CHAPTER 53
We went into the Cedar for food, and both pigged out a bit with a carvery plate , as mich veg as possible piled precariously on top of the meat. I don’t like drinking in the daytime, as it puts me to sleep, so we were on large cokes followed by coffees. After the first assault on her plate, Amina sat in silence, toying with an impaled roast potato.”

“Jen?”

“Yes?”

“I did hear what you said”

“Good”

“Did you mean it?”

“Yes. I think so. Now, that will taste like shit if you let it get cold”

It had crystallised in me, just as she had stepped. Almost naked, between me and that fat cow. There were now all sorts of stupid phrases on loop repeat in my head, such as ‘You could do a lot worse’, which of course begged the question about Angela, but a surprisingly sane part of my mind was counting off its own set of arguments.

She was lovely to look at.
She said she loved me.
Her mother obviously approved.
Her ex said she approved.
Angela’s family were fully in favour.
Angela herself had adored her as a friend.
She was willing to put herself in Harm’s way for me.
And, well, that feeling was there in me.

I don’t, can’t. do the big, dramatic speech, so I left it at that. She made her declaration, I answered it as best I could manage, move along, nothing to see here, except that there was, in fact, an awful lot to see.

“Amina?”

“Yeah?”

“Another thought. We need a big shop; stop in at Asda after this, and get a taxi back?”

Please just go with the flow, woman. Let me work through this my way. I wasn’t Ange, I couldn’t do the running, but I could at least open the door.

“What do we need, love?”

“Um, breakfast stuff, milk in particular. I’m on late turn for the next few shifts, so I’ll not be needing stuff for evening meals, but you will”

“No. What we will need is stuff for me to make up meals for you to take in. And we need a bigger frying pan, as well as a new oven glove. And that old flask is manky”

We could both read the subtext.

Want to move in with me?

Yeah, okay.

That led to thoughts about the landlord’s attitude, so I knew that I would be pulling up all the old sites I had been digging into before…

Amina had a paper napkin for my tears, which weren’t that plentiful.

“I can read your mind, love. Yes, I know Mrs Choudhury’s rules, but as far as she is concerned, I am living at Mam’s still. Mam can sort that out”

“How?”

“As she always does. Lie”

We did the rounds in Asda, following Amina’s instructions to Look Away From The Pudding Display, and when we had finished shopping, I looked at the multiple bags and sack of rice in our shopping trolley, and realised that the taxi I had suggested would be a necessity rather than a lazy women’s luxury. We dumped it all on the footpath as I paid off the driver, then shuttled it into the flat before starting the game of ‘where can I fit this?’. With shopping for two of us, there was obviously rather more stuff than I usually kept in the place, and a lot of my cupboards needed reorganising so that what I already had was less spread out.

Even though it was a late start the next day, I couldn’t face going out again, so Amina did her first bit of proper cooking for me, rather than a quick meal-extender, and a lot of spices I hadn’t previously owned went into a saag aloo and an extremely tasty dish of chicken pieces cooked in yoghurt with mango, served with plain rice.

“Two of the first things I learned to cook there, love, the saag and the chicken. I considered doing tarka dhal, but you need to be able to talk to patients, not gas them. Still, better than a takeaway”

We talked through my next runs of shifts, and she made a note of them in a paper pocket diary.

“I start on Monday, office in City Hall. Mam’s letting me use her car for a while, but parking it at our place. I mean, me and Mam’s, not here. Only a short walk there. Oh, and we should have got some new pillows at Asda. I’ll have a look in town tomorrow”

We sat on the sofa, something forgettable on the telly, eating food from trays on our laps, and then we went into the bathroom together, brushed our teeth, and cuddled together under the duvet. It was all so simply, comfortably domestic that I wanted to weep.

My ‘packed lunch’ the next day was something that quickly became a favourite: charred strips of chicken breast on a mixed salad in a snap-closed sandwich box (that I hadn’t owned), with a resealable tub (that I similarly hadn’t owned) filled with a lovely mint raitha, together with some shop-bought chapattis to wrap it in. Another trite phrase ran through my head, that I could get used to this. That brought yet another revelation from that tiny sane part of my brain, that yes, I did want to get used to it.

After a couple of ‘taxi runs’, Tom found a lurkery, one of his usual spots, the car park of the Coryton Asda, who were kind enough to recognise why we were parking there and agreed not to try and stiff us for charges. When I produced my munchies, he grinned so happily I was expecting his jaw to fall off.

“What’s her cooking like, Jen? And do not try and claim you made that lot, because that would be so obviously a big fat porky. Spill!”

“Er, she’s a bit good, butt. Especially on the Indian stuff, but she did a fry-up this morning, with poached eggs, and it was just spot-on. I can never get poached eggs right, nor omelettes”

The grin morphed to a look of deep concern.

“How do you feel, love?”

I took my time over that one, then the right image popped out.

“I was going to say ‘comfortable’, Tom, but that’s not quite right. What it is… You’re in a hot bath, lovely and warm, cold bathroom, aye? There’s a big, fluffy dressing gown on the towel rail, and it’s not comfy, it’s going to be. Sort of anticipation; does that make sense?”

“Absolutely. Like being out on a bad day, coming to a pub that looks all cosy, just before you open the door?”

“Exactly. You know it’s going to be toasty even before you can feel it. That’s what it’s like right now, with Amina”

“Sparing you the shudders”

“The what? Oh, yeah. Still… I’ve got my conscience going mad, Tom”

He took my free hand.

“Guilt, love?”

“Oddly, no. It’s more like, ‘what are you waiting for?’ and ‘are you trying to hurt her?’. It just took me a little while to realise it was talking sense”

“How are you two handling things, then? Your landlord?”

“Oh, lying, of course. And I still had…”

“It’s okay, love. I know”

“Yeah. I, my conscience thingy, it says that, but, well, still raw. I still have the list of agents we were looking through, finding a better place, and yes, it still ambushes me. I’m doing my best, Tom”

“That’s all you can do, Jen. All any of---”

“Foxtrot one five, Foxtrot one five, Central”

Tom responded.

“Go ahead, Central”

“What’s your location?”

“Coryton Asda”

“Can you make to the Village Hotel; it’s right by you, fortunately”

“What are the circs”

“One casualty. Fall from second floor window at rear of property”

“Injuries?”

“Unknown. He didn’t reach the ground, got caught on something. Brigade are on their way, as are police”

“Moving now, Central. ETA a minute. Click in, Jen”

He hit the full disco and we pulled out onto the huge roundabout to make almost a full circuit, a fire engine emerging from Northern Avenue just after we had passed, and a copper waving us away from the back of the hotel to park outside its coffee shop. It was Barry again, so I knew there must be a good reason. Big Green Bag and out, I greeted the big man.

“Central said the casualty’s out the back”

“We need room for Trumpton, Jen. Bryn’s round there. Watch…”

He waved the fire engine past, then added, “You’ll see what I mean, girl. I’ll brief Tom after I cone this off”

I jogged round the corner of the hotel, and, oh hell. How exactly had he managed THAT?

The lower windows at the back of the hotel were equipped with railings, obviously meant to stop burglars, and our man was hanging head down, one leg caught between two of the bars. The Brigade were already setting up a ladder, but I could already see that the lower leg was at the wrong angle compared to the thigh. One of the firemen waved me forward.

“Need a quick check before we move him, love. Happy on a ladder?”

“Not a problem. What I can see already, though, is that he needs that injury unweighting. Got anything like a hoist? Something that could support him?”

“Can do. He’s low enough, anyway. Could you talk, assess, whatever, while we set it up? Ianto there will rig you a harness for the ladder”

I ended up in a waistbelt with a safety line, and went up the ladder with the bare minimum of kit.

“Hiya. I’m a paramedic, name’s Jan. Can you tell me what’s happened?”

Compound fracture of the lower leg and probably a dislocated knee. At least it was elevated, so blood loss wasn’t yet a worry, or at least not the main one”

“Just going to pull the balaclava off so I can check you over. What’s your name, butt?2

“No. Comment”

Be like that, then; the gloves and balaclava told me all I needed to know on that front.

“Well, you can comment on other things. Have you been unconscious at all?”

“No. Comment”

“Okay, then. I’ll leave you to it. Nice meeting you!”

I made as if to descend the ladder.

“Wait! Aren’t you going to help me?”

“Trying to, Butt, but you’re not letting me”

“Fuck!”

“Been unconscious at all”

He drew a shuddering breath.

“Yeah. Banged my head when… when I slipped”

“Any idea how long?”

“Not long. I fucking HURT”

A call came from below.

“Nearly there, Jen”

I looked to my left, where a canvas sling was dangling from an extendable arm. Another engine had arrived, and the crews were setting up ladders to either side of me.

“Not leaving, butt. Going down to let them put you in that sling, take the weight off, then I will be back to help with the pain, okay”

Barry called up to me.

“Jen? Got a cherry-picker on the way, but can you stay there for now, just lower. Brigade want guidance while they lift him”

Fair point, Butt. Hear that, Mister Comment?”

“Hugh”

“Thank you. Right…”

I watched the firemen arrange the sling under his body then, as slowly as we could manage, lift his body into a horizontal position. As soon as he was level, I saw a mobile cherry-picker arrive, just as promised. I made me way down the ladder, then climbed into the cage still wearing the safety harness, but this time with my BGB. His screams were horrendous.

Up once again, and do the numbers, which were acceptable, before cutting to the analgaesia, and bugger paracetamol, even at industrial strength, as I went directly to morphine. It was like turning a switch, and I got a grateful look from both the firemen at the tops of their ladders.

“Hugh?”

“Yeeaaaah?”

“What I propose to do is to cut the railings to release your leg, then support it with this crane. Then both cranes will lower at the same time. Can’t guarantee there won’t be a bit of a jerk, so be ready”

I caught nods from the two Trumpton, and a hydraulic cutter came up my former ladder. Snip-snip, a length of rail removed, and shit, that leg must be bloody gone. The lower was a little fraught, but Tom had both back board and splint box ready. It took no time at all to load him into our wagon, in comparison to the palaver in getting him down, but we were soon off to the Uni hospital, trauma team promised, Bryn riding with us because, after all, how he’d fallen may have been without comment, but all of us, including Hugh, knew exactly why he had been where he was.

Shit out of luck, that burglar, but thank god for huge mercies: he kept his leg, just a couple of inches shorter than it had been, with a non-functional knee.

As we finished a hard shift, all I could think of was Amina, and the comfort that awaited me.