CHAPTER 30
No, life didn’t slip into slow motion, I didn’t clock the number of the bike, and Paul didn’t dive across the pavement shouting “NOOOOOOOOOO!”

They rode past, something went flash-bang, Rhod woke up with a shout, and Paula spun off her feet with a grunt. Nothing dramatic, no cinematic clichés; just a woman on some concrete flags in a spreading pool of blood, I had an immediate thought, and it was stupid, and it was “How useless am I?”

Rhod was yelling now, and Paula’s eyes were open in shock, and then her man was shouting at me. Some bloody cooper I was. As he screamed, I dug out my mobile. Ambulance, police…

“DI!”

“Er…”

“Pressure! Here! Now, girl!”

Things may not have gone into slow motion with the shot, but I felt them speed up into real time as my training finally kicked in, and Paul fed my hand into a hole in her shoulder where something pulsed and bled.

“Push harder, Di! It’s not gone through. Lights, aye? Watch for them. I’m shouting Deb”

Seconds later, with a steady chorus of ‘fuck fuck fuck’, she was with us. Packing was provided, but I could feel that twitchy little thing writhing under my fingertips, so no packing the wound, no bleeding out for my stricken friend.

Blue lights. Barry by my side, the ambulance just behind, a paramedic with something that looked like a twisted pair of scissors reaching past my numb fingers to clamp that little bastard while another plugged something into Paula’s other arm. Their voices were gentle, calm.

“Bring your hand out now, Diane. It’s OK. Well done, girl. We have her, aye? Someone help her up?”

He switched to a mess of technical stuff as Deb hauled me to my feet, and as my senses extended again I saw that Tiff had my son in her arms, teasing him with a piece of something that had obviously from Gemma.

The ambulance howled off, Paul in the back, and that was it. I was surrounded by women, the whole front of my clothing was dripping red, my friend was bleeding out, and my strength had gone off with the ambulance.

Barry was still there, though, and he pulled me to him for a hug.

“Stay strong, girl. Stay strong. Hubby’s on his way with Sammy. Notes, girl. Get it written up while it’s still fresh, then we get you clean and your clothes bagged”

“What?”

He muttered something in Welsh that had an awful lot of harsh consonants to it.

“Di, we will get these turds, but we want as much on our side of the scales as we can, aye? Picture of you and the blood, that’s the sort of thing that gets juries seeing things our way”

“I didn’t even get the fucking number of the bike…”

“Not now, Di. It happens. You were with friends, pushing your kid. You’re not superhuman, are you? Are you?”

I shook my head, and he pulled me closer to him.

“I’ll get your stab vest covered in blood, Barry”

“Does anyone give a shit, girl? That bike is probably toast by now, so the number isn’t that important. Let’s get you sat down, evidence written up, aye? Your mate there, she got a space for us?”

Deb had clearly been listening, but it was Charlie who gave the answer.

“For Paula? For Di? Of course we have. Come with me”

Sat in the same kitchen from what seemed like a century ago, my two favourite SOCO trainspotters on their way for photos, I could feel the blood, Paula’s blood, drying on my skin, stiffening my blouse as it congealed. I knew I was settling into shock, despair, but Barry was there with me, solid, as safe as my own lover would have been, and as my mood sank he talked me patiently through the horrors and made the appropriate notes in his pocket book. I knew without needing to be told that other mates were there outside, closing down the street, fingertip searching the road for anything that could help, just as more friends would be cancelling their day off, gathering CCTV, calling in their snouts for any word at all.

Then Blake was finally there, Sammy at his shoulder, and I lost it just as Barry finished his notes and SOCO put away their cameras.

Sammy was straight to the point.

“Get her home, mate. Sorry, Di, but it’s paper suit time. Take what you need, and we’ll bag the clothes. Give your parents a ring for the boy, but go home, now. Got me? We will see you when you are up to it, and not before”

I pulled some rationality together.

“Paula? Any word?”

“Straight to theatre. Lost a lot of blood, they say, but she’s still with us. We’ll let you know, OK? But go home. Now”

Tiff put her head around the door.

“Di? Got your phone here. Hope I didn’t overstep, but I rang your Mam”

I must have looked puzzled.

“It’s in your phone directory, isn’t it? Told her you were OK, that there’s been an accident, and just said she should go round to yours”

She smiled, a hint of a tear there, and I had to ask why.

“Oh, she wanted to know who I was, of course”

“What’d you tell her?”

“Just said I was one of your sisters, didn’t I? Anyway, you’ve been told, woman. Home!”

Paper suit cold and draughty, Sammy drove the three of us back to our house, where Mam was already waiting in the living room, her spare key finally coming in handy. Blake handed her Rhod, whose face was covered in cream from Gemma’s pastry, and then it was all too much for me. As Blake handed Rhod to Mam, I ran upstairs to the bathroom and threw up more of Gemma’s work.

Shower. I really, really needed to wash, Paula’s lifeblood crusty everywhere, so I stripped off the white boiler suit, ripping it in my hurry, and stepped into the shower. I had to wash, I had to be clean, and then the door of the cubicle opened again, and my beloved man was there, naked, warm, strong, and as I sobbed my heart out he did all he could to make everything better.

He couldn’t, of course, but he tried, and that was all I asked.

Later, calmer and so much cleaner, we went back downstairs to where Mam sat by a tray of tea, and wrapped in dressing gown and husband I did my best to explain, and just like my husband, she was there and strong for me.

The morning sun was strong at the bedroom window, and as I registered the day’s brightness I realised I didn’t remember going to bed. Blake was gone, but I could smell bacon and toast, so he was still with me. On with dressing gown and slippers and then downstairs, where Rhod was giggling as Mam tried to get him to take some cereal. Blake, dressed for work, looked up at me and smiled.

“Morning, love. Slept well?”

I bit down hard before I could say ‘like the dead’ and just nodded.

“Well, I am off into James Street. Lots to do today, and before you ask, we’ve had word from the hospital, and it’s good news. She’s not fine, obviously, but she’s staying with us.

Mam comforted our son as the sobs tore pout of me, Blake speaking as calmly as his drove, his hand taking mine.

“Low-velocity round, love. Not the best of weapons, so we’re looking at a converted replica or reactivated weapon. Starting pistol, home-made zip gun, something like that. They recovered the bullet. Bit more oomph to it and they would have cut her aorta, the docs say. Either way, you saved her life. Nicely done, love”

“Why, my love? Why Paula?”

“Don’t know yet. That’s why I am going in. We’ve been co-opted to do some of the digging”

“Then I need to get changed!”

Mam’s voice was like a slap.

“NO! This time, you stay at home. You heal, you cuddle our little man, and you get better. State you are in, and you want to go rushing into work? No, I say. My son here is big enough to call home as necessary, isn’t he? Anyway, we have a Christmas to prepare for, and I will have you all there, including your friend. Now, what do you want for breakfast?”

Blake was off, and the wheels were turning. I made a small but firm resolution: if I ever ended up face to face with the shooter, my asp was going to stay in my hand.

The days dragged, but after just under a week of festering at home I was finally allowed to see Paula in the hospital. Dai Gould drove me in, and had the tact to go off for a round of coffees while we women avoided hugs and kept the contact down to crushing each other’s hands in the private room they had set aside for her. She wasn’t that lucid, with so much pain relief flooding her system, but she was there, and she was breathing and trying to smile for me.

“How’s the little man, Di?”

“He’s fine, love. Charlie and Tiff took him when, you know, and Mam’s been staying round, so, well, as fine as it could be. Who was it, Paula?”

She grunted, turning her head away for a few seconds, then looked back at me.

“Nothing like that, Di. No ‘my lips are sealed’ shit from me, not ever again. It could have been all sorts of people. Ex-punter with a grudge, former owner who wants to make a point, another owner who wants to show his own girls what happens when they get out of line. Long list. You want to find Moira for starters, see what she might know”

“OK. Where do we find her?”

“Paul can fill you in on who knows the girls, OK? Anyway, doctor’s here”

He was young and slim, very softly-spoken, but he let me stay as he did the checks he needed to, no curtains drawn. He had a lovely smile, which he gave to my friend.

“Coming along well, Paula. No infection, which is wonderful news, given how you got hurt. We’ll have you back to your keyboard in no time. Who is your friend?”

“That’s Di Sutton, doctor”

“Ah! I’ve heard about you--- no, not like that. I have a friend, we have a mutual friend. He’s rather fond of you, talks a lot about what you’ve done”

Pieces fell together with an almost audible clatter, and I tried to match his smile’s warmth.

“You will be Chris O’Connor’s friend than? His, um, special friend?”

He ducked his head, blushing, then looked up again.

“Darius Alinejad at your service, DC Sutton. Well, more at Paula’s service just now, but I am sure you take my point. Chris speaks very highly of you, especially your courage”

I barked out a laugh.

“He can bloody talk! What he did, sacrificial goat he called himself”

Darius was nodding. “Yes, he explained a little, and the rest I discovered. What he says is that he only found his courage because he knew he had friends, just as this lady does. Without your actions, she would have bled to death”

“Yeah, but it was Paul who told me what to do!”

He smiled again, and I could see what Chris obviously did.

“I did say ‘friends’, Di. Now, I am finished here, and I have other patients to support, so Ii will pass your regards to my own friend as I leave you with yours”

He was gone, but his smile lingered.

Three weeks, and I was back to work, nothing coming out of the investigation but low-level noise as the grey nights closed in. Paul had known someone who had known someone who had known Moira, and we had extra eyes and ears listening for us, but there was still nothing to go on apart from a report of a small fire that had consumed a moped and two crash helmets. The frame and engine numbers on that one were both down at Chris’ place under the heading ‘No longer keeper/ scrapped’, but all of us knew exactly which vehicle it had been.

Four weeks, five weeks, nothing. Paula finally up and about, Christmas nearly on us, and long hours wearing me down. I left Rhod with Charlie again one evening, heading off to the big shops to try and find those last presents, but the work and the short hours of daylight were indeed taking their strain. I ended up driving down to the Bay, taking a seat near the lock, the place we had sat in the sun, new friends celebrating the life opening before them like a flower.

There were lights over in Penarth, and the drizzle had gone, so I sat nursing the coffee I had bought over by the Pierhead, letting my mind run the free association I was told it did so well.

There was a rumble, more than one. Big bikes, Harleys I guessed. What did I know? I settled down into my thoughts and the warmth of my cardboard beaker.

The engines cut out, and something triggered my waking mind. I looked around, and there were four figures walking towards me, each from a different direction, and all I could think was Ashley Fucking Evans.

Big men, all of them, and I knew I was fucked, figuratively even if not literally. Idiot! One of them rumbled something I nearly missed, and he said it again, louder this time.

“You Di Sutton? The copper?”