Fallen Angel (ch41)

                            start of  FALLEN  ANGEL

👰 Since leaving NHS care after two more surgeries, this was the first day of being coherent enough at her new facility to remember where she was on waking. Her painkillers and sedation had been on the heavy side, but levelled reduction was refreshing her memory bit by bit.

   Breakfast over, she was pillow-plumped and angled as close to upright as was comfortably possible.  Her room was of the highest standard with modern decor and homely necessities; side screen plasma on wall with cable TV, hi-fi and Wi-Fi, spacious en suite, midi fridge - all the requisites any luxury hotel may offer.  But as soon as a doctor or nurse enters the room starkly reminded one that this was no holiday break, no matter how efficient and pleasant the surroundings. A regular stream of having digital numbers squished from your arm, catheter changes and needles rammed into the back of your hand were but a few to put paid to that.  As beautiful a retreat as Rowan Lea is, taking just one step from a room puts one in clinical overdrive. Still, having ones own space (albeit with interruptions) was better than being in a ward with others.

Neil showed up for this morning's consultation over Saskia's impending therapies (he was funding her stay after all) and it sounded as if she was in for one laboriously hard time. Prior to him attending, he was informed that she had not been her bright and breezy self.  Since visiting times were far more permissible here, her assigned nurse, Lawrence, suggested that Neil took her outside for a short while; the day was beautiful and she hadn't as yet taken in any fresh air. It might even help lighten her mood. 

   It was harrowing to watch her being hoisted into an modified wheelchair. The cast on her right leg needing careful management, and extreme wariness washed over her face during the process, but she was safely ensconced in no time. And since Neil had never moved any chair with wheels apart from an office one, Lawrence thought it best to accompany them. Directions and sensor doors were well signposted, but her particular chair was more awkward to to maneuver, so the extra guidance wouldn't go amiss.

   General chit-chat arose from the two men as they walked, with Lawrence pointing out some of the rooms her recovery would take place in. Neil was, however, more relieved to have gotten her to the Phase 1 Boundary destination - a distance with a quick returning time if a need were to arise - without bashing her leg into anything. The male nurse left after settling them at a courtyard table all ensconced under a huge marquis shelter-roof. 

 Curiosity had Neil walking over to the enclosing fence for a better view, and was struck with wonder. With Rowan Lea situated fairly high up, the panoramic view was grandiose and astounding. Storm-beaten statues, nude and proud, watched over ponds with hissing fountains, while riots of colour threw themselves around. Vast ranges of flowers and intricate topiary shapings dominated the north view, and to the left, an original 18th century orchard was yet fructiferous, with stage-planted saplings helping to hang on to tradition. To his far right - though too far for a proper view - families of swans claimed space in a man made lake. The online gallery pictures of Rowan Lea were persuading enough - being here was on another level. This was viewed from the north side only, there were other radial delights to discover. It was a shame she couldn't appreciate the full view until on her feet again. He sauntered back over to her, mentally noting to bring binoculars at his next visit. 

   'Are you okay, there?'

   'Yes, but I feel I'm insulting the surroundings by wearing this bright yellow track suit, less one of its legs.' 

   He took that as a good sign, at first; to be caring about her appearance. Beverly still hadn't brought in clothes for her, so it was just as well there were boxes of donated attire from ex-patients. The thought of her choosing what clothes of her own would be for the chop felt daunting enough for him, never mind her!

  'Why don't we order some stuff  online once we're back in your room? Shorts and baggy bottoms wouldn't go amiss, would they?

   'Yeah, that would be great, I've not much else apart from nightgowns and this ruddy....' She pulled at her chest '... canary abomination.' 

   'Well, we can't have that, can we?'

   'I'd appreciate, it. Thanks, Da—'

   Neil smiled and looked away, diverting the awkwardness as she cut the last word short. ' That's okay, I saw the physio and occupational therapist this morning, they mentioned they'd come in handy.'

   'Sure would. Mum's in no hurry to see me okay for clothes, she seems to think this place is a hospital. So why couldn't she make the review with you, this morning?'

   'Couldn't get cover at work,' he made up as an excuse, not sure if that was the case or not. Saskia had no idea that they preferred to avoid each other. 

   'What about later on?'  

   'I'm not sure, sweetheart.'  

   'Okay,' she replied, trying to appear impassive about it.

   Thence onwards, as they sipped away from their mugs, Neil struggled conversing with her. When she wasn't in a world of her own, she was apathetic; impervious to general chatter that usually carried her opinionated girly blabbing. She hardly locked eyes with him, and he sensed everything was going to be gloom and doom; he doubted she'd even attempt to put on a front. 

   It was tough she needed to be here for such a long time, and he knew she was terrified by all the changes she had to acquire to, but he had to try to keep up a positive view of where she was, despite her  wanting nothing more than to be walking out the door with him. 

    'I was shown around the exercise and recovery rooms...' he started with. 'Some amazing equipment there - treadmills and all sorts.'

  'Won't be using those for weeks yet, though,' she said, with a weak smile, twirling her cotton hanky round her fingers, 'I've to start with gentle bed exercises first.'

  'I know...' he replied, trying his best to use caution and sympathy sagaciously,  'once your cast's off, it must be a pain. How do you manage sleep with it?'

   'I'm usually staring at the wall or the ceiling. They cut off  TV and music by midnight so you're in with a shout, but I don't always get a full night's sleep despite it being so deathly quiet.' 

    'Couldn't they give you a mild sedative?'

   'They already do, but it doesn't always work. Besides, I'm on medication reduction now.'

   It seemed the reduced medication had opened up and invited reality in, he thought. 

   'But at least you're able to get around in you chair now. Laurence was telling me there's a tropical butterfly house at the top end of the grounds.' It was something open to the public to help fund the running of Rowan Lea. 'We could visit that sometime, bring your mum along,' he was willing to try.

   She didn't answer; this positive view wasn't quite hitting any mark he hoped it might.

   'There's always the flower nursery and the topiary gar—'

   'Neil!' she interrupted, loudly. He was way ahead of himself, desperately throwing his guilt-ridden future at her. 'It's okay. You don't have to pretend that things will be fine. I'm more gathered in my thoughts now, I've pretty-much had things spelled out for me. I know there's no guarantee I can clutch on to that'll bring back the normal me. This might be it, as good as it gets.'

   He sat, close to tears, seeing the dull fear in those once sparkling eyes, feeling the pain he'd inflicted upon her, gutted that he couldn't buy some magical remedy. His insides felt as tight as the hankie she was twisting; unsure what to do, uncertain what to say.

   'This place is beautiful, luxurious, but it's promise-free. That's how it is. I've got to learn to adjust, but I still feel so weak.' Right now, her head felt as if it was made of delicate grass, and her whole body, never mind one damned leg, felt like concrete. There would have to be enormous effort to deal with such fearsome prognosis - a long, sorry slog with no assured result and the guilt was tearing him apart. 

   'I'm so sorry, Saskia. You wouldn't be here if I hadn't arranged for us to meet that night.'  

   'No,' she said, as she slowly shook her head, 'I wouldn't be here if I hadn't fucked you over to begin with.'

   'But I was never angry enough to see you like this.' 

   Eyes cast downwards, she told him, 'I'm not going to lie, I'm terrified I'll never walk again...  I don't know if I can muster optimism for anything.'

   'You've got to try, kiddo.'

   'But I'm struggling, Neil. I still can't come to terms with what I've put you through. All this... ' she lightly tapped her plaster cast, '... doesn't compare to how I felt when I knew I'd lost you.' 

    This would have to be put to bed pronto. He wasn't fully sure of how his own thoughts and feelings lay right now, but a guilt trip on her would only zap her strength even more, and she needed every bit of energy for recovery, he couldn't allow this to dominate her thoughts - even if he had to lie.

   'Hey... hey, look at me.... people can find again, Saskia.'

   'I know, you should, you probably will.'

   'Fuck, sake...' he closed his eyes and tilted his head to the heavens, shook it for two seconds and and locked eyes with her again. 'Let me try and find you again now we can do that with a clean slate. Did you think I was gonna piss off the second you are back on your feet?' 

   Saskia squirmed awkwardly in her chair, trying to sit more forward but failing. 'No, please don't say that, I'm a different version now, might even be like this forever. You can't commit to a burden like this, and why would you want to after what you were put thr—' 

   'I was hurt, Saskia,' he said aloud, shutting her up, adamant she listened. Sod any lies, he was going to be brutally honest with her, it was as well coming out to be put to bed, and maybe then she'd concentrate on the physical fight ahead.

   'I never felt pain or shame like it before. I meant what I said that night of your accident, I really was  getting rid of you. I'd convinced myself hurt would ease with time, and anger would eradicate the good memories. I was resolutely assured that was it, as I made my way back home.

   That lasted an hour, one fucking hour. From telling you face on, that I never wanted to see you again, I was making my way back to see if you were okay. I couldn't cope with the fact that I'd struck you. But  seeing that ambulance there terrified me. I thought I'd lost you... for good, and in that moment of fear I didn't give a shit about anything else - past or present.'

   Listening intently to words that she felt  unworthy of, she'd closed her eyes, trying to envision the scene, but he grasped her hanky-scrunching hand on the table and wiggled it to regain her attention. 'Saskia... I was never going to win over what I was fighting, you're too... persistent...remediless and unending... '

   She bit down on her bottom lip, giving her head a mini shake. 'I've no bloody idea what you mean...'

   He smiled and made a simplified conclusion. 'Young lady... I believe I'm very much stuck with you, like a bogie that doesn't ping!' He fake-picked his nose, flicked his finger again and again in demonstration, making her snigger.

   'Haven't been likened to a bogie before, but it's kind of sweet.'   

Over forgiveness or begrudging, death or survival, he would have missed her pale face, wily heart, funny quips, imperfections and impulsions. The yearning would have grown even though she'd torn his mind, ruptured his heart and tortured his soul. 'We'll do one day at a time, kiddo, till you're sick at the sight of me....' She believed that promise by the tone of his voice.

   'I don't deserve you,' she said, wiping the wet from her cheek the sleeve cuff, despite the holding her tissue. 'I couldn't imagine getting to this point without you. I'm still so fucking scared, Neil.' she added in a whisper.

   'I know, I am too... ' he told her honestly, reaching across, removing and discarding the well-twisted man-sized from her to grasp her bare hand, '... so let's shit ourselves together then, aye?'

   She gave a meek smile, to accompany her meek nod.

  'Good.' he said, sealing the deal by tapping her hand and leaning back on his chair. 'So no more tears, let's just sit here and enjoy this view that I'm paying an arm and... ' he jokingly pointed at her cast, '... that leg for!'

    She picked up the gruesome energy bar he'd bought them both, and washed it down with very tepid coffee. Ten minutes later, she complained of backache and without calling Lawrence to help walk them back, he wheeled her himself. As much as it aggrieved him to be doing what he was doing, he was as well trying to build his confidence in steering this contraption while 'if-need-be help' was around. It would be her means of mobility for a good while. God forbid it to be permanent. 

 

By the time Neil had popped out to call Beverly with a progress report on her daughter, the nurses had changed her and hoisted her back into bed. Almost immediately afterwards, she was out for the count and had asked them to say goodbye for her. He was pleased she was beginning catching up on natural sleep while her body adjusted to the shock of what it had endured; he didn't like the thought of the chemical cocktails she had previously required going on much longer. The mind and soul needed natural balance and routine, and ample preparation for it's comeback.

  He picked a flower from the accumulating vases on her sill, placed one in her hand, and at fifteen hundred hours, kissed her goodnight.  'See you tomorrow, kiddo.' he whispered. 'We'll do our shopping then.'

*********************************************************************************

For the most part, she was adapting to her stay in Rowan Lea.  The planned treatment had included holistic therapies, which had the advantage of going ahead even if confined to a chair.  At one time Neil would have scoffed at such regimen, and her talking about such things as aroma and colour therapies never quite piqued his interest, but they were instrumental in keeping her emotional  - and spiritual - chin up, and for that he was grateful. And once her physical self got stronger, she would take part in more physical curatives.

   Seven weeks had passed since her surgery, and the time for Saskia to try to stand had come. Her cast had been removed a week prior and a high calcium food range had been executed by a dietitian throughout her stay to hopefully give her bones a boost.  That wasn't to say it would have major benefit, but she agreed to the said menu regardless. 

   Her overnight pattern of disturbances had improved vastly since pain was easing, and she was now sleeping through the majority of the night and felt rested on waking. Today she felt chipper, quietly confident she would stand, as she kept to her bed physio religiously. 

  Neil arrived to support her through this vital attempt, and it was hard to see what jacket he was wearing for yet another vast floral bouquet in his hands. 

   'My good God... we're running out of vases and window sills, Mr. Balfour... the place has an overpowering scent of pollen with flowers everywhere... '

   Orlagh - both a trained nurse and allocated companion of the Rowan Trust appointed for Saskia - was in the room playing a game of cards with her. The older Irish woman - with a wicked sense of humour and a no nonsense approach - had bonded with her patient from the start. Saskia had lost count of the amount of 'feckings' she'd heard since befriending her. Orlagh put her cards down on the bed face up, cutting short their game now that Neil had arrived, and told Saskia, in no uncertain terms, that she'd lost that one anyhow.

   'Right,' the rather titch and stout Irishwoman said aloud, standing to take the flowers from him, 'best get these in some water. It's not the fecking law to bring bunches in on every visit you know, you can come in without them!' she called as she exited the room. What Orlagh lacked in height, she made up for in oomph.

   'She's right, you know, Neil.'  

   'Just feel you've got to really, don't you? I promise I'll stop.' He leaned down to land a gentle kiss on her cheek, and parked himself on the bed. 'How are you, anyhow?'

   She shrugged. 'Bit nervous. Mr. Harness says if I can hold my weight unaided for ten seconds they might try me on taking a few steps, too.'

   Neil felt dubious about this. The orthopedic update he was given yesterday didn't mention taking any steps. 'Think you're up to that, so soon?'

   'It's all about attitude. See that painting that's been hanging there?' 

   'What, the abstract one?' 

   'What does it say to you?'

   Neil thought for a moment. 'Too many askew lines and the symmetry on the face is all to pot. Shit artist,' he concluded bluntly.

   'Well...wasn't an artist, per se, but the last person to occupy my room. I've to take that one home and create one for the person who'll be here after me. We never know who painted them, obviously, but it's meant to help psychologically with your recovery.'

   'Really?'  Neil frowned, it seemed a bit absurd to him. 

   'It's part of some mental health art-initiative the centre uses under occupational therapy.'

   He was just about as confused, as he was unimpressed. 'So, what does it say to you?'

   'That's just it, it's not really saying anything. Neither positive nor negative. I felt a bit of a void until I realised it's not about the artwork but the fact that it's there at all. That speaks more to me, getting over a critical stage enough to create. And if I manage a few steps today, it'll be one step closer to making the way, by myself, to the art room - whenever I want, really.' 

   'So... any thoughts on what you'd like to paint?'

   'Not a scooby! But I've time to think yet.  I can mostly draw tech design, something involving rulers and a lot of lines, maybe, so that should talk to you.  It's not for a couple of weeks yet, but it'll be nice standing at an easel.'

   It thrilled him to see her this optimistic. Last week had been a nightmare where she was fretful, abstracted and snippy. It didn't help with Beverly cutting down her visits even more, combining work and distance as the cause, and waiving that level of importance that Saskia was to her. The buck had been passed onto Neil. He was her only visitor despite him offering to bring any friend along, but life was too complex now to allow that. She had built up a few here at least.

 A big voice boomed its way through the doors - Dr. Harness with his crew of white overalls tagging behind.  'Good afternoon, good afternoon!' His thunderous approach amused Saskia. His was a face greatly welcomed, he was always a harbinger of good news.  'Are we ready to get this car back on the road, then?'

   'Yup... let's rev her up!' She chirped back, giving her abstract canvas a glance for good luck. Whomever that artist was, she hoped his or her interpretation was one for success.

   Neil backed away to let the staff move in. The bed had been stripped bare apart from its sheet.  As practiced, Saskia kept her leg perfectly straight with the aid of a gait belt and hooked the loop of elastic round her foot, swinging round till her body sat on the edge.

   'Right, young lady, ' Dr. Harness smiled, 'we'll get you to stand and hold onto this frame. Don't worry, we got you either side. Ready?'

   A nod.

 Everyone's heart was beating with hope at this progressive stage. Neil could see her neck and face muscles tense, but pain gripped and shot up from her groin and thigh, forcing her to sit again. 'It's too sore.'

   'Okay, Saskia, let's try getting you to hold onto the frame first.'

   Not too perturbed, she was willing to give it another go. This time, bad stability accompanied the pain and her leg visibly shook. This hip-and-bone kid was not complying. Professionals all exchanged glances; not a healthy sign. Another attempt failed. Seeing how much she wanted to stand, while her legs simply gave way to gravity, frightened Neil.

   'Ah,' the usually jovial Harness gave a sigh. 'My dear... it's not going to be today. I'm afraid you'll need your parking space a bit longer.'  No sense of humour could lighten the disappointment and uselessness she felt.

   'No!' Saskia said loudly. 'One more try.'

   'Not possible young lady. Might do more harm than good.'

   'But I've done all the exercises, all the preparations and stuff - why can't I stand?'

   'It affects others differently, we talkedabout this, remember? Your healing process is just a little farther down the line. It'll make up for itself, I'm sure, when it's ready?'

   'Ready? Ready? It's been two months!'  Frustration cut through her. The initial first weeks she had felt cocooned in her bed, weighed down by plaster cast and stupidity. Patience was becoming worn, and Neil sensed a wobble coming on, so tried to nip it in the bud. 

   'C'mon, Saskia, just a few more days, kiddo.'  Oh, dear. Wrong thing to say. 

   'A few more days? Have you any idea how bloody long even one single day in here is!!'  She shouted, strong enough to echo down corridors. The two therapists left the room after a whisper from Dr. Harness, closing the doors behind them.  

   'I know,' the poor man tried to sympathise, nodding with closed eyes,  'I know it must... '

   'No you, don't! No you bloody don't!'

   She blew - no warning - into roiled, loud unexpected frenzy. Reaching over, in one fell swoop she crashed the bottles and belongings on her bedside cabinet to the ground, splashing water and glass all over Dr. Harness's shoes.

   'Not one of you know how this really feels!' 

   Neil anticipated her next move, but was unable in time to stop her leaning over and plummet her laptop, magazines and the mini ceramic pots of her favourite violets, to the floor from her over-bed table. Now soil, metal and plastic also spattered the pristine floors. One agonizing howl emanated round the room. Instantly went to her, cradling her to keep her arms still, and she and yielded to the comfort he was offering, muffling her cries into his chest. 

   'It's okay, kiddo, it's okay. You'll get there, I promise you. You're tougher than you think.'

   The sentiment only made her worse, and and the sound of her loud, struggling-to-breathe sobs hurt those around her.

   Rocking her gently, he used every ounce of his body and soul to demonstrate he was there for her. His hunch that hopes for her were to some degree a little premature, proved right. Perhaps all the positive attitude and holistic teachings she'd focused on were far too much for her, despite working for others.  She'd tried, but deep inside she was lost. How long this setback would effect her was anyone's guess. In this room rich with flowers, she was by far the wilted one.

Nothing of value could be said. There was no reassurance, no reaction, words now replaced by a deep hush. Dr. Harness mouthed to him that she should be sedated and Neil threw a significant nod back to him. It was hard to agree with, but understood. Apart from helping her pass through this day of utter despair, they had the other residents to think about. Rowan Lea had experienced such blow outs before, but they were rare.

   The nitty-gritty fact had been reached that if her condition didn't strengthen erelong, it may not at all, and Saskia wasn't the only one who now feared her being immobilised forever; next week would be crucial to her future mobility and her mental health. Having just watched her go from hopeful to hindered was gutting enough, but this misery raining down hard as he held her, was almost impossible to bear.

  The injection took rapid effect, and he lay her limp-limbed frame back down on the pillow. A life without liveliness would be no life at all. Would this annoying, pain-in-the-arse, can't-sit-still rocket ever return to earth? Dr. Harness said she would be out cold for hours, and nothing else before leaving the room.

 He sat by her side with fearsome thoughts for almost an hour until Orlagh returned and convinced him that the best place for him now was home.

          end of  FALLEN  ANGEL

Waking Up Sideways

 

  start of  ***WAKING  UP  SIDEWAYS***

🐲 If ever any circumstance could relate to the things that you see on TV from films or drama's, here it was: quick marching it into casualty at the side of a wheeled stretcher, a team of surgical and medical staff awaiting the victim, spilling numbers and stats, while nurses sidelined to help deal with the turmoil, shock and confusion.  

   'Where is she going?' Neil said aloud, watching her being hurried on along a corridor and out of sight. He kept looking around him, twisting and muttering as if trying to convince himself he was actually here, this was happening now.  Immediately he turned at a touch to his shoulder.

   'Did you travel in the ambulance with her?'  

   'Yes' 

   The nurse gave a sorrowful nod and rubbed his shoulder. 'Just follow us into the family room, bit more private in there. We'll get you a tea or coffee.'  People waiting in casualty had automatically clapped eyes onto the dramatic entrance, and he felt engulfed in this nightmare. 

   'Aye, aye. Thanks.'

   The old, greying nurse waited until he sat down and did likewise across from him, clipboard in hand, awaiting information. She had long since abandoned the comforting clichés of 'being in good hands,' knowing they do little to alleviate concern.  A junior nurse entered with his coffee and placed it on the low table in front of him, and it wasn't until he struggled to open the sugar sachet that he realised he was trembling.  

   'Here,' she whispered. 'I'll do that for you. Just the one?'

   'One, aye'.   

   They gave him a minute to try to compose himself, but for them it was another night of business as usual. Neil's head jerked up when he heard a pen clicking rapidly. 

   'I know this must be a shock, but we need to file some information, is that okay?'

   He nodded, a sickly feeling was accompanying every sip of the cheap coffee he took.

   'We've had some details from the hotel radioed in, could you just confirm them few for us?'

   'I'll try, but I don't really know what happened...there, there was a crowd gathered and someone said... ' He closed his eyes, took a few breaths, '... she'd jumped from a window—'

   ''Okay, okay. I know it's quite daunting, but it's just a few personal details we need for now, like her date of birth, address, next of kin, that sort of thing, so her name's Saskia Reymarr and she lives at.....

   Furtham Road?'

   'Aye'

   'Date of birth?'

   Neil brows furrowed. 'Ah, it's February 7th, 19... uh... sorry.'

   'And you're her father?'

   He swiped a nervous hand across his mouth and chin. 'Yes... no... sort of... ' 

   The nurses exchanged glances, often facing complexities in relationships, so they refrained from pressing further; he looked too visually traumatised to continue efficiently.

    'Is there a mother we could contact, or have you already—?'

    'Beverly... Christ!' He cradled his head in his hands - that would be a no, then.

    'Maybe best to let her know, we could be doing with her here. Is there a number for her?'

    'I may still have one listed, can I try to call her first?' 

    'Sure... but if there's no answer and no other point of contact we'll probably have to send the police to collect her.' They stood to leave, giving him some space. 

    Rendering his number private, he felt a mixture of relief and horror when she answered. 

    'Beverly, it's Neil...do not hang up. Saskia's had an accident, she's in St. Luke's, and it's not looking good. Get yourself here right away.'  With Beverly in instant panic mode, he cut her off. The stark reality that Saskia could die, hit him. God, what had he done? He felt it as good as having pushed her himself.

    

Arriving shortly after 10 p.m. Beverly, in great distress, gave the more important details (medical history and such) to the hospital staff.  Saskia had been taken straight to surgery after her CT scan to relieve swelling and a bleed on the brain. That was about as much update as they had to give.

   Neil was asked to remain in the building. With police involvement, this incident was classed as suspicious or untoward, and a full understanding of the night's events was imperative. 

   He had been waiting for Beverly's confrontation, but was still startled when she walked through the door; eyes bloodshot, complexion pale, all cried out. She sat down across from him and waited until the door clicked shut before speaking.

   'Well, this is the last place I thought I'd be tonight. I can't believe this... '

   'Have they said how's she's doing?'

   'Hardly anything. All they've said is that she's still in surgery before ushering me in here to wait for news, so I guess it falls upon you to share what you know... how bad is she, Neil?'

   'Really bad.' There was no point in lying. 'I only saw her for myself as she was taken into the ambulance unconscious. I don't know how severe the head injury is, but her hair was all covered in blood. She's got broken bones and deep lacerations in her side, possible ruptures and internal bleeding.'  He remembered the ambulance crew's judgement and update over the radio on the journey to hospital, and they were forthright enough to say things were looking grim. 'The paramedics weren't sure if she'd pull through when I asked them what her chances were.'

   'So, she could die?'

   Neil couldn't bear to affirm such a possibility aloud, so nodded lightly, and this instantly triggering her own fear as she stood then started to take a few paces back and forth.

   'Take a seat, Beverly, This is a lot to take in.'

   'You don't say... '

   'Look, the doctors will be coming at some point to give us a clearer picture. Please, just sit down.'

   'Sit down? I should be sitting my arse down at home right now, and not worried to fuck like this. Jesus Christ... why was Saskia with you tonight, anyway?' 

   Neil sighed, woeful. 'Because I asked her to meet me.' Had he not, then things wouldn't be like so.

   'Why, for God's sake? I thought she'd be the last person you'd want to see... '

   Neil smiled, then sneered sardonically; 'Maybe I should ask you why she was ever in my life to start with?' 

   That question held her to silence for a few moments, until her cold, don't give a toss nerve kicked in.  'You found out why... so what real need to you is she now?'

     Shaking a slow head at her arrogance. Beverly was never one to keep your cool with for long once bad feeling surfaced.  'Look... my head's been all over the place with this shit. I still needed answers -  ones I may not have gotten from you.'

  'Like what? What bloody else do you need to know, apart from it being an attempt to stiff you over.'

  'You've got a damned cheek talking to me like this, Beverly, I could have sued the fucking arse off you for attempted fraud!' Although knowing she was lucky he hadn't taken the legal route, she also had an advantage over him in that respect. The papers getting a whiff of such a story would have crippled him; a man's liaisons with someone whom he thought was his daughter was still sick enough.

   'Maybe you should have... ' Beverly stated, and sounding as if it had been said with conviction.

   Neil eyed her cautiously; he'd be curious to hear her version, what the original source had to say. 'I know we didn't know each other too long, but I never thought in a million years you would be clever enough to come up with something as elaborate as you did. I mean, what was it all about, really? My father and some thirty year old grudge!?'

    Beverly jutted her chin up, frowning. Not sure how much he knew.

    'Saskia told me all about it, Bev. My award, your father dying, all this pent up hatred over what you feel is owed to you.' It had been bad timing for the newspaper article covering his business award to find its way to the room her father died in, untimely and portentous indeed. But to come up with an assiduous plan, incited by her cancer-stricken friend, was evil genius. 'What a payback, you got me good and proper... both of you.... I wonder what your father would have made of it?'

  His voice started to sound peevish to her as thoughts travelled decades back. Staring downwards her eyes tightened into slits as angry tears threatened to spill.

 'You and your father stung my dad, hustled him over on that French deal and left us with hardly anything.'

   'That was my father's doing, not mine. He only made me aware of what he'd done years down the line, and I had I'd moved on with my own career by then.'

 'Yes... to a huge bloody empire. My father's money was your father's starting block - you used  us!  You never loved me. I was just another link, a safety catch, the supposed makings of some future family business. Funny how it all seemed to collapse at the same time.'

   'Not true, I did love you, but fell out of love with you in the same degree. And your father could be overbearing at times, too, Beverly, but us splitting up... had nothing to do with mine.'  Despite the vast passing of time, he still remembered his father's hey-ho attitude to the break up. He could also recall feeling smothered through overworking back then too.  'I'm sorry if I hurt you, Beverly, but that was nearly 30 years ago!'

   She needed help; that was his conclusion. If everything that had ensued was down to historic events that she  allowed to fetter her present life, then she needed help. Since her father had passed, she appeared to be coping, but although she carried a persona of happiness, she felt dead on the inside, lost in her own prison of hatred.

   'Don't you realise what your madcap idea's have led to, what kind of hellish payback you've caused? From the moment I saw that scarf round your head, and the back story you concocted, I fell for every word, didn't think for one second that Saskia wasn't mine... I mean, the lengths you went to to pretend you have cancer!' His face was contorting at this ridiculous ruse. 'What a sick fuck!'

   'A sick fuck,... sick fuck....?' Beverly repeated, tapping her chin with a finger and frowning. ' Oh, you mean like the first time you lay with her!' 

  Touche! It was a quick-witted, stabbing homonym that had them staring at each other, only hers with a ghost of a smile flickering on her lips.

    Neil bore his eyes deeper into hers, not commenting on that jibe, just making his fingertips into a steeple gesture and tapping them rapidly off each other. What a bitch. It seemed her best tact of defence was to abase.

   It had been hard for her to accept that her deplorable scheme had backfired in the most contemptible manner. Even now, with her daughter's life hanging in the balance, Neil could tell it was still all about her and this long awaited obsession of getting even, while the whole time since entering this small room he'd been silently trying to broker a deal with God for her to live. 

   'Why the fuck did you both have to come into my life,' he sighed, mentally crippled.  It was more a statement to himself than a question to her. The vision of her accident (even with not having seen the worst of it) would haunt him for life. 'D'you wanna know what's really ironic in all of this? As I said to Saskia... I'm not my bloody father, I'd have given you the money, all you needed to do was ask, and I would have helped.'

   Beverly raised both eyebrows, and wriggled her shoulders in a display of false modesty. 'Would you, now?' she said. But before a word passed from either's lips there was a tap on the door and a nurse peeked round. From over her shoulder, Neil saw a police constable peering at him. 

   'Mr. Balfour, the police would like a word with you now, if that's okay?'

   Neil stood up. 'Of course.' 

   As he shuffled past the low-sitting coffee table, he leaned over, peering right into Beverly's face, whispering an ultimate, stark truth. 'We better hope that convincing little actress pulls through, for, like it or not, if she doesn't, her death will be on both our hands.'

As painstakingly absurd as tonight's events turned out to be, retelling the absurdness of his connection to Saskia again to the police (for he knew him being questioned was coming at some point) was daunting.  He'd already been through hell with the incest and fraud inquest - he and Saskia had been inculpated in a story with enough bite to it to feed the thousands had it gone public. Heaven knows what they'd be asking him this time round. But he got a bit of a shock and a surprise at the same time. 

   The police weren't so interested in ongoing arguments from past relationships bursting back to life - they saw time and again that some people never learn - but were informing him of a crucial development.

   After some routine questions (times, whereabouts, connections, etc) had been tended with, footage from the young lad's phone had been viewed and the receptionist at the hotel questioned - the incident was effectively deemed an unfortunate, booze-soaked accident. Possible foul play or suicide attempt were highly likely to be ruled out once the case moved through the right channels. That didn't, however, take the sting out of Neil's guilt -  he stupidly went and dipped the brush in the paint again.

   He asked the constable if he'd accompany him back into the room to let Beverly know.  The information was about to be given to her anyway, but he wanted to be there when they told her. And just as the news was relayed to Beverly, yet another nurse entered the room to tell them that a consultant was on route with the results of Saskia's CAT scan.  

    

From the look on the consultant's face, bad news was about to hit with hurricane force. Dr. Rossiter assumed they were man and wife, not sworn enemies, but as detested to the other as they were, in a obscure way they needed not to hear such news alone. No one took a seat after the introductions and the doctor got down to serious business.

   'Your daughter has had her CAT scan and it looks like she had a linear fracture. The blood coming from her head was due to the skin being split open and it needed a few simple stitches. There is no compression of the brain or distortion to the bone of the skull but that could change overnight.' 

   'And if it does?' Neil asked.

   'There is no sign of any hematoma, bleeding or clots on the brain, but we'd have to perform a craniotomy, either open up or drill into the skull if that develops.'

    Beverly raised a hand to her mouth, eyes flitting side to side at the thought.  

    'So, she's not still in surgery, then?' asked Neil, in a mixture of relief and disbelief.

    'No, but she is badly concussed, still unconscious. I know it's a medical cliché we say all the time, and glad for it, but she really is lucky it wasn't worse. Had it been the back of the head... ' The tilt of his own head spoke the rest of the sentence for him - she was more or less one lucky pup. 'The fracture should heal itself in around a week or so, providing there are no follow on complications. We've given her something for the pain and a sedative to keep her comfortable through the night.' 

   The surgeon kept silent for a few moments to let them digest his words, gave an ominous sigh. 'Please... ' he gestured for them both to sit, 'there's more.'  Only the accompanying nurse stood rigid in her place.

    'I'm afraid her other injuries are intense. She's has an intertrochanteric region fracture of the hip, of the worst kind, and she has broken her right fibula. There is also damage done by the glass bottle she was holding during her fall. It somehow smashed on the rock and got embedded into the flesh just above her hip. It has torn muscles and taken quite a large scoop from her side. We have another blessing in that the glass didn't do any damage to innards or organs, but we can't assess any nerve damage yet.'

   An uncomfortable quiet settled in the room, the unspoken words hanging heavily above like a dark cloud, until Neil spoke. ' So, what happens now?' 

   'Now,' the doctor repeated, 'we wait till morning when all the alcohol is out of her system and give her another CAT scan and run more blood and other tests.  Ultimately, she will need major surgery to repair the vast damage. Because the break is bad we will need to incorporate, plates, rods and screws into the hip as it will require remodelling. Mr. Johnson, the orthopaedic surgeon will asses the extent of the damage and decide the best procedure for her.'

   'Jesus.' Neil ran a hand through his hair, knowing this would be one hell of a complex job to fix. 'When will this be done?'

   'As I said, we'll scan again tomorrow and as long as there are no complications with her skull fracture, we'll at best be looking within the week.'

   'And afterwards? How long will she take to recover?' Beverly queried. 

   'Please understand.... Saskia, isn't it? ' He double checked his notes; bad news always sounds better when personal first names are used. 'Saskia will need extensive physiotherapy afterwards if the operation goes well.'

   Neil loathed that word if  with its costly two letters, and went straight to the point.. 'But she will walk again?'

   Dr. Rossiter's gaze dropped to his lap for a few seconds, before exchanging a glance with the nurse. Information asked in this manner promised no happy ending, and it was always risky as to how people react when it's not the news they hoped for; doctors were not always miracle workers.  He tried to explain with as much humility as possible.  'I really can't answer that for sure as there are so many factors to consider. Nerve damage and paralysis, clotting even may be a danger... it all stems from how the surgery goes in accordance to her state of injury. I'm sorry you've had to hear this but we'll have a clearer understanding in a day or two. I'm sorry I can't help further.'

   'Can we see her?' Beverly asked quietly, the full force of worry kicking in.

   'There really is no point as she's heavily sedated... and it's getting late.'

   'I need to see her.'

   'She'll be monitored closely overnight.' The nurse added from behind Beverly's shoulder.

   'Not even for a... '

   'Beverly,' Neil cut in, and she drew him a disagreeable look, 'let's just leave it for tonight shall we?'

   The doctor stood, solidifying the end of the matter. 'I know it won't be easy, but try to get some sleep.   Goodnight.'

   The nurse didn't want to appear rude, but they were having a rather busy night and knew she'd be needed elsewhere.  'Would you like me do anything before you go?'

   'Yes,' Neil said, 'could you find me a local taxi phone number please?'

   'That's okay. I'll drive him home.' Beverly said out of the blue; an undeniably remarkable offer considering the circumstances.

   'No need, really.'

   'No point in an extra wait till one comes. You're not far away, are you?'

   'About 15 mins.'

   'Well, then?'

   'Okay.'

   The nurse showed them to the doors and bid them a sympathising goodnight and Beverly led him to her car.  They didn't converse at all, apart from Neil pointing out his directions home. It felt surreal to be sitting next to her, after the damage she'd done. But neither had the strength nor inclination to fight anymore. The sight of Saskia and the horror she was about to endure seemed to bury any meantime hatred. 

   Once they'd reached his building, Neil thanked her for the lift and reached for the door handle to vacate the car. but then pulled his hand back again.

   'Let me pay for Saskia to have private treatment.' 

   'What?' She was astounded with his offer. Surely he'd want to still distance himself from the woman who tried to rip him off for thousands, not throw more money her way. 'You can't be serious?'

   'I think I owe her that much. She wouldn't be in hospital right now if I hadn't arranged to meet her.'

   'Maybe, Neil,  but she's there because she was drunk and careless, too.'

   Whether her comment was to try and ease his guilt he wasn't sure. Even if it were, she still wouldn't hold her own hands up to any wrongdoing; Saskia had veered way-off the plan of her own accord, hadn't she? 'How would that work, though, she's already in hospital awaiting surgery.'

   'I mean afterwards, for when she needs rehabilitation and physio.' 

   Beverly looked ahead in thought, still fearing that Saskia might not have a chance at an afterwards, but then told him,

   'You're forgetting Neil... I'm not her mother. It'd be up to her to let you.'  

                *               *               *               *               *               *               *               * 

She still hadn't shown signs of total consciousness from both the painkillers and sedation although they had been reducing overnight meds. The past two times he had visited she had been asleep, but he sat there nonetheless, quietly talking to her in hushed tones. He was lucky, in a sense, that he was allowed to visit her out of hours ( the  ICU ward nurses used their discretion for him to do so since she was in a side-room). Beverly was sticking to regular visiting hours, and so far they hadn't crossed hospital paths;

he would remain polite enough if they did, but wouldn't want any form of civility misinterpreted as forgiveness. There wasn't an inkling of that in him for her.

   

As he walked into her room she was yet again asleep - laying there in a bed with perfectly tucked-in sheets; as if comfort mattered to someone who'd been lost in near-comatose. He did notice, however, a reduction in wires and tubing, although some patches remained to a monitor that bipped and beeped.  But her porcelain-skinned face was marred and scraped raw, though the purple bruising had faded on her right eye and cheekbone, it was still very much swollen. His insides twisted at the sight of the lost splendour that used to be his.  He pulled a chair over and sat by her bed, holding his cold clammy hand around her peachy warm one.

   'I'm sorry, kiddo.' he whispered, and raised her hand to give it a rough, chin-bristled kiss. Careful not to put weight upon any part of her, he folded his arms on the edge of the bed and settled his head on them. The lack of quality rest was catching up with him, and he felt too warm and serene for any nugatory babbling, so closed his eyes to the lack of white noise and slept within minutes.

The wriggling sensation from Saskia's movement roused him and his head lifting up sharply.  Her eyes were open, but she squinted from the light and pulsation in her head, taking a short dizzy moment to work out where she was.  

   'Hey, Saskia... ' He grinned and sat upright, dragging the chair to the top of the bed. 'Thank God you're back... '

   While smacking her lips from a dry mouth, she reached up trying to pull out her nasal cannula, to which Neil stopped her from doing.  'Uh... let's leave that there for now, shall we...?

   Looking towards him, managing only to raise her lips a little on her left side, she croaked,

          'You need a shave, Raptor.' 

          ' Aye, aye, I do...' he agreed, through light laughter and utter relief.

    He wiped misted tears away as the nursing team entered her room and shooed him away to let them get on with the necessary. In a day or two he hoped she'd be well enough to take him up on that rehabilitating offer. 

   end of  ***WAKING  UP  SIDEWAYS***

This Is It (ch39)

              start of  ***THIS  IS  IT***

🚑Sitting slumped on the edge of the bench, wind sweeping her hair forward, her cheek still throbbed from Neil's slap. It was the only part of her that radiated warmth; the rest of her body shaking through cold and shock. Yet the urge to defy him and make for his flat was pushing hard, despite knowing he'd never allow concierge to buzz her into the building. Sense should have dictated that the best thing to do was go home, but she decided she'd use her motel booking under the remotest chance that he might still just seek her out, knowing how near she'd be.
   Dragging herself against the facing breeze, doing her best to ignore the coldness whipping round her legs, she'd tied the belt of her thick furry gilet tighter into her waist, picked up her bag and headed for the off-license; if nothing else she could at least seek warmth from some alcohol. 

   People blurred past her, absent and insubstantial as the only thing etched across her brain was not letting go. With him, she'd gone from fear and avoidance, to guilt that was suffocating. She still needed him, wanted him. Seeking a way back to friends and a life most young people live felt impossible. Not now, not ever; she'd tried and failed.

   Saskia entered the off licence they frequented, and it felt gauche without him there. But the owners knew her face fairly well and the younger assistant behind the counter couldn't help but stare at her ruddy complexion and dried-in mascara streaks.

   'Bottle of red wine, please, a good strong one - doesn't matter what kind.'  She fumbled in her gilet's pocket for her purse when the notion hit her. 'Actually... scrap that, make it a bottle of Jack Daniels instead.'

   The older Asian gentleman with the perpetual smile, turned to change the bottle and replaced it on the counter.  'Planning a preasant 'h'evening?' he asked her - as he did with most customers - with redeeming quality through his native accent. 

  But a very disgruntled Saskia wasn't up for pleasantries right then - knowing she looked anything but pleasant. Snatching the bottle off the counter, she slapped down £30 and told him to keep the change, marching off indignantly. The old man's son stood shaking his head at him, calling him, in his native tongue, a witless fool.

  
Returning to the almost-vacant motel (bar one other guest), the same bespectacled young desk attendant was leaning over the same newspaper as when she'd checked in. Surprised to see her back so soon, his smile dropped when he saw her face.

   'Key for room six, please,' she asked quietly. 
   Reaching under the desk and into a box, his eyes kept fixed on her. Clutching the key into his palm, he asked concernedly,  'Are you okay, miss?'
   'Yeah, I've ah... just had a bit of bad news, that's all.' 

   He frowned; since when did bad news leave finger marks? 
   'Sorry to hear that.'
   'Happens,' she shrugged.
   'Can I get you some water?' he asked, noticing just how flushed her face seemed.
   'No, thanks, got that sorted.... ' she said, swinging up a flash of her bottle.
   'Sure you're okay?' Silence. 'Anything at all I can do for you?' Like phone the police, he omitted to say.

   'Yes, you can give me the bloody key to my room!'
   'Oh, yeah... sorry,'  he said, not quite expecting to be shouted at. 

   Slowly dangling it from a finger, she grabbed it and scurried up the narrow stairs, and he waited until he heard her room door close before saying aloud, 'Snippety bitch... you probably deserved it.'

The heating in such a small room hit her the second she walked in. Throwing the fur from her body onto the bed, she sat on top of it and planked the bag down next to her. With no glass in the room, she would have to tank the Jack Daniels straight, so she scrunched round the top foil and screwed off the lid.  After a sniff and slight hesitation, she took a 'here-we-go' brace, lifted the bottle and took a hefty glug. Vile. But ever so warming, ever so him - spreading right across her chest in ripples. All it took was another brave gulp before her phone was out. 

  Sitting the bottle at her feet, she hit his number and as expected it went straight to message mode, disappointing her. But she took small comfort in that, as yet, he hadn't re-blocked her number. 
  Rising, she went to peer out the low-ledge window, and felt pissed off by the smiling contentment on faces as they passed by while she was trapped in turmoil. Swiftly turning, she perched back on the bed's edge, switching the TV (one with a screen that's no size at all these days) promptly on and off again; as if some antique refurbishment show or cookery programme would distract her sufficiently enough to forget how surly her night was going. Taking a far bigger swallow this time, she tried calling again. 

   'Christ, Neil, just pick up!' she shouted at the phone.

   This heavy-duty alcohol started to hit her hard and fast; fuzzing her mind and wavering her vision until she had no trouble in pressing the bottle to her lips. Instead of tasting acrid it tasted of his lips.

Laying fully along the bed, she rolled to face the wall, knocking her foot against the bag, spilling its contents onto the carpet.  As she crawled to the foot of the bed to gather them, she saw it. Stuck on the top inside of the bag was the little 'winner' crazy golf sticker from Father's day - the one he peeled from his jumper and secured onto his wallet, the one he said he'd cherish forever.  Closing her eyes, she recalled the elation on his face over a silly circle of sticky paper commemorating his first ever Father's Day.

  Unprepared-for panic waved through her,  'No, no, I'm not giving up, no way, Neil... '

   Sitting upright she she swiped open her phone. She'd try a million ways to say she's sorry, pull out every effing stop she could think of to bring him back. She'd give him one hour to answer her, then it would be a trip to his complex. She wouldn't allow pessimism to rush to the fore; nothing was over yet, and especially not while drink was there to ply more encouraging thoughts. 

  Savvy enough yet to judge out a none-too-desperate timescale, (a high number of misspelt, desperate texts would do her no good, despite knowing every passing minute of this timescale would feel much longer to her) she popped in her earphones and found feelgood music to help counter any negativity and after every second song she'd check for texts after every second song, lest a direct caller interrupted the music. 

Hugging herself, bottle in hand, she swayed along with the music, taking the emotional pathway of the soul that certain songs leads to.  The first two songs brought no reply, nor did the end of the second two. But just as she expected no reply for a third time, her phone pinged that a text had just arrived. 

                          ' On my way to the motel if you're still there? I'll be around fifteen minutes.'

 She read the words aloud, mimicking them in his Scottish accent.  No kisses, no emoji, no term of endearment, but they were the sweetest words she'd drunkenly ever read and replied succinctly.

                           'I'm still here.'

 A relief so strong engulfed her, made the Jack Daniels taste of candy floss as the room took her on a carousel ride. The words may have been brief and his intentions unclear, but they were bringing him to her. She reckoned he had vented his anger, ranted and torn her to shreds enough; surely he was bringing some forgiveness along? Even a smidgen would be a start.  But this very second she was happy; jubilant and gloriously happy. In ten minutes he'd be with her. She rose to her feet, chose a playlist from her phone and dropped it back into the chest pocket of her dress, allowing herself this time, a quick victory dance.  

  As her favourite song boomed away in her ears, evoking feelgood positivity, she made mad, jumpy, random moves, the bottle as a dancing partner, singing along loudly and very much out of tune.  Underneath her room, the young man at reception cringed at the screechy voice and foot thumps. Had there been any more guests in the place he would have to have a word but decided to let the mad cow get on with it for now - his shift would be swapping over soon. 

   Her movements had also caught the attention of two lads around fifteen years old, mucking about at the canal lock. From the other side of the narrow water, one of them had climbed up to the middle bar of the gates, with his phone pointed at the window of Saskia's room. 
   'What you doing, Cammy?' his friend asked, intrigued.  
   'Some girl's bopping about in a room and one of her tits keeps popping out!'
   'No way!' he called. 'Are you getting it? Zoom in, zoom in!'
   'I bloody am!'  This was far too good to miss.
   Unbeknown to Saskia, the boy was filming as much of her frantic dancing by the window as he could. The low neck cowls on her powder blue dress was exposing a little too much on some of her more robust moves, but feeling this elated she probably would have felt felicitous enough to give them a free flash anyway.

The middle eight of her song was her favourite part, and consumed by all this music and hope, she lifted her arms outwards, spinning on one heel time and again, before starting to make tiny jumps as she always did at that bit.

  Backing up unsteadily, the sole of her shoe stepped upon on the wires leading to the television, rolling and twisting awkwardly, round her high-ish heels, and made her lose her footing.  Her vision wavered, hands scrambled for balance as she felt her head drop back, rending the window's glass. The crack rang out loud in the quiet evening air; Saskia had plunged backwards through the window, with an avalanche of pointed daggers and shards accompanying her down. On landing, the back of her head cracked and bounced off rocks that grouped there. Although gravel covered most of the space below, she was unfortunate enough to have the only bedroom window directly above the huge cluster of boulders.  

   The bottle of Jack Daniels broke on contact with the hard surface, and the top half somehow wedged most of its jagged self near Saskia's right hip. The ear-pod's wire had ripped from the phone, one still remarkably remained in her left ear.  She didn't even have time to scream in the descent that twisted her hip into a formidable angle.

   'Jesus fuck!' Young Cammy called out loud. 

   Running across the bridge, the two boys split up, one of them heading to alert the hotel by front entry, and one to Saskia. Getting to her, Cammy recoiled in horror at the jagged end of a broken bone jutting just under her exposed hip, her dress having ridden up. The scene was shocking, sending the young lad's mind reeling, almost unable to comprehend or process the image by his feet. Blood from the cracked skull was running free in scarlet streams, soaking the right side of her face, matting her hair - its red colour in vile contrast to the platinum blonde. He'd been on the phone as he'd ran.

   'Ambulance, please! A girl's just fallen through a window at Mossroad Hotel... yes, that one. Her head's smashed in... no, no response, she's out cold... right... please be quick, she might even be dead! No, I can't... please don't ask me that!'

 Shaking with nerves, he looked down at Saskia, and bravely followed the actions given for the head wound until he heard others approaching, but before anyone came into sight, he bent down to neaten her.  One of her breasts were exposed, and he felt the need to pull her dress over to cover it before the guy from the motel started chest compressions. 

Neil walked briskly, spiked with guilt and seeking some kind of ludicrous assurance she was going to be okay. He might just be making the most idiotic move of his life, but he was prepared to give her just a few minutes in small recompense for the slap. 

   The flash of blue and yellow lights hit him the second he turned the corner. An ambulance and police  had arrived quickly and simultaneously, while a crowd gathered at the side of the hotel, people tiptoeing and shoulder jostling for a good viewing point.  His step quickened as did his heart-rate. This wasn't good. Joining the crowd at the back he asked a woman what was going on. 

   'They say a young blonde girl jumped from a window! Terrible... ' This false and dramatic assumption that ripped through the crowd stunned him, and he immediately started to tear a pathway through the onlookers in heart-filled panic, struggling to the front in no time. Hauling up the police barrier tape to go under, a young policeman did his best to stop him. 

           'Sir, you have to step back!'

   But Neil kept repeating that he needed to get to her, so a policewoman joined in to try calm and detain him from his side-stepping and dodging.  In one strong tug he freed himself from the young officer's hold, shouting back in desperation as he propelled himself to the ambulance,

       'She's my daughter, for fuck's sake!' 

   Running straight to the scene, he slid dead in the gravel just as the paramedics were loading Saskia into the ambulance. He was temporarily incapacitated, unable to comprehend what had just occurred.  All he could see of her on the stretcher was blood-covered eyes and head above the oxygen mask, and supports and padding all around her.  

   The police had caught up with him in seconds, but instead of pulling him away, they informed the ambulance crew that he indicated he was her father and could be vital for information. The crew nodded to each other and asked him again to reiterate it.  In a rather pitiful voice, he said yes.  It was the first thing he thought of to be able to accompany her and was beckoned aboard the vehicle;  he could deal with the lie afterwards. Before stepping in, he saw the blood on the rocks and gravel, and the shattered remains of a Jack Daniels bottle.  
   'What had you done, kiddo....' he whispered 
   In a matter of moments the ambulance took off, sirens ablaze. The crew put him in the picture as much as possible, filling him in on her extensive hip injury as well.  Her bloods and oxygen levels were dangerously low and there was no guarantee she'd pull through. 

             end of  ***THIS  IS  IT***
 

Beautiful Pain (ch38)

        start of  ***BEAUTIFUL  PAIN***

⏳ A month down the line had passed when he caved, sending her an impeccably worded  text asking her not to reply but to meet him Tuesday night by the benches outside the Mossfield Hotel - a small licensed establishment beside the handy strand of one-stop shops that they often used. It was a twenty minute walk from his flat and he decided that meeting her at an outdoor, quiet location wouldn't feel so troublesome; he couldn't face having her back at his home.    

   Saskia had remained determined not to contact him beforehand now that he had apparently unblocked her number. Perhaps he'd already blocked it again, but she didn't want to know that: she would rather be carried along by the anaesthesia of false hope, than none at all.  It was imperative her mother didn't get a whisper of this as she couldn't allow anything to balls this chance up; as much as she dreaded it at the same time.   

Despite an earlier growing hunger, Neil couldn't face any food, he just changed quickly into jeans and casual jumper, necking a couple of whiskies before setting off. There was a chance she might not even show up, but he doubted it.

   Sitting on a bench by the riverside, he saw a car parking in the grounds of the hotel, and made out her shape behind the wheel. She gave it a couple of minutes before getting out to walk towards him, taking each step with her head bowed as if ready for the guillotine.

   She came into closer view with looks that defied earthly reasoning.  God, was she beautiful, standing there in those funky clothes she deemed her own, her hair misbehaving in the breeze. It was hard to believe something so exquisite had the kiss of a cancer, mouth of a chronic liar.  For once, those padded lips didn't induce that dimpled, captivating smile on seeing him. He tensed a little as she sat a respectable gap from him by the arm of the bench, instantly feeling his recrimination by the set of his shoulders. He spoke first;

   'You know... I wondered what words would spring to mind first on seeing you, and I think congratulations is fitting enough.'
   She wasn't going to hit him with an apology right away, that would be too insulting. 'You didn't deserve it. I really do feel awful.'
   'Do you?' he scoffed.  'And I'm still finding it an amazing thing to try to pull off, especially the tenacity it was done under. Fell right for it as well, like a right bloody idiot.'
   'It all started to change and I didn't know what else to do.'
   'Not taking part to start with... how's that for a suggestion?'
   Saskia lowered her head. 'Mum's a hard person to say no to.'

   'So all of it... her idea?' he queried, not that it made much difference to him now, but he had to ask. 'No 'No fucking around, I want to know as much as possible, beginning to end. I'm owed that at least.'

   'Yes, I know you are. I'll try my best to—'

   'Sod any best effort, Saskia... just start talking before I change my mind and up and leave.'

   Saskia threw her head to the skies, taking a deep, bracing breath. 'Okay, okay.' She nodded. 'It all stemmed from an article and photo in the newspaper, the one with you holding your Businessman of the Year award. Grampa had a copy of the paper by his bed at the nursing home, folded over at that very page. Mum come across it when we were clearing his room after he died.'

   'And that pushed her to come up with this elaborate plan?'
   Both were looking straight ahead, not yet meeting eye to eye. Saskia had vowed to tell him the truth - no matter how much it may hurt -  as the police hadn't uncovered everything to him in their inquires.
   'That's what incited her, she blamed that for his death. But things got worse after she found out that Grampa didn't have a little nest egg tucked aside for us after all when he died.  The house was the only asset to our name and the mortgage became solely for us to find. Then when Fay - the friend we ran Cooper's Café with - got her cancer diagnosis told her that she wouldn't be helping to renew the lease on the café once the year was up, she got desperate - panicking that we'd not have enough money to eventually settle down in Spain with Corrine.'

   Neil was listening keenly, curious to find out if the version the police gave him carried the same details.

    'She knew how readily money poured in for charity - it certainly did at Fay's coffee morning. People take pity, don't they? And once she'd had her shaved head, the whole concocted idea came about. Exactly how much was thought out by that point, I can't remember, but she kept at me with this crazy plan. '

   Sitting forward now, elbows on knees and clasping his hands, he let out a huge sigh. 'And you quite happily went along with it?'

   'No, no... not at first. Of course I thought she was mad... until it all spilled out.'

   'About my father, I'm guessing?'  

   ' Yeah, I got told it all. - The financial history, and how you and your father destroyed our lives.  You were painted darker than black, and I was convinced you deserved it at first. And if her plan failed, she was prepared to the take full blame; I was to act like I was a victim, too, pretend that I didn't know either, and I suppose because she was willing to take the rap, it gave me the confidence to be so bold with what I felt for you.' 

    Neil could remember DCI Bruce telling him that, too. Why she swapped sticking to something that would exonerate her, for a full confession that implicated her, he wasn't sure. Police involvement finally bouncing her back to reality? He doubted she was sure of that herself. In the name of love or not, it was simply too little, too late.

   Saskia could see out the corner of her eye that he had turned to face her, and now looked at him too.

   'So, how were you to extort money from me?'
   'Ask for it. For a flat, car, or just outright. She didn't care how, that bit was up to me.'

   'Why not just call my office, I mean she managed to hunt me down? If her letter had been worded strongly enough, I would probably have just given her it had she asked.'
   'She wasn't wanting to take that chance of refusal.'
   'So instead she invented us - with the added bonus of crushing me at the same time.'
   'Please believe I didn't know you at all, hadn't even heard of you when I agreed to the underhandedness of stringing you along, and I'd no idea how much she loathed you.' With eyes closed , she gently shook a remorseful head at what she'd done. 'It was to be quick and easy, I shouldn't have let things get as far as they did.'  

   'Then why did you?'
   Eyes opening, she frowned in confusion; surely it was obvious. 'I had to. I'd fallen for you.'
   He sneered.  'Och, how can you say that, Saskia?'
   'Because it's true! The longer she waited for her money the longer I had you.' A bright coral flush  crawled over her chest and neck.

   Neil sat up straight again and angled himself to face her more.  'Just how long was that to be? I mean it was to have a final outcome, an end at some point - surely?'

   'I know!' she said loudly, quickly losing composure; he'd wondered how long it would take the quivery chin and waterworks to begin. 'But I had to carry on keeping you in the dark, and telling her I needed more time despite the risks. But each day we had together was a bonus, and I wouldn't accept any night being the last I may see you, so I had to do my damnedest to keep that ending from happening. I mean, I could have fleeced you months ago, and fucked off, you know that.'

   'Oh, aye, that I do. And the old fool would have coughed up so you and your mother, or whomever, could be whooping it up in a fountain of sangria right now.'
   They both held a willful silence as a woman walking her dog was passing. The wiry scruff of a thing made a diagonal pull on its retractable leash towards them, hoping for scratch on the head. As disinterested as he was with dogs, he watched it up on its back legs, tail wagging briskly as it sniff and licked away at the salty wetness from Saskia's cheeks. She mustered up the need to give the dog some attention back before its owner pulled it away, apologising for its pestering. And Neil thought dogs were good at character judgment; seems she had a charm over animals, too. He waited until the woman was out of earshot before continuing.

   'You played your part so well, Saskia. That word Dad seemed to flow off your tongue fluently, you didn't falter, not once.'

   'I didn't care what word was used to keep you in my life, what lie was needed. You had to lie yourself  to the police to keep me in yours.'

   'Thought I was lying...' he snidely corrected her.

   'But that's what we were willing to do, wasn't it?'

   He was reluctant to answer as he knew she was right, and she used this as a spark of encouragement that he may be beginning to accept her plight. With something important to fight for she had to be that bit bolder, get results in what ever manner it took.

**************************************************************************

 'Look, I switched off reality to live the fantasy. I was so proud calling you my dad And it was easier to live that lie when you've a mother who didn't want you; when you're the result of drunken nights during the holiday season. Fuck knows who my dad is, so forgive me for getting carried away and feeling what being wanted was actually like!'

   'Forgive you? Ah, hold on... am I supposed to feel sorry for you here?' Neil asked austerely.

   'No, of course not, I'm the one who's sorry. You did feel real to me, though.'
   'Aye, real enough for me to sink to the depth of depravity for you, while you were living in this constructed fantasy. You knew it wasn't incest!' His gaze pierced and drilled more guilt into her heart. 

   Saskia covered her face with her hands, she knew she'd gutted this man and it hurt.  All that emotion she spouted at the hotel at Christmas, so cunningly interwoven to snare him: breaking laws, rearranging his life, his future, putting her first above everything. But the illicit sex, as wrong as it was, wasn't the high for him.  As much as it was (supposedly) a comfort to her -  one that she was in control of and could stop if she wished so -  it was the simple father-daughter connection he subsisted on. But though her remorse surfaced, he remained unaffected.

   'I hate myself for what I've done to you. I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry.' she repeated those useless words as she leaned forward, hugging herself as if she had tummy ache. Neil knew she was genuinely hurting by the clouds forming on that flawless forehead. The apology begged forgiveness, but he took no notice - what was she really expecting? 

  'Sorry for what? Near destroying me and my sanity? Turning me into a laughing stock?  Or the end of the luxuries and expensive presents?' Neil knew that his latter comment was below the belt. What were odd hundreds here and there to a multi-millionaire? But he had to remember he was the one who endured the worst of this ordeal.

   Sobs came, huge and hearty and he let them last until she attempted to regain composure, trailing a sleeve under her nose and sniffed. 'I'm sorry for it all. I really am.'

   'No amount of heartfelt sorries will ever cut it, Saskia. You've no idea what I've been through.' 
   He stood, running a hand through his hair as he turned and faced the river, giving her a better glance at the large flowery gift bag that had been resting by his side. He picked up on this and followed her line of vision. 

   'Ah,' he said, pertaining to it by sliding it over to her,  'While we're kinda on the subject, I brought the last of the smaller things you left in the flat, posted your clothes and bigger things on this morning.' 

   Bang went the very slim chance that the gift bag was some sort of forgiveness present, and she felt stupid for allowing herself that tiny surge of optimism. The remainder of her stuff had to go to erase the deceit and mind-twisting lies of her true character. 

   He never thought he'd ever know her other than being his daughter; under whose warped confabulation transformed him dramatically. What a pity what had started so promisingly (initially shaping him into a man with priority outside work and wealth) had ended in such a mess. Both had been refusing to face facts, bringing the other spectacularly down in the harshest of ways. But there comes a time where you can only expend so much effort and energy and his was now spent; hers well and truly squandered. As he remained standing, she thought this an indication for him being ready to leave.

   'Please don't go!' she begged. 'Please, just stay a bit longer... ' She had been on the verge of saying Dad. That word she coined and believed in in her own dizzy head. 'I've booked a room in the hotel, can't we just go there to talk - have a drink?'
   He laughed incredulously. 'You think this will all be forgotten with a bottle and a bed?  You've fucked me up enough. Don't flatter your sweet-little-self. Big Julia would be in with a better shout than you.'  The insult cut deeper than his thunderous expression.

   'Just give me five minutes, in there.' She nodded to the the hotel. 'We can't talk properly out here. Please!' Her voice, head and heart all spoke to him at once. 'Let me at least try to—'

   'For Christ's sake... this can never be resolved, Saskia! What else could you possibly say that would excuse or even make sense of this shit?' He took a few steps away from her, forcing her to her feet, and she flinched a little as he swung swiftly round to face her.  'D'you want to know the utterly pathetic bit in all this, the thought I struggle with every day? All I had to do was check, to make sure you were really my daughter.  A simple test, phone call, even. But who lies about having cancer and children they never even had, who in their right mind goes to that extreme? Beverly pulled a classic double bluff on me, she really would have been better suited to my father! But you, daddy's-little-nobody, helped her cover those tracks quite competently, you kept it going far, far too long. You could have done something about it and you didn't!'

   His words sounded raw, but nothing was more raw than her heart. 'I wanted to tell you the night the police visited us, but I was scared.'

   'You were selfish, you mean. Why didn't you just stiff me over at the start, saved all this torment?'

   'Why didn't you just let me go home from that Christmas party when I wanted to, instead of sending my taxi away?'

   'So this is all MY fault, is it?'

   He turned from her. This was pointless. He'd heard her version, had his say, given her her belongings, No more. He took one last look at the girl who graced his life and shattered his love.

   'Bye, kiddo.' he said, knowing that the term-of-endearment would sting even more. Taking a second to catch his breath, he tucked his hands in his pockets and started to saunter away.

   'Don't you feel anything for me anymore?' she cried after him.

Without looking back, he answered over his shoulder:  'Not since the day you cut off our bloodstream!'

This couldn't be it. Each stride away from her had her head pulse with agitation. Erratic gulps of air were taken between the desperate pleas that loaded themselves on her tongue, but were too quiet for him to hear in her effort to simply breathe.  After one huge inhale she screamed out, 

  'But I  love you, Neil!' 

  He kept on moving.

   A sudden night chill passed through her bare legs, whisking up an unspoken fear that this would be the last time she'd see him, and under a rush of utter panic she ran after him, an unremitting no no no reverberating in her head with each footstep that clumped on the cobbles.  Before he knew it, she grabbed him by the arm in a effort to halt him, and in return received a hard and unexpected strike to the cheek. As her hands went up to nurse the sting he stared at her, near nose to nose.

   'Can you not just accept that it's over!'

   'Please, just—'

   'Okay then, 'Neil snarled, 'maybe this might sink in. As sick and psycho as I thought we both were... you still killed my daughter. Just really think about that, Saskia. And who could forgive that... huh?' After another vile stare he raised an index finger to her face, his breath warming her chin. 'Do not follow me home.'

   In complete disbelief at having been hit with such velocity, a stunned Saskia watched as he rounded the corner.  His parting words were pretty clear; she meant nothing to him now.

  Lost and depleted, with a heavy heart she returned to the bench.  A few people - halted by the outburst -witnessed the assault, but only one elderly man approached her to check if she was alright. Asking if she wanted him to walk her home or to safety, she said no, but he felt more eased on hearing she was booked into the hotel. 

   Lifting the gift bag, she trudged her way, red-faced and mascara streaked, to the little off-licence they frequented most Wednesday's, where they'd read the labels on wine bottles—he for quality, she for volume.  Tonight's lone visit was to call for something considerably stronger....

   *          *          *          *          *          *          *
He arrived back at his apartment block, yet couldn't remember taking the route home, but he was there outside his door - somehow. 

   Keys fell as he tried to unlock the door and on bending to retrieve them, they slipped through his fingers for a second time. With heady thoughts challenging his coordination, he turned his back to the door and slid to the tiled flooring as unexpected tears of despondency ran salted water into his mouth.  Gut-wrenching sobs tore through his chest; loud with intermittent wails echoing in the space around him.  Hugging his knees to him, horrid and happy visions spewed back at him, each vying to dominate his mind, worsening his weeping and inducing random ramblings.

   Like a feckless child, he dragged himself to his feet, telling himself all he needed to do was get indoors and get a grip. After a few attempts through blurring tears he was in. He tried to compose himself with a whisky, but he was emotionally beaten, those scenarios in his mind still menacingly prolonging the grief that had circled inside him for four long weeks. Seeing her again was supposed to be an end, a release from the pain, but he never anticipated the hurt being this strong. 

   Downing two more straight whiskies, he threw himself longways on the couch, staring his torment at the ceiling. He wondered if he'd ever live life outside his head again. Everything now would be based on bedrocks of if only. But the ruinous thing about if only, is its power of forever reminding you of your failings and its reluctance of allowing you to move on without regrets.

Around an hour later, as he felt the dried salt from his tears tacky on his skin, he'd reached a cried-out calm. Reliving the evening in his mind, he started to feel bad about hitting her.  His palm smarted from the brisk contact, so he imaged the skin of her soft cheek hurt one helluva lot more. Never before had he struck a woman, and despite the uncaring pig his father was, he had stressed to his son to never lay a finger on them; why hit women when they had hearts to break - something, ironically, his own mother could attest to. While Saskia's slap marks were beginning to fade, his conscience-on-the-couch was starting to sting. The man, felt the slap - deserved or not - unjustified.  

   Breaking his decision that he was done drinking for the night, he rose and headed for the decanter, and just as the glass touched his lips, the hands of the rotating sand clock that Saskia had made for him, reached the hour, turning its glass-boxed edges to rest in new layers. Slowly he rose and went over to examine what ridges and shapes it had settled in.  

   There was nothing there. No hill scene, no waves like the sea, no ripply field of wheat, no other discerning feature, just bland smooth sand, and the tick of the clock he'd failed to part with, urging him to go. Cursing himself for his next actions, he grabbed his jacket, switched his phone back on and legged it out the door.  

   'I must be off my damned head.' he said aloud, as the lift doors closed. 

               end of  ***BEAUTIFUL  PAIN***

outdated facilities, slack in maintenance checks, cleanliness enough