RichardIt feels unreal. It can't possibly be real. The mind rejects such things. This isn't reality. It is the stuff of nightmares.The awful sight of James as the bullet impacts. His body jerking and jolting as he takes the shot intended for Charlotte. The agony and the shock when he cries out as he falls, unconscious, to lie in a pool of his own blood; a pool that spreads and grows, fed by the spurt of red where Corby's bullet speared into his flesh.Michael, gasping for breath, his blond hair dark with sweat, and eyes opaque with shock from the failure of his desperate attempt to bring Corby down before he could fire the shot.And Charlotte, howling in horror and disbelief, on hands and knees, covered in blood, James' blood, as she clutches and scrapes at his body.Is he dead?No....The blood is pumping....I have never seen Charlotte in anything like this condition. Always before, no matter how dire the situation, she has handled it. More than handled it. She has
JennyA lone figure steps from a bus.Simply dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt, long red hair tied back in a pony-tail, the figure drops a rucksack at her feet, looks right, then left, then all around.She doesn't look lost, more.... assessing....Remembering perhaps....Then, with a sigh, she swings the rucksack over her shoulder and steps out.*****The work isn't great, and neither is the pay, although there is a little extra for working the midnight shift.She cleans tables, clears dishes, serves cheap meals and hot drinks to late-night customers. And she is still working when the early shift-workers amble into the road, clearing garbage and rattling bins.*****Working behind the cafe bar, making up sandwiches and snacks, at first Jenny doesn't notice. The large screen over-looking the bar runs daytime TV, blarting out game results and gossip news, soaps and reality shows. Just now it is giving out some actual news, but she's really not listening. TV holds ve
RichardWhen Elizabeth and I arrive at the hospital, James is still in surgery. Charlotte and Michael, silent and strained, sit out in a waiting area. A couple of dozen seats accommodate a sketch of humanity: a small crying child, perhaps a girl, although it's hard to tell through the snot and tears, with her mother trying to comfort her. A couple of old ladies sit talking and laughing raucously, sharing tea from a flask. Two young men try to control a comrade who yells and struggles, clearly much the worse for drink and with a head wound bleeding down his face and clothes.Michael looks rough, sitting with one arm around her shoulders, his other hand holding hers.Charlotte looks appalling. Her eyes, dark-rimmed, are bloodshot hollows. Her hair and clothes, while she's obviously made some attempt at cleaning up, still carry traces of James' blood. As we arrive, she looks up and then away again, lost in tears and misery.They don't belong here....I catch Michael's eye, but h
JamesI'm so tired. Passively, I lie in the dark, unable to sleep, haunted by the waking nightmare of something that I can't quite remember.Charlotte lies next to me, I think asleep, but as the door clicks open and then closes again, she stirs. Her voice is sleepy. "Hi."Michael's voice is low, "Hi, how are you? Feeling better now?""I'm fine. I just needed some sleep.""How is he?""Asleep too I think. He seems okay. Certainly on the mend.""Good." There is rustling and then movement as he gets into the bed beside her. Then the small sounds of intimacy, sighs, murmurs, a kiss."I'd like to hold you for a while. Is that okay?""Of course it is. Michael, I wanted to say thank you and sorry.""Sorry? What do you have to be sorry for?""For.... I've been so awful, and I couldn't have coped without you. I thought I'd lost him and I ignored you.""Hey.... Shhhh. This is my half of the deal remember. It's part of the reason James brought me in. For when he can't b
JamesThe voices....".... he loves you more than his own life. Wherever he is in there, he is trying to come back to you.""You think he can hear us? You think he can hear me when I talk to him?""Yes, I'm sure he can hear you. He might not remember it later, but I'm sure he can hear you.""I'll keep reading to him then...."Who are you?.... a pale face framing green eyes....Who are you?Who am I coming back to?*****FIVE YEARS AGOChad faces his mother, pale and controlled. "You went through my room?"She pushes a plate of scones at him. "It was for the best, Chad. We know you still feel something for Jenny, after everything she put you through and....""You went through my room?" he repeats. "And you gave private information to a complete stranger without my permission?""She was only trying to help," says Mr Bennett. "Sometimes you have to listen to your parents....""I'm not a child. I am a grown man and you went through my stuff? My private belo
RichardThe following day, "Anything you should tell us?" I ask the nurse, "Before we go in?""We have lifted the sedation," she says. "We're still waiting for him to wake. Your friends are in there with him."The room is light and airy with a TV, air-con and fresh flowers. I made sure the Threesome were assigned one with a pleasant view. Nonetheless, there is no escaping the fact we are in a hospital. A nurse is adjusting a drip. Cables run from under the blankets to various monitors and equipment and the steady bleep-bleep of the cardiograph blinks in the background.In the room, the unconscious James appears unchanged. Charlotte and Michael are sitting together on a small settee. As he sees us, Michael stands, talking quietly with Elizabeth.Charlotte, wearing jeans and a sweater from Elizabeth's wardrobe, remains sitting by James, holding his hand. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail and her eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, look enormous in her pale, puffy face.And a
Richard"And besides," Michael continues, then baulks for a moment before speaking, "Richard, it's a matter of plain fact that Charlotte has always loved James more than me. He was her first and he brought me into all this, at least partly, so that Charlotte would have support as he grew older. So that she wouldn't be left bereft. That's my role in this, to support her. I wouldn't leave her alone now, even if I wanted to.""And what about you?" I ask. "Don't your feelings matter? The two of you, you and James are very close, unlikely friends though you might seem."He shrugs. "The point is that it is the Three of us. And we'll stick it out as long as there are three of us."What am I supposed to say to that?Nothing...."You think we should get her sedated?" I suggest. "At least away from here? It can't be doing her any good, seeing him like that."Arms still folded, he shakes his head, lips pressed to a stubborn line. "I don't think sedation is the answer. Whatever happe
James"What am I doing here?"The nurse looks up from where she is fussing over something to do with my leg and over the top of her half-moon glasses. "You were shot, Mr Alexanders."Shot?She straightens up, looking down at me. "You don't remember?""No," I say weakly. "I don't"I can still barely lift my head and can't even consider sitting up. Michael stands over me, arms folded. "How are you feeling?"My skull aches abominably and I still can't think straight, thoughts dancing away If I try to concentrate on anything. As I squeeze the bridge of my nose, trying to relieve the pressure a little, Charlotte strokes my fingers."Err.… terrible, actually," I say. "I've never felt so knocked out.""Mmm...." Michael purses his lips. "That's a good sign actually.""It is?""Ah-ha. It means you're alive."I was shot?I still can't believe it."How long have I been here? I feel dreadful.""Four days," says Michael. He presses the tip of a forefinger to his lips.