George is a down-to-earth hill farmer – and her brother. What sort of favours are you suggesting he’s after? Matt kicked himself. In her present frame of mind, he had no hope of winning; countering one charge would merely provoke others, equally ridiculous. This was hardly the sort of visit he had hoped for. Admittedly their relationship had become somewhat strained in recent months, but until now she had limited her displays of rancour to the privacy of their home.

Fortunately, at that moment a nurse arrived to attend to the other patient. Virginia, who set great store by a semblance of dignity in the presence of others, swallowed whatever retort she had been about to make. Switching to a sweet voice, she chatted about less contentious issues like her day at the school – she was Senior Teacher at the Lower School of the Comprehensive where Julie and Matt taught. Matt listened with half an ear, too shaken by this latest evidence of her worsening attitude to make considered contributions to the charade, and well aware, from the way she was covertly watching the nurse, that the diatribe would resume the moment they were alone.

The nurse, however, seemed to be having difficulty regulating the drip-feed on a pipe dangling from a plasma bottle. And while she fiddled, she chattered away to the patient about all sorts of things: her boyfriend, her workload, the weather, the fluidized mattress the man was lying on, – apparently anything that came to mind.

Matt wondered if the adjustments were a cover, her main aim being to coax him out of his silence. The ward sister had said that, despite mild but continuous dosing with morphine, the man was conscious and sure to be suffering constant pain. Yet ever since his arrival he had lain without complaint or movement, beyond the frequent coughing. They were worried that the shock of his injuries might have affected his mind, causing him to reject communication with the outside world.

Is there anything you need? Virginia’s question broke into his speculation, and he guessed she had tired of the one-sided discourse.

I don’t think so. I might be home in a day or two.

I’d leave you my mobile, but…

We’re not allowed them in here. They interfere with the equipment.

Virginia stood up and fished in her bag. In that case, here’s some change for the phone, and a notepad and ball pen, in case you think of anything. You know how forgetful you can be at times. This last with a sweet smile, but the cordiality was all for the nurse’s benefit. And in the same vein: You’re looking tired; it can’t be very restful sleeping in that position.

So, she did notice me! thought Matt as he watched her walk elegantly from the ward. But sleep? Fat chance of that, after such a visit.

Moments later the supper trolley rattled into the bay. Matt’s grip was hampered by the bags, and by the burns cream that had worked round inside them to his palms, but by using both hands he managed to grasp the mug the auxiliary gave him. When they had gone, he sipped the hot milk and watched as the nurse, her ministrations finished, filled in the patient’s chart. Then she too went, and Matt was left with nothing to watch but the play of car headlights on the wall opposite. And while he watched he wondered.

Wondered why, after fifteen years, his marriage was apparently coming apart at the seams. On the face of it, of course, the explanation was simple. Anybody hearing Virginia’s outburst – the chap in the other bed, for instance, although he was no fit state to take much notice – would have said that Matt was a two-timer, whose other hobby his wife considered far too hazardous.

Yet he wasn’t, and she didn’t, or at least she hadn’t always done so. In fact, when his father had retired and bought Thundercloud, she herself had ridden it, more than once. True, she had been peeved when Matt eventually inherited it, but only because, as a result, he received a lesser share than his sisters did of the old man’s estate.

As to Julie, Matt had been aware since the girl’s first day on staff that his wife disliked her, although it was not until some months later that had he realized just how much…

His mind slipped back to an afternoon that previous winter, when an unforecast wind change and a problem with his old CB radio had forced him to land Thundercloud near a huddle of stone buildings on the moors north of Pendle Hill and beg the use of the farmer’s phone. But on ringing the country pub where his friend Eric was supposed to be listening out, Matt’s heart sank. From the sound of him, Eric was in no condition to drive the hired truck out of the inn’s yard, let alone find his way along unfamiliar lanes.

Matt had been racking his brain for alternative transport when help arrived in the form of the farmer’s daughter, who turned to be none other than the new teacher Julie Holt. In return for the promise of a flight at a later date, she used her brother’s four-wheel drive to transport Matt, his balloon and his sixth-form assistant to their respective destinations. And as she pulled up in front of his house, Matt, with thoughts of how the day might well have ended, sighed his relief and invited her in for a drink.

And later regretted that simple gesture. On leaving, Julie was scarcely out of sight when Virginia, who throughout the visit had maintained a nose-high, barely civil attitude, launched into a venomous tirade, against that undersized, precocious tart, and against Matt for having the presumption to dare foul their home with her presence.

Mystified, he had asked her why; had there been perhaps some dispute he hadn’t heard of at school, or before Julie had started teaching, or even during Julie’s own schooldays there? Virginia had refused any word of explanation, merely scowled and shuddered theatrically.

She had, however, made no comment on Matt’s association with the girl, even when the promised flight became a series of them, and Eric’s loss of licence left Matt dependent on brother George for transport. And Matt, for his part, always made sure he was dropped well short of his home and never mentioned Julie by name.

And this arrangement had seemed fine – until today! Now Virginia’s simple revulsion for the girl had become a whole raft of objections, including, it would seem, a hint of jealousy. Matt huffed humourlessly. The very idea that he, portly and pushing fifty, a stay-at-home type, whose only activity, aside from occasional hot-air flights, was pottering in his garden, could be amorously linked with young, ambitious Julie was preposterous.

Of course, there might have been gossip; some elements of the staff room seemed to thrive on it. Whatever the cause, though, if he was looking for an improvement in his home life, and he most certainly was, then it might henceforth be prudent to see as little of Julie as possible outside school hours, at least for the time being. And to that end, Thundercloud’s disablement might well be fortuitous.

During these reflections he had lost track of time, his wrist watch having been ruined by the flames, but the sound of approaching voices and the rattle of dispensing apparatus told him that medication time, the final event of a patient’s day, had arrived.

The night sister in charge of the ritual was middle-aged, pleasant and informative. Afraid someone’s after your supper? she asked, and he grinned at the half-empty mug in his two-fisted grip. You’re looking a lot better tonight. A bout of coughing from the bed opposite caused her to glance back, then raise a querulous eyebrow, and Matt shook his head. She handed him a plastic cup containing a tablet. For your burns, she said, and he took it. And how about a couple of sleepers?

I’d rather not he frowned. I’m a teacher; I’ve seen what drug dependency can do.

Normally I’d agree. But you won’t get hooked on these. She dropped two tablets into a plastic cup and filled his water glass, then turned off his bed-light and continued her rounds.

For a while he lay with his eyes closed and considered various possible solutions to his problem. One might be to get rid of Thundercloud. The balloon was so old now that his mother could hardly object if he disposed of his father’s cherished craft. And without it, he would have no need to associate with Julie.

Alongside this and other ideas, though, came the realization that none of them could guarantee a return to the normal home life that now seemed so far in the past. Virginia’s reaction this time might have been the most extreme yet, but in recent years she had raised objection to more or less every aspect of his life, from the way he pursued his career through to his love of gardening. And if he did sacrifice his few pastimes, but to no avail, what sort of life would he be left with?

So he gave up, cleared his mind and tried for a time to sleep. But Sister was right, the unfamiliar sounds were disturbing, particularly the old man’s persistent coughing. Sitting up, he unhooked his arms and leaned over to the cabinet – oh, the sublime relief to his aching backside! He tipped the pills into his mouth, washed them down with some water and lay back to await their effect.

* * * *

Hey, Davies! D’you hear me?

Matt was awake in a moment. The hoarse croak seemed to be coming from the bed opposite. Yes, he replied and reached for the bell push. Hang on; I’ll call a nurse.

No! I don’t want them to know I can talk. The croak became a fit of coughing, and it was some time before the man tried again. It’s essential you tell no-one. Your life could depend on it!

He’s deranged, thought Matt as the coughing resumed, and he recalled a brief stay in hospital during his teens, when an old chap on the ward had become regularly confused the moment the lights went down, to such extent that the staff had occasionally found it necessary to use physical restraint.

Let me get Sister? She could probably…

Don’t interrupt! ‘May not be a lot of time. I was hoping they wouldn’t go this far, but now that they have, there’ll be no turning back. The coughing gradually subsided. Still got the pad your wife left?

I think so… Yes. The man might be rambling, but he had clearly taken in what had been said earlier.

Write this down: Tucker…

Just a minute! Matt leaned over and groped on the cabinet. Ready.

Tucker Haulage and Storage, 24 Keep Street. It’s a warehouse in Manchester. Give that address personally – don’t ring! – to a chappie called Maitland – Gerald, I believe – at the University. Got all that? Between fits of stifled coughing, he repeated the details in a voice that was rapidly becoming too hoarse to understand. There’s a crate there – another GMD. Tell him… The coughs became muffled, as if directed beneath the covers. Tell him to watch out. He knows they stole the first, and now presumably its replacement from my car boot.

Your car was burnt out.

Good. I knew they’d try again, so I built a dummy. Sent the real one ahead. Don’t breathe a word to anyone but him. And remind him that the name has to be…

During the prolonged spasm that followed, the sister hurried in. She raised the man’s head and shoulders so that he could use the sputum bowl, then set up an oxygen mask for him. Matt closed his eyes, wondering if the old guy would recall any of his ramblings in the morning.

Matt thought he heard that croaky voice again, then realized it was more of the coughing. There was only night illumination and the window was black; he must have slept a while. The lamp over the other man’s bed came on and lit up the face of a nurse who had come to attend to him. Matt was immediately struck by her startling attractiveness; black hair cut fairly short and the most alluring oriental features he had ever seen. Why is it he gets her, while I land up with the old ones? he wondered, despite his drowsiness.

She filled a syringe from an ampoule on the bedside locker and injected its contents into the pipe that ran from the bottle to the patient’s wrist. That struck Matt as unhygienic, untidy even; she had not wiped the pipe before piercing it and he felt sure that plasma would leak through the hole. He had seen other staff disconnect the dosing pipe from its three-way connector and feed in their treatment there. But no doubt each method had its pros and cons. He watched her leave without disturbing the man or marking his charts, then drifted back into a doped slumber.

Chapter 3

Although half awake, Matt lay with his eyes still closed, captivated by a grey and white vision against the pink backdrop of his eyelids of the oriental beauty he had watched during the night. There were voices and other sounds not far away, but he was loath to pay attention in case the vision should fade.

Morning, Matt! This one broke in from beside his head, and he whipped round, eyes wide and hopeful. I’m just going to check your blood pressure. She was passably good-looking – but sadly not the one. Dizzy from the move, he returned his drug-befuddled head to the pillow, and as she wrapped the black cuff round his upper arm and the pump buzzed he closed his eyes in the hope of a repeat viewing. But there was nothing, and he must have dozed; when he opened them again the nurse and her equipment had gone.

Grey cloud beyond a rain-spattered window showed it was morning, and the rattle of crockery meant that breakfast was on its way. Perhaps the goddess would return in the flesh before night duty ended. Hers might even be one of the voices behind the curtain round the other bed.

While he was spooning his cereal, however, the curtain was drawn back to reveal no flower of the Orient – or even a patient. The bedcovers had been removed, laying bare the deep mattress the nurse had enthused over. Gone too was the apparatus that had monitored and sustained the man, who was presumably being readied for surgery.

After the meal, a rather sullen nurse came to clean Matt up before the Consultant’s rounds. When she had finished, he enquired about the other patient.

Mr Porritt? I’m afraid he passed away during the night.

Matt reeled; it seemed only minutes since he had listened to that croaking voice. But I was talk… He recalled the man’s admonitions. I was told he wasn’t in any great danger.

Her parting response was supercilious. I’m sure they did all they could. At the foot of the bed she paused. Look, upsetting yourself about it won’t help now. Your own injuries seem to be doing quite well. Once you’re home, things won’t look quite as bad.

She seemed to have misread his concern, but he let her go, anxious to sort out his own confusion. He realized that in these new circumstances he ought to report his nocturnal conversation. But what if he had dreamed it, and made those scrawls on the notepad in his sleep? He would look ridiculous. And if the old chap really had spoken, but gibberish, then they might regard Matt’s failure to hit the bell push as contributing to his unexpected demise.

There remained the third possibility – Matt thought back to the gorgeous nurse and the seemingly unprofessional way she had administered her supposed treatment, and he broke out in a sweat. To admit he had witnessed that might well prove equally fatal for him. No, his best course of action would clearly be none at all, just stay quiet – and look forward to getting away from that place as soon as possible.

The Consultant duly arrived, trailing a team of white-coated underlings, and pronounced himself satisfied with Matt’s progress. He prescribed lighter dressings and said hospitalization was no longer needed. Matt could scarcely keep his face straight as they trooped out of the bay.

The ward sister hung back. Can’t wait, can you? She smiled with him. As soon as they’re off the ward, I’ll get your paperwork sorted out and send staff in to do your dressing. She came closer. I’ve been putting her straight, so I think you’ll find her somewhat chastened. Or if you prefer, you can have a different nurse.

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask for the Chinese girl, but he guessed that she would by now be off-duty. I’m not sure I follow you, Sister.

She wasn’t unpleasant? Only I overheard her saying you were obviously feeling guilty.

What about?

Mr Porritt’s death. She’d read the newspaper account of the fire.

Ah, I see. And she assumes that I caused it?

They all did. But I happened to be down in Casualty when you were brought in and the police told me what had happened. I’ve put my lot straight.

Thank you. I remember now, she did say something about not upsetting myself. He shrugged. But you can hardly blame her; it’s the paper’s fault.

Too true. And if I were you, I’d insist that they publish a retraction. But my main concern was her unprofessional behaviour. Whatever my nurses know – or think they know – their duty here is to care for patients, not judge them. She moved towards the entrance. Next thing you know, they’ll be deciding who to treat and who not!

Mm, I suppose so. Matt frowned. Mr er…Porritt – what went wrong?

According to the night log, he simply stopped breathing. They tried everything, but couldn’t revive him. She came back to the foot of the bed. Did his cough get any worse?

Possibly a bit more frequent. But yesterday you were all quite hopeful.

Certainly we’ve saved older ones than him, and with worse injuries. But it can happen. A patient will be holding his own. Then suddenly his mind ups and says, ‘That’s enough! I’m fighting on too many fronts.’ And he dies! She set off again and his next question was half out before he remembered his resolve.

I was talking to one of the nurses during the night. You wouldn’t happen to know her name? Small, dark-haired – Chinese, I think.

You mean working? Here? During the night?

Seeing to Mr Porritt.

There’s no-one fits that description – on either shift. What time was this?

He shrugged. After lights out.

She picked up his chart. And you’d taken these pills?

Sister Gornall persuaded me.

She pursed her lips. In that case, Matthew, I doubt if you were capable of talking sense to anyone! You must have dreamt her. Up went an eyebrow. Was she nice? she teased, and hurried on her way.

A dream! Matt sagged back against the pillows as relief washed over him like a wave. Just a drug-induced hallucination! But vivid – he could still visualize those lovely features. Mind-bending too; despite Virginia’s tirade he was no womaniser. Like any man, he could appreciate a pretty face or a fine figure, but was quite happy to do so from a distance. Never since his youth had he felt so strong a desire to know a woman better – could feel it still, even though he was now aware of its psychedelic source.

With the benefit of hindsight, he could see how some aspects of the dream might have derived.