Broken Wings 89

Printer-friendly version

CHAPTER 89
I sat down hard, and Jon’s words came back to me.

‘She was next to that big bastard’

It was a second before my hearing caught up with my thoughts, as the phone continued to shout at me.

“Debbie? Debbie?”

Class, woman.

“Here, Rosie”

“Where are you?”

“At the House. Just had a meeting with two of the coppers”

“That lot with the hard bitch?”

“Sorry?”

She muttered a bit, then came back to me.

“Not that one from down West, not the dyke. The one with the kid. Sutton”

“Yeah. Two of hers. They said there’d been one of theirs shot”

Another mutter, then she was back, and her voice was distant, almost dreamy.

“Things you really need to know, girl. Things I don’t want to tell you over a phone. Can you get out to the station, grab a train to Taffs Well?”

“I could ride…”

“No vehicles. No reg”

“Yes, then”

“See you as soon as”

I took a minicab over to the Central, and shortly afterwards came down off the footbridge to the car park, where a white Citroen van flashed its headlights at me, a familiar face behind the wheel. As soon as I was in the passenger seat, Elf drove off sharply, and after some confusing turns and twists we were somewhere off Heol Goch. Elf nodded to me before simply walking back towards the main road after opening the side door to the van to let Rosie emerge, who settled herself into the driver’s seat before leaning over for a hug, her arms so tight I had difficulty breathing. Eventually, she released me, and slumped back into her seat, her left hand gripping my right.

“Sorry for all the skulking, Debbie. Stuff I don’t want to gob off about over a mobile phone, and I fucking know the filth will want to know who I am talking to. Stuff you need to know”

She turned to me, eyes narrowed.

“Had anyone sneaking round the House? Anyone having a go at the girls?”

“No. Not that I’ve seen or heard, at least”

“Good. Didn’t think they had that much sorted, but never mind. That copper woman? What have you heard?”

I thought back over Jon and Rhys’s comments, trying to put some shape on it.

“One of her mates got shot, Rosie. Her boys, two of them, they asked me to get the girls to look in”

I reconsidered my words, then added, “And I think they were really talking about Diane, love. I thinks she’s in a bit of shit”

Rosie’s jaw worked a few times, before she shook her head, and I could read her mind.

‘Later’.

“Well, what you need to know, then. There’s a war on”

“I’d guessed”

She turned to me, shaking her head.

“No, sis. Not us. This is national, and I mean UK-wide. The really big clubs want control. They’re fighting each other, and some fucking stupid idiots think they can get something out of it. We don’t care what they do to each other, as long as they leave us alone, but the fucking Brawd—they took in some of the Reapers after we closed those cunts down, I told you all that. They’ve been sucking up to the Brummy lot, and they decided they would get the most brownnose points if they took out the Culhwch. That’s why…”

Her voice broke a little, and then she was back with me.

“That’s why they took out Oily, and then Cookie, and why two of them were hanging round your copper woman’s house. Picked up on her after Posh got shot”

“Oh fuck!”

I had a vison of her little boy, left orphaned, and Rosie was squeezing my hand again.

“Sorted, Debbie. All sorted/ Carling…”

She was crying now, but it didn’t reach her voice, which stayed calm, detached.

“We got the diagnosis last year, sis. Stuff was happening that didn’t make sense, and then it did, and Carl just said ‘No, not me’, and…”

Some slow breaths.

“Early onset Alzheimer’s, Debbie. Dementia, all of my lover wiped away, sliced away, week by week, month by fucking month, and he said what he said, and then he found his way…”

Another pause.

“That’s the Brawd gone, all of the fuckers, either six feet under or inside, and that is why your copper mate is so screwed up, because it was her that sat with our Carling at the end, and she did him proud, and he died with fucking grace and class, and I am just too fucking lost now to know what to do, so you go and honour that woman. I think she must be close to breaking, and there is no way I can go anywhere near a copper, is there?”

I couldn’t speak, for my own feelings had ambushed me, and they had a common voice, a thread running all through my losses: my absence. I hadn’t been there for either Serena or Andrea, nor for Oily. I hadn’t been there for the three people I had loved more than anyone else. Alzheimer’s; oh, fuck.

What good was I, then?

“Debbie. Debbie. Talk to me, girl”

“Rosie…”

She cut me off.

“Talk after I say this, because I know you. It’ll all be shit about how you left them on their own, how you didn’t do the right thing, about fucking failure, and that is bollocks, sis. Your Mam and Dad, they went when and how they chose, and so did our man. Class, Debbie. Class. Now, you can show your own. There are people out there who need you, there are obs to give back. That Diane honoured our man, so you honour her. Time to go, sis. I will let you know when we are sending our lover on his last ride”

She paused then, looking down at her hands, then turned back to me, voice much gentler.

“Ours, sister mine. I understand what you had with him, and I think I get why it could never have been, but you need to let go, now. Cooper is never, ever coming out, and the others are all dead, so can you do a couple of people a favour, one of them a woman who loves you deeply, and the other one yourself?”

With that she stepped out of the van and round to the side door, as Elf came back up the lane towards us, and some ninety minutes later, I was back at the House, her words crammed into my thoughts with no room left for any others. Obs.

I picked up the phone to ring Gemma with an order, followed by Charlie and Tiff, then put the saddle bags on the bike and headed off for Crwys Road. The bell chimed as I walked into the shop, and Judy looked up with a smile.

“Hiya, Debbie! They’re both in the back; want to come through?”

I slipped around the end of the counter and into the bakery proper, Gemma’s expression one of deep concern as she saw me.

“Kim told me about Oily, Debbie. I know all about that. This is more, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

“It is, love. It’s all over, now. All finished”

My own turn to show some class, pay those obs forward.

“Rosie. You remember Rosie? Wildcat?”

She nodded, hands starting to shake, and when I had explained, I got flour all over my cut-off as we hugged.

“One of Diane’s mates as well, love. In hospital right now. She got shot, and she needs some loving care”

“That is who the pastry order is for, isn’t it?”

I nodded, and she broke free enough to be able to point at a box on a worktop.

“All ready to go, Debbie. Not just Diane’s friend, though, is it?”

I shook my head.

“No. Don’t think Di’s in a good place at the moment”

“Okay… Frank?”

The tall man moved a little closer to us, his face showing the same concern as Gemma’s had.

“What do you need, Gem?”

“I think Debbie… Debbie? You got the time today, to go in and see this girl?”

“I have”

“Good. You take this lot in for her, and I’ll sort out some times with the other girls, and we will make sure there are some smiles for them both. Frank, if I go in tomorrow, can you drop me? I can get Marty to collect me after”

Frank nodded, and as I rose to collect the box of treats, he whispered to me, “I do follow the news, Debbie. I think I understand now”

I couldn’t find words just then, any words, as he just mouthed ‘Chester, Runcorn’ at me, and then I was on the bike and heading for the hospital. So much for my dreams.

The girl was lying in a private room, her head wrapped in yards of bandage, her face one livid bruise only just starting to turn into a variety of colours, swollen almost out of recognition, with all sorts of machines flashing and bleeping away around her. The nurse called over to her as she led me in.

“Alexandra? Visitor for you. Thinks she’s brought nice things, from the smell”

Di’s mate just groaned, then turned the one eye not actually covered over towards me.

“Who you?”

“Debbie Wells, love. Mate of Diane’s, and of Gemma”

Her eye widened a little.

“Gemma? Cakes Gemma?”

“Yup. Brought some with me. Want a taste?”

“Fuck yeah! Food here’s rubbish…”

I fed her some, piece by piece, the ice breaking as I explained how worried Jon and Rhys were about her, while managing to avoid mentioning her other friend, and after a promise of a torrent of girly visitors, I left her to doze, walking into Di’s blonde friend as I came out of the room. She fixed me with a stare, which was clearly made even more intense by my lid and cut-off, then visibly relaxed.

“Di’s mate. Cooper trial, am I right? Where Paula was shot?”

I nodded, and her smile came out.

“Sorry, love. Just being a bit protective right now, what with…”

She waved into Lexie’s room, and I nodded.

“I’m off now, but I’ve left some in the box”

Talk about changing attitudes.

“Some of Gemma’s stuff?”

I nodded.

“She’ll be in over the next few days”

“Bollocks. Goodbye waistline, then. How’s Lexie?”

I could feel the strain catching up with me, so nodded towards the open door.

“She’s awake, and I have to shoot off”

She winced at that one, and I held a hand up.

“Sorry, love. Bad choice of words. Got to go, I have, but let your team know that the girls, my girls, will be stopping by”

“Why the concern, Ms Wells?”

“Debbie, love. Concern? Obs. Obligations. Charlie Cooper, that’s why. Obs get repaid”

I left her to her visit, and made my way through the maze of corridors to the bike, and then home, where I locked myself into my bedroom for a couple of hours to save my face as well as my class.

up
154 users have voted.
If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudos! Click the "Thumbs Up!" button above to leave a Kudos

Comments

Impacts

A lot of people aka civilians have absolutely no (fill in the blank) idea of the impact that events --traumatic or otherwise -- have on folks that are involved with those events. They read about it in their local paper or watch the news on TV, shrug, maybe utter a few words and go on about their business without a second thought or glance. The loved ones, the first responders -- be they medical, fire law or civilians that witness or help, the victims themselves and their circle of friends and family deal with the aftermath forever. Your relating this tale from another viewpoint is spot on! Heart wrenching but spot on! PTSD can be dealt with but the memories remain -- lurking.

Trauma

If you follow my stuff, you will know how often I write about aftereffects. So much of my work is tied up with dealing with issues arising from horrible experiences.

Please take this the right way, but I am glad I get that bit right for you.

After effects

Speaker's picture

People think the hard part of being an interpreter is knowing the languages. If only ... the hard part is being on the phone to an ambulance when the paramedics are trying to revive a heart attack victim, or dealing with the prolonged and macabre effort to recover the body of an air crash victim, or trying to make it clear to an overworked traffic cop at 5AM through my interpretation of of the words of a person found walking along the fast lane of the M6 that said person isn't drunk but in the grip of a terrifying psychosis, or being on the spot with a patient you've known for years when the oncologist says "I'm afraid it's time to consider end-of-life care. Maybe three weeks..." or telling young couples that there's no fetal heartbeat. When it's really dire I take a day off and go for a long bike ride. There are also many jobs where there's a happy outcome; and I meet an extraordinary number of good people - both in my language communities and in the public services.

Speaker

Translation

I am now curious as to which language communities you serve.

Crucial point, that observers suffer in similar way to 'participants' in trauma. I have tried my best to bring this out in my characters, whether it be via doctors on terminal cancer wards or those simply sleeping with people who kick and scream in the night. It is bloody corrosive.

"Obs get repaid”

they should, at least.

DogSig.png

There Are Things

joannebarbarella's picture

From my past that I still see and will never go away. I am one of the lucky ones inasmuch as those memories are just that and do not give me the nightmares that afflict some other people. Nevertheless they are not welcome even though I can banish them to some pocket in my mind.

I do not believe in "closure". Time does not heal completely and while a door may no longer be wide open, it never completely shuts.

Debbie's traumas are far worse than mine, but she is a survivor.