There is Nothing like a Dame A novel by Bronwen Welsh Copyright© 2017 & 2018 Bronwen Welsh A sequel to 'The Might-Have-Been Girl' and 'All the World's a Stage'

Chapter 33   A night of drama

I'm sure we've all had moments when we wished we could turn back the clock – this was one of mine. Fortunately, the man moved just as the baseball bat crashed down on him, so instead of hitting the middle of his skull as I intended, it glanced off one side and hit his shoulder. Hearing him groan, I knew instantly who it was. I leapt to the light switch and turned it on, only to confirm my fears. Reggie was lying face down on the floor. Dropping the bat I rushed over and knelt beside him.

“Reggie, oh Reggie!” I cried. “What have I done?”

Reggie groaned and it was music to my ears as I thought for a moment that I had killed him. He slowly turned over, wincing as his shoulder touched the floor and he peered up at me through half-closed eyes.

“Harriet? Why did you do that?” he groaned.

“I thought you were a burgler! I almost screamed. “Oh Reggie, why didn't you tell me you were coming down after all? I might have killed you.”

He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts and spoke slowly: “The guest speaker cancelled at the last minute, so I thought I'd drive down anyway. It was meant to be a surprise, and it certainly was that.” He glanced at the baseball bat which I had dropped beside him. “You should try out for the Boston Red Sox.”

At least his sense of humour was intact but I was worried about what damage I might have done to him. He was struggling to get up but I immediately told him to keep still.

“Just lie there Reggie, I'm going to call an ambulance.”

“Don't do that, they might inform the police,” Reggie said. “If what happened gets out, the tabloids will crucify you.”

“But you need checking out; I might have split your skull.”

“Then tell them I fell over in the dark and crashed against some furniture, alright?” He paused: “And hide that bloody baseball bat!”

It gave me some comfort that he was thinking so logically, more logically in fact than I was, but I still felt he should be checked out, so I called '999', asked for 'Ambulance' and briefly told them the version of events we had agreed upon. Now I had recovered from the initial shock, I hurriedly dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt and put on some lights, including the one outside the porch to let the paramedics know where we were.

The ambulance arrived five minutes later. The lights were flashing but thank goodness they weren't using their siren as it was after midnight and I didn't want the street woken up. Two young men got out of the ambulance and approached me.

“Good evening miss, where is the patient please?”

“He's my husband and he's in the bedroom,” I replied. They asked our names and I used 'Staunton' for both of us. Sometimes it's handy to work under a different name.

They walked into the bedroom, knelt down beside Reggie and checked his 'obs' and the area of his injuries. He wasn't bleeding but an area on his head was already developing a big bruise and I had little doubt that there would be another one on his shoulder. That was confirmed when they eased off his coat and shirt, but at least there was no bone fracture.

“What exactly happened here? Was he unconscious?” they asked.

“Yes, for a minute or so. Reginald drove down from York to join me for the weekend. He didn't turn on the lights so as not to disturb me, and tripped over and hit his head and shoulder on the furniture,” I said with a perfectly straight face, acting the anxious wife, which really didn't require much acting. “When I realised what had happened I rang you.”

“There doesn't seem to be any serious injuries, but when someone bangs their head and loses consciousness we prefer to take them to hospital for observation just in case of an internal bleed,” said the senior paramedic.

“Can I come with him?” I asked and they agreed that I could ride in the ambulance with Reggie. They went back to the ambulance for a trolley and loaded Reggie up ready for transportation. I left a quick note for Dale and Frank in case they came back early, and also left a light on to make it look like someone was home. The last thing I wanted was a real burglar to breaking in while we were away.

Stratford only has a community hospital with limited services, so we set off for Warwick Hospital about ten miles away which has an Accident and Emergency Department and with the lights flashing we arrived there in under fifteen minutes. I rode in the back with Reggie and one of the paramedics and we kept a close eye on Reggie during the journey. He winced a bit when we ran over bumps in the road, even though the driver was keeping his speed down to make the ride as smooth as possible. The paramedic named David checked his 'obs' every five minutes or so and said Reggie was doing fine.

He was taken into the Emergency Department and David gave a brief history to the triage nurse while Reggie was wheeled into a cubicle and transferred into one of those incredibly narrow beds.. I went with him and sat beside the bed, waiting for the doctor to arrive. One of the nurses, with my help, eased him out of his clothes. I was shocked at the size of the bruise now developing on his shoulder. Then the doctor arrived.

“I'm Doctor Murphy,” he sais in a broad Irish accent. “Now what have we here?”

I gave him our concocted story again, and he examined Reggie.

“What exactly did he hit?” he asked.

“Well it was dark but I think it must have been my dressing table,” I replied

“Well, neither his skull nor his clavicle are broken, although as you can see he has two big bruises. I'm a bit concerned that he lost consciousness, so I think an MRI scan is in order just to exclude internal bleeding.”

With that he left to attend to other patients and we both waited for about ten minutes until an orderly came and wheeled Reggie away to the Radiology Department. He returned after about thirty minutes and then we waited again for the results.

Dr Murphy returned and announced that there was no sign of bleeding but nevertheless Reggie should stay overnight for observation. He was given an injection to ease the pain and I settled down for a long night, sitting beside him and it wasn't long before both he and I fell asleep.

I awoke to see a grey dawn breaking outside the window. It was raining and looked miserable. I stood up and walked around trying to shake off the stiffness from sitting in an uncomfortable chair for about six hours. Reggie was still asleep, so I went to the desk and asked if there was anywhere I could get a coffee. A nurse directed me to a small café where a sleepy-looking catering staff member sold me a coffee and an egg and bacon roll. I felt a bit better after I had consumed them, and arrived back in Emergency just in time to see Dr Murphy, whom I imagined was coming to the end of his shift, check Reggie for the last time and pronounced him ready to go home. He wrote out a script for a pain-killer rather more powerful than the average paracetamol or aspirin and advised complete rest for a few days and a checkup with a local doctor, before leaving for his own well-earned rest, with our thanks.

Reggie had been given a cup of coffee and a plate of sandwiches and already looked a lot better. A nurse came in and help me with getting Reggie dressed and I asked the receptionist to ring a taxi to take us back to Stratford. The taxi arrived in five minutes and the driver was happy to get a bigger than usual fare. Reggie had been given a pain-killing injection before we left which presumably contained some narcotic and as a result, it wasn't long before he fell asleep. I watched the scenery go by and started to think about the implications of the doctor's advice. Reggie was in no state to travel back to York and be on his own, but I had a final week of rehearsals and then a couple of preview performances to attend. What was I going to do?

Just then my mobile phone rang; it was Frank.

“Hello Harriet, we just got back a day early, what's happened?” he said.

I gave him the official version after all taxi drivers do have ears. I could tell him the real story later.

“Oh that's bad news,” he said, but then he gave me the best possible news: “You need to go back to rehearsals I know and we still have another week off so we can look after Reggie if you like?”

I felt like crying with relief. “Oh, could you Frank? That would be wonderful. I was just starting to wonder how I would manage.”

We arrived back in Stratford in about half an hour, as I asked the driver to take it slowly and Dale and Frank met us at the taxi and helped Reggie inside. I paid the taxi driver and gave him a healthy tip. He was very pleased as he left to drive back to Warwick, no doubt hoping to pick up a fare on the way.

Reggie didn't argue when I suggested he go straight to bed and rest. He already looked like he wanted to go to sleep again. Frank offered to go to the pharmacy and get the tablets and even asked if I wanted any shopping bought as well. I put my arms around Frank and Dale and gave them both a big kiss on the cheek.

“It's so wonderful to have you both back,” I said. “You don't know how much I've missed you.”

I gave Frank a small list and included a cooked chicken so that we could all have a nice lunch without having to go to too much trouble. It would be frozen vegetables, but who cared?

Over lunch, I told both the boys what had really happened. I could tell that they were having great difficulty stifling laughter.

“Well, put yourself in my position,” I said indignantly: “I'm in the flat on my own, you are both away and Reggie told me he wouldn't be down until Saturday morning. What was I supposed to think?”

Dale managed to compose himself: “You're right of course Harriet and we'll take that as a warning never to creep into the flat late at night without putting lights on and making plenty of noise.”

Then he and Frank couldn't restrain themselves any longer and both burst out laughing. What could I do? I had to laugh too because when the story was told it all sounded so absurd. The noise woke up Reggie and I heard him calling from the bedroom. It seemed he was hungry, surely a good sign, so I opened a can of chicken soup for him and sat with him while he ate it.

“What did the boys say when you told them the true story of what happened?” he asked.

“They laughed of course,” I replied.

Reggie smiled: “Well it does sound like something you'd read about in a bad novel.”

I sighed. “I suppose you're right, but it didn't seem funny at the time. I thought I had killed you.” At the thought, a tear trickled down my cheek.

“Come here,” said Reggie. I snuggled up to him and he kissed me tenderly on the cheek.

“It's just as well that I have a thick skull,” he said.

“Oh Reggie, I love you so much. I couldn't bear it if I lost you,” I said, and the tears started to flow in earnest.

He soothed me as if I was a little child, stroking my hair with his uninjured arm and this time we kissed on the lips.

To be continued.

Many thanks once again to Louise Ann and Julia Phillips for spotting my 'typos', thus allowing me to correct them before publishing.