Flowers In The Window

               

          start of   Flowers In The Window

💐Neil, and the staff of Rowan Lea  discussed her long haul back to normality in vast detail. They weren't wrong when they claimed to have the latest high-tech equipment. The anti-gravity treadmill and she were getting on famously. Since the day her mother more or less stopped giving a shit about her, her determination to bounce back to spite her was all the focus she needed. In only a few days her levels of impetus to her cause were astounding. 

  The beginnings of her restoration had taken a longer (hence the very early bed exercises to keep muscles and circulation going in preparation of the more challenging stuff) due to her broken tibia and head wound, but boy, was she forging ahead - like a late developing short kid, who all of a sudden sprout inches overnight. Neil was in awe of her turnabout, and relieved that she was no longer bedfast and now joining in all of the sub-specialty units: the hydrotherapy in particular, where your partner gets offered the chance to join you in the pool (which he declines) worked wonders.

   Her biggest thrill was when progress went well enough to introduce her to the centre's Thursday Therapy Dog - a charity that Rowan Lea supported - where owners brought in their pets to befriend and allowed patients to take out walks in the garden. Saskia was partnered with Millie, a five month old golden labrador, utterly beautiful and playful. Visit-clashing one Thursday, Saskia took devilish delight in watching Neil's hand jerk back from Millie like a big wuss when she encouraged him to pet her, and for the rest of Millie's visit he spent giving the dog side looks terrified to make eye contact with her. Most definitely, he was not and never had been an animal person. 

Check-out day was almost upon her. Neil sat on a bench by the wall in the well-equipped utility room. All other courses and caterings  - medical and mental - had been given the green light. The only one to go was the most important physical test. 

   The treadmill buzzed into life and her feet picked up a steady pace. A walk became a march, became a  trot, became a run. Neil rose and stood at the end of the machine, calling out encouragement, egging her on, his heart beating quicker with the pace of her feet. She'd done it. Passed the required score with flying colours, and just to be a show off, she notched up the speed dial and jumped straight from the moving belt and into Neil's quick-reacting arms, where he birled her around a few times in pride and jubilation. Tomorrow she would be discharged.  

                                  *                                         *                                 *

All her belongings had gathered on the bed. Now the day had come to be leaving what had been her home for a quarter of a year.  From time to time Neil wondered how she would react to fending for herself after being institutionalized for so long, but her Rowan Lea Personal After-care Brochure was designed purely for her (as it were for each individual paying around £600 per day), which they entrusted her to follow rigorously.  She had worked with the staff laboriously hard and intended to keep it up once she was home. From today, Neil took a full fortnight off work (to the delight of his staff) as a settling-in period for her, and to monitor where things go from there. No-one, though, let Beverly know of her homecoming. That she would have to find out for herself. Saskia did leave permission with Rowan Lea to disclose the fact that she had vacated rehab, but not to give a forwarding address.  It'd be pretty obvious to Beverly where she was, but Neil wanted her to sweat a little. One thing was for sure -  she'd want the numeric ball to start rolling sooner than later.

  

They were waiting impatiently for the presence of Dr. Harness and a prescription from the pharmacy before they could say their final farewell. For utmost comfort, Saskia chose a garishly multi-coloured but-ever-so-comfortable jogging suit to travel home in.

   Opening the wardrobe door for a view in the full length mirror, Saskia slowly raised her sweater to reveal how the damage the glass from her fall left her with was faring now. The cicatrix scarring from the wound had now begun to blend in with her skin tone, but the developing pull of new skin left a huge scoop just above her hipbone. Wearing tight tops would show the disproportionate waistline up even more - quite a hard thing to accept for a such a clothes queen.  Already she had decided that bikinis would always be a no-no.

   Repeating a question to Saskia with no answer, Neil caught her looking into the mirror, not listening to his trivial chatter for staring-out her reflection, her eyes focused on the traumatic reminder there for life.  

   'My God, look at it. It's deep. Raw. Ugly.' 

   Neil stopped what he was doing and came up behind her, his chin resting on her shoulder, arms around her, staring at the reflection of the two of them.

   'All I can see is a beautiful creature and one helluva lucky old raptor,' he told her.  His hand glided down past her waist, settling into the scoop of the missing flesh. Whispering, he said,  'Look at that... fits my hand perfectly.'   

   Saskia rested her own right hand on top of his, reaching up with her other to stroke his cheek; her empathetic tower of strength. At times, she couldn't believe that he'd stuck by her, often convincing herself that he only told her he loved her just to help make her well again to assuage any guilt. Yet here he was with her on her discharge day, taking her home. She'd taken root in him like no other soul had, and fully invested now. By fair means, not foul, he had made her whole again. The forgiveness had grown and eventually accepted.

   In one unexpected motion, he twisted her round to face him, the action making her gasp. Today was home day, no sorrow allowed. 

   'What are you doing!?' she lightly laughed. 

   Cupping her face in his hands, he landed a very much needed deep and desperate kiss upon her.   'I can't wait to get you home to test out that new hip!' he said cheekily grinning.

   'Ah. Ah. Ah!' She wiggled a windscreen-wiper finger at him, 'Not recommended right away, you'll have to wait a bit for that, Raptor!' she teased. In between daft nonsensical exchange, she continued sorting her belongings. 

   Their rackety dalliance flitted its way down the corridor and drew the attention of another patient Saskia had gotten fairly close to. A rather good looking dark-haired lad of around Saskia's age, knocked on the open door and quietly stepped in to find Neil sitting on the edge of her bed, arms around her waist pulling her to him as he swung  his feet back and forth like a bored schoolboy.  

   Saskia was playing with his hair, teasing him about needing a haircut while giving him severe side and middle partings with her comb; it really was all fawning giggles and love-sick puppy stuff. Feeling most uncomfortable Nigel tried to turn and sneak away, but caught both their eyes.

   'Nigel! Sorry, never heard you there - please come in,' Saskia invited, as the pair of them parted respectfully. She could only imagine how that must have looked to him, but she was glad it did. 

   'I was told you're going home today, just wanted to say goodbye and wish you luck.'

   'That's really sweet of you.'

   The lad's face was familiar to Neil, the boy was recovering from spine and brain trauma if he remembered correctly. He ruffled his overgrown waves into partial order and slid down from the bed giving them space for a private farewell. 'I'll go find out if the doctor's going to be much longer. Won't be long.' 

   They stood in a bit of a strained silence, until Neil's footsteps faded. Saskia spoke first.

   'It's sometimes easier letting people think he's my father, it's the automatic assumption anyhow.'

   'I see... makes what I walked in on a bit more... ' He wanted to say wanted to say 'acceptable' but stopped himself as he wasn't sure he agreed with that, and it showed rather awkwardly on his face.  

   'Hey - don't feel bad a bout it, we know there will be loads more raised eyebrows and disapproval to come, we'll have to get used to it.'

   'Fooled me,' he said, rather forlornly, 'but I kind of get it, umm... as I said, I just wanted to say goodbye and wish you well.'

   She moved closer and gave him a huge hug, and would never forget that bond they had. She understood how he felt when he described how the lining of his brain felt as if it had been branded by a hot iron after surgery. Lives akin.

   'Thank you, Nigel. I'll miss our subs and our overdosing on nightly Horlicks!'

   'Yeah, the ruddy stuff never worked for us, did it?

   'That it did not...!'

   Nigel's smile faded. 'I'll miss you.'

   'And me you.'

   And there, a tad crestfallen, he walked out of the room saying no more.

   There was only a very select and confidential few from Rowan Lea that knew of the actual relationship status of Neil and Saskia, and Nigel was one of the first to discover by chance the true nature of them.  There would be no reason now for them to shy away and protect themselves from public scrutiny, nor give any second thought to caution, but they still wouldn't be shouting their truth from any rooftops. Most will still assume they were father and daughter, and it would be hard for her to shake off that father-figure feeling. But people could judge them in all their age-gap glory, in whatever manner they chose. They weren't too fixated on decorum the time she was his daughter, and people can react how they please now she was merely his lover.  Overlooking ignominy he would, in a way, miss the little lift taboo brought along with it. Doesn't everyone sit at the intersection of what they shouldn't have in life and pick and risk chances?

   It was another twenty-five minutes before Dr. Harness appeared. Saskia had already said most of her farewells. Rowan Lea would be missed. It had been her settlement and haven, her new confidence and company where immediate attention was catered for by the flick of a switch or push of a button. Neil himself had gotten used to the journey there, enjoying the calming, scenic surroundings. He'd probably miss her room too, as he was always shuffling about in it and tidying her things. Her room's window had some view for this constant emptier of bins. But before she went there was one last pledge to undertake.

   Neil carefully removed the present-hanging canvas on the wall that was to be swapped with the one Saskia had delineated. At arms length, he studied the vision it held.

   Saskia had painted a rough stone wall with a Victorian post box embedded into it. In front stands a barefooted little girl in a blue dress, side on, as a strong wind blows her dress and hair forward, hiding her profile. A letter she was about to post gets whipped out of her hand before she has the chance to post it. In her other hand she's holding a stringed, lilac balloon that keeps perfectly upright and not affected by the force of the wind.  

   'This is pretty good,' Neil stated, not quite believing that she had any creative side to her other than woodwork and make-up. He figured her art therapy teacher guided her on colour, tones and shadows to bring the picture into being, but the concept was all hers. 'What does it say? Is it titled?'

   'I don't know, it's not mine, remember? It's for whomever resides in this room after me.' 

   Neil knew her well enough now to work out what the subject matter of her art was saying, and that he was there if she needed to use brushstrokes ever again. Taking one last look around her, Saskia then closed the door. From the car park she looked up at the room window she'd been occupying. Heaven knows how many bouquets had bloomed and shrivelled on its sill. It was strange to see it bare. 

             

The car felt warm and stuffy, but ever so joyous to be in, as the city centre was drawing them in magnetically with an almighty, welcoming pull. Saskia's eyes were flicking through the streets, from shop to shop, building to building, face to random face and it kind of felt alien to her. So they said very little on this journey home, but since approaching London from the motorway, Neil was bursting to speak.  

   'I've a little surprise back at the flat for you', he said, with an 'I've been up-to-something' grin on his face.       

   'Like what?' she replied, frowning. 

   'You'll see.'

   She hoped the place wasn't filled with balloons or worse still, flowers - she'd had enough fragrance and foliage to last her a lifetime.  A fleeting thought of even worse horror popped up. Surely he wouldn't have bought a puppy? As much as she loved and will miss Millie, there's no way she wanted to shovel shit into a bag up to four times a day. She berated herself for such a fret thought as, realistically, that wouldn't work for two simple reasons: They live in a flat; and he's a wuss when it comes to four legged friends. No. That wasn't it. But what she did know was an undisturbed cuddle would be appreciated more than some glittering box from Tiffany's, or hotel chocolat.  But whatever it was, nothing had more appeal than a vast city view and a familiar toilet pan.   

   Back at his complex he insisted they take the elevator to his apartment. Saskia waited with baited breath while he opened the door as she slid past him. She couldn't believe her eyes. Mouth open and dumbstruck. The place was a shambles!

   'Let me take you on the guided tour... ' 

   She gingerly followed him. What the hang...

   'We'll start in the kitchen; That bit spaghetti stuck to the tiles has been there for two days, the greasy outline round it may never come off.... those dishes have been in the sink for three days, and... ' he spun round an empty cardboard roll on its holder, '... we're out of kitchen roll.' 

   He prompted her along by the elbow. 'That wastepaper bin by the computer is chock-a-block, never realised what fun it is to see if your crunched paper ball's gonna roll off or not!'

   To the sitting area: 'Cushions are all to pot, in the wrong order, and think there's a coffee stain on that one.'  He then pointed to the floor by the couch. 'Oh, and I found a couple of your glossy magazine things under the couch seat and chucked them on the floor where they usually end up. Now you can slide on one and do-in your other hip!.' Pointing further up he said, 'Bed's not made, clothes still under the duvet at the bottom, some piled on the chair... och - you can see the rest for yourself!' 

   That proud-as-punch, ludicrous beam on his face was the best homecoming present she could have asked for. After all, she was at her happiest amidst disarray. It was a message to her that she didn't have to worry about him worrying about mess. All this perusing of perfection taught him that mess, ultimately, was nothing to be feared -  he can live with it if he has to. He wanted nothing more than her to focus on full recovery and not fret over her remiss house habits. She doubted it would be an everyday occurrence, but for now this domestic shrapnel scene equaled any chapel or gallery glorious to the eye.  

   Neil threw his coat over a chair and went to the kitchen to make drinks.

   'I got some of that caramel-coffee syrup stuff you like,' he told her,  'I'll see if that mug you chipped is somewhere at the back... Oi!'

   Saskia had crept up behind him, grabbed and twisted the neck of his jumper, forcing him to turn round to her.  Fingers still clenched, keeping him attached to her, she carefully backed herself round the settee and closer to the bed.

   'Woah, woah, what are you doing?'  he asked with a huge grin, knowing damn-well fine what was going on.  

   Feeling the edge of the mattress touch her calves, she stopped. 'I was told that I had to lead into this sort of a thing with a certain slowness and ease.'

   Neil shook his head with a mock serious expression. 'Nah... can't promise I'd stick to that.'

   Saskia let out a hot and heavy sigh. 'Stick to me instead, then?' 

She acted all shy and coy, then pulled him down on top of her, as the bed bounced with belated buoyancy. Looks like Raptor would be testing out that hip today after all.

             FLOWERS IN THE WINDOW end

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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***