Page 13 of The Long Walk Back

The medic shrugged. ‘No idea, man. You ready to go?’

Cooper sighed. ‘Sure, nothing else to do, have I? And it’s Captain to you.’

The medic blushed. ‘Sorry, Captain. Roger that.’

7

Kate thanked the taxi driver and heaved herself out of the car, her duffle bag dragging along behind her. The night was still, and warm and she found herself grateful for the coverage of darkness. Everything was so familiar to her, yet so alien, different. She reached into the rockery, picking up the fake stone hide-a-key to let herself into her home. She had been surprised that Neil’s car wasn’t there when she first pulled up, but then she remembered. The accident. Their son had been cut out of their car. It was now lying in some police impound lot, or a scrap yard somewhere, waiting to be dealt with. She never wanted to see it again.

The hallway was in darkness, and she called for Neil. His keys weren’t on the hook, and there was no noise coming from the living room. He must have gone straight to bed. To get some rest. He was fine, but in shock. The doctor had advised him to rest up. She would still have been at the hospital too, but they had forced her to go home, get changed and sleep. Jamie would be in surgery for hours, and then recovery. She couldn’t do anything, and she knew her presence there was distracting the staff. She needed them to concentrate on saving her son. She looked into the lounge, but it was empty. There was a plate on the coffee table, a piece of toast crust sitting on it. Remnants of jam sat on the plate, congealed. Jamie’s Lego beaker was placed next to it, no doubt once containing milk. She imagined Jamie sitting there earlier in the day, eating his breakfast and watching cartoons. Probably leaving sticky jam fingers and toast crumbs on his clean, navy uniform. A boy on his way to school, and now fighting for his life. She left the crockery where it was, she couldn’t bear to alter anything her son had touched.

‘Neil?’ she called. No answer. She sat on the bottom step, dropping her kit bag and unlaced her boots, dumping them on the hall floor. She pulled off her thick socks, her bare feet feeling odd against the plush carpeting as she took the stairs one by one.

‘We can go back in a few hours, together. At least we have my car in the garage, we can get around still.’ She rounded the top of the stairs and pushed open their bedroom door.

‘Did you get a taxi home?’ she asked, looking at the bed. It was unmade, the pillows tousled, the sheets flipped back. It was empty. Kate blinked hard, as though expecting Neil to appear when she opened her eyes again. The wardrobe door was open, a coat hanger on the carpet in front of it. She crossed the room, energy suddenly bursting through her as she pulled open the doors to see what she already feared. His clothes were gone. She ran to her bedside table, dialling his number from the landline. It went straight to voicemail. He must have it, he rang me from the side of the road. Did he ring on his phone, or use someone else’s? Was his phone broken? Maybe it was lying on the floor of his mangled car? She couldn’t remember. She dialled the hospital and got put straight through to the operating theatres’ office.

‘It’s Dr Harper. Is Neil back there now? With Jamie?’

‘No, we haven’t seen him. Jamie’s still in surgery. He’s doing okay. We’ll have more of an update in a few hours. Get some rest, Doctor Harper.’ Kate thanked the voice at the other end, not knowing or caring who it was.

She sat down on the bed, and looked around. Neil’s laptop bag was gone, but she had no way of knowing what had been in the car. What the hell was going on?

Four Months Later

Kate watched as her radio alarm clock sprang to life, signalling the start of her day. She turned it off, not wanting to hear the happy chatty tones of the radio presenter as they celebrated another day dawning, waking the world up with their dull small talk about the weather, the traffic, the latest fashion faux pas of the rich and famous. She stretched lazily, her body not willing to leave the relative comfort of her single bed. She looked around her room, taking in the depressingly stark surroundings that she now called home. Her comfy king-sized bed at her house knocked spots off this one, but she hadn’t spent a night there since the accident. She doubted that she ever would again. Going back for clothes was bad enough; the last time she had filled her car to the brim, carrying all she could, knowing that it would be a long while before she ever went there again, the ‘for sale’ sign outside reminding her of how much had changed since Iraq.

She went into the wardrobe, selecting a clean starched work uniform from the pile. She showered in the en suite, brushing her teeth, not bothering to even look in the mirror, let alone apply war paint to cover up her pale, drawn face. The bags under her eyes made her look haunted, a shadow of the person she once was. She brushed out her blonde hair, tying it tightly into a low ponytail, and putting on her shoes, she let the door lock behind her and headed for Trevor’s office.

When he had followed her home after his tour was over, a month after she’d come home herself, Trevor had hounded her, constantly contacting her any way he could, offering her a job and accommodation on site in the rehabilitation centre he now ran. The tour had been his last, and he wanted to put down roots. He was being headhunted to run the state-of-the-art centre, nestled in Yorkshire. The first of its kind in the area, it would house several dozen war veterans, specialising in rehabilitation and prosthetics. The centre would also have an impressive program for PTSD sufferers, meaning that the wounded service personnel they took in had a one-stop shop at their fingertips, providing accommodation, a safe haven for their recovery and transition into life post-service. Trevor was so excited about the project that, eventually, Kate couldn’t help but say yes. Her old job was no longer possible anyway, not now. And Trevor had made her an offer she couldn’t refuse – so here she was.

‘Morning, Trevor,’ she said, sitting down in the chair opposite his large walnut desk. Trevor looked up from the pile of files he was poring over and winked at her, his grin dipping when he saw her.

‘No sleep again? You need to get some rest you know, why don’t you let me prescribe you something, to help you sleep?’

He didn’t push it further. Kate had started shaking her head the minute the words had reached her ears. ‘No. Thanks though. I need to be alert, in case.’

Trevor nodded, his lips pursing with the effort of keeping his thoughts to himself.

‘We have a new intake today, and I want you to be his doctor.’ He passed the file over to her, and got up, walking to the kettle which stood on the small kitchen area he had in his office. Kate looked at the label on the folder and pushed the file away with one finger.

‘No, Trevor, you can’t give him to me,’ she said, turning around in her chair to face him, crossing her arms across her chest huffily. He can’t be here. Karma, stop messing with me, you evil bitch. He ignored her, pouring a large cup full of hot water. He stirred in coffee and sugar, repeating the action in another cup. He added milk to both and handed one cup to her without even asking if she wanted it. She took it gratefully, gulping at the steaming hot drink as best she could without burning her lips. He sat back down at his desk, taking a swig – whilst pushing the file back over to her side of the desk.

‘I can, and I will,’ he said, forcefully. ‘I’m aware of the possible ramifications, but I don’t think it will be an issue. You know his case better than anyone, and his transition has not been… easy.’

‘It won’t work,’ she said, pouting like a petulant teenager. ‘He said I was lucky not to get sued last time I saw him.’ Second to last. A flash of a memory popped into her head. Chopper blades, panic. His voice in her head. Strong, commanding, his hand soothing. I’m here. ‘He could kick up a real shitstorm. You know that, right?’

Trevor smiled and waggled his eyebrows at her. She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. She hated his bloody chirpy demeanour on a morning. She couldn’t raise half of his optimism after a full night’s sleep and a vat of coffee, and she didn’t want to try.

‘Trust me,’ was all he said. ‘He won’t like it, but he won’t sue.’

‘Trust you?’

‘Yes. Trust me. I think you can help him, Kate. God knows no one else has gotten through to him. I think you’re the best person for the job. If he wants you off his case, I’ll deal with it.’

‘Fine,’ she said tersely, reaching for the file. ‘Your lawsuit.’

He grinned at his triumph. Kate wanted to poke his eyes out.

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