Who’s Desdemona? (aka Bike) Part 626 by Angharad

I felt someone rolling me over on the floor and pulling me away, the pain was awful and I felt sick. Someone called, “Get something to pack into the wound to stop the bleeding.” I think the voice was Henry’s, and I wondered if this time I was going to die.

“Here, use this,” said Tom’s voice, but I couldn’t feel them doing anything to me.

I tried to move and groaned with the pain, “Cathy, are you okay?” Henry gently stroked my face and I opened my eyes.

“That was a damn fool thing to do, but thank you. You are one brave lady.”

I tried to smile but the pain in my shoulder was so bad. I pointed to my shoulder and felt the tears running down my face. “Your collar bone has gone again, has it?” asked Henry.

“I don’t know, but it really hurts,” Henry helped me into a sitting position. “How is she?” I enquired about our would be assassin.

“Shot by her own gun. There’s an ambulance on it’s way.”

“Is it safe for an ambulance?” I asked.

“The battle is over, all the bad guys are in custody and the police are coming.”

“It’s over over, or this bit is over,” I asked feeling quite sick.

“This bit certainly, perhaps altogether. Little Olga here, is the link to the bad old days of gang warfare.”

“So it was her family, Simon had slaughtered.”

“Remember they attacked us first. All Simon did was help fund the other group, and that was after they kidnapped Stella.”

“Was that grounds for mass murder?”

“We weren’t responsible for that, Cathy.”

“If you funded it, surely you’re partly responsible. If you killed all her family no wonder she wanted to kill all of us.”

“I didn’t kill anyone, Cathy, it was internecine warfare.”

“But you funded it?”

“I see it more as a donation.”

I shook my head except it hurt my shoulder and I stopped. I began to wonder if I wanted to be involved with this family, could I live with myself if I did? Through my association with them, I had become a killer myself. Was that their fault or mine? I had defended my children and Tom, but was that really justification? For a pacifist-by-inclination, I seemed to have some very warlike habits. I was tired, in severe pain and rather confused.

Trish and Mima came out of the hidey-hole and put their arms around me. They were quite sleepy and had slept through most of it. They were curious about the wounded Russian.

“She got hurt in the fighting, we’re waiting for the ambulance. Go back inside the little room and stay there until Grampa Tom or Henry come and get you.”

“Why can’t you come and get us, Mummy?”

“I’ve hurt my shoulder again, so I have to go to the hospital to get it checked out by a doctor.”

“Ambulance is here,” shouted someone, “and another one.”

I learned later that there were nine killed or injured, mostly those who met up with the soldiers in the woods. Two of the parachutists were dead, both those whom I’d fired at, amazingly survived, although one had a badly injured spine. They were the equivalent of mercenaries, recruited by organised crime gangs and funded by the Russian group who were run by Olga. If she recovered, she’d spend a long period in prison. It was rumoured she was wanted in Russia as well, although she’d be an old lady by the time she was released by the prison system over here, let alone over there. There she’d probably die in prison murdered or in some dreadful accident and no one would mourn her. Did I admire her or despise her? I wasn’t sure, she had lots of me in her, so maybe I could only despise her, because sometimes I disliked those parts of me.

All I wanted to do was live my own little life, counting dormice and looking after my family and perhaps helping to conserve wild animals and plants in the face of looming overpopulation of humans and climate change. I knew it was totally futile, poking fingers in the dyke, but I’m British and we love lost causes and underdogs. We do glorious failure better than anyone–we’ve had loads of practice.

The ambulances took away the badly injured, and a paramedic put my arm in a sling and I was ferried to Perth hospital by police car. I didn’t see Olga again, which was a pity, I’d have liked to have talked to her and explained why I did what I did. She somehow disappeared from the hospital and no one seemed to know anything about it.

Six of the invaders died, one of our men had a flesh wound caused by a bullet and I of course had a second fracture of the collar bone, and this time they operated on it–á  la Lancie boy. It’s a tiny scar, or will be, but no cycling for at least two months.

I was in hospital for two days before being flown home to Portsmouth by helicopter with the two girls. They were beside themselves with excitement. Tom opted to be driven home, “I’ll nae go in ane o’ yon whirly things, they’ve nae wings tae begin wi’.”

The ACC was found, cringing in a cellar when some of his colleagues stormed the house in Fort William in which he was being held. He apparently resigned on sickness grounds a week or two later, and they gave him early retirement.

Simon gets back from Russia tomorrow, I’m looking forward to that. While I’m waiting, we went by taxi to see Stella and baby Puddin’. Both were doing quite well, Puddin’ can come home in a few days, as soon as my shoulder eases, and Stella is looking forward to coming home too. She goes to see her every day, and feeds her and changes her and most importantly–she holds her.

Stella made quite a fuss of Trish and Mima, that was a lovely surprise for me and I think the girls were pleased as well. Stella was nearly back to her old articulate self.

“What did they say was wrong with me?”

“They weren’t sure, post natal depression or bi-polar disorder were mentioned. Why?”

“Well, the reactive depression is the right answer, arguably with a bit of post natal, for good measure. Now they’ve got me on the right pills, I feel so much better. It’s a long haul and I’m going to need my little sister more than ever.”

We hugged, and both had moist eyes when we parted and I took the girls home. “Is Auntie Stella better, Mummy?”

“She is much better, I’m quite looking forward to having her and the baby home.”

“Me too, Mummy.”

“An’ me,” said Mima, “I wants a baby sister.”

“I want,” I corrected Mima.”

“What, you wants one too, Mummy?”

I give up with this lot.