The throbbing in my head told me that something wasn't quite right when I regained consciousness. I felt something soft under me. That said 'you are in a bed'. The bleeping of a monitor told me that I was in a hospital. That in turn meant official records which leads to questions and possibly awkward ones at that.

I slowly opened my eyes. I was in a room lit with harsh fluorescent tubes. With my aching head, the prognosis for a swift recovery wasn’t good. I tried to turn over. All I got was a searing pain in my left shoulder. That wasn’t good. So far everything was pretty bad.

"Lie still Mr Scott. I'll get the doctor to see you now that you are awake," said a voice from somewhere out of my view.

“Can you do something about those lights? Florescent lights give me a migraine.”

“You will have to wait for the doctor to see you,” said the voice. This time I identified the owner as being a woman.

“Can you at least put a towel over my eyes until then?”

There was no reply but a few minutes later, a face appeared in my view. It was the owner of the voice.

“Let me put this over your eyes. I know what you mean about the lights.”

---

“Now Mr Scott, you have been through rather a lot haven’t you?” said the Doctor

Talk about telling me something I don’t know.

"Your shoulder was a bit of a mess but we have fixed it now. However, four steel plates are holding it together. Another crash like that and I can't hope for the same outcome."

"Thanks, doctor. But what happened? I have no memory of whatever it was?"

“It seems that you fell off an old railway bridge.”

I shook my head.

“That can’t be right?”

“That what it says here in your records.”

I shook my head.
“That is wrong. Plain wrong. I just know it is.”

“That’s for another day. The immediate thing is to get your wounds healed then you can get into rehab. With a concentrated bout of physio, you can get back almost all the movement in your shoulder and arm.”

“When and where?”

“What do you mean?” asked the doctor.

“When do I go to rehab and where will it be?”

“Normally, we like to get the patients transferred to somewhere near their home.”

I laughed and immediately regretted it.

“Careful with that shoulder. I’d like for you to not even try to move it until the stitches are out and there is some strength to the skin before you stretch it.”

“That’s not going to be easy but I’ll try.”

The doctor thumbed through my notes.
“It says here that you come from Oswestry in Shropshire?”

“Once upon a time, that might have been true. Not now.”

“Oh. Where do you live then?”

“I’m homeless. The road is my home. Old railway bridges are often by bedroom.”

That seemed to throw him a bit.

“Oh. That makes things a little more complicated.”

“Why? Are there no places near here where I can get some rehab?”

“Well… normally, the rehab involves several sessions of physio a week. That’s why we prefer people to live at home.”

“Ok. I understand. I guess I’m on my own then. When will the stitches need to come out?”

“Four or five days. Why?”

“Then I’d better get out of here. Then this bed can be used by someone more deserving.”

“Mr Scott! That’s not what I’m trying to say. You need to stay here at least until we take the stitches out and we can see what sort of movement you have in your shoulder.”

I sank back into the bed. At least I wasn’t going to be turned out onto the street for a few days.
"Ok, Doc. You are the boss. I'll do whatever you say."

About an hour after the Doctor had left the first of the painkiller tablets, he'd prescribed for me was starting to take effect. I was feeling pretty happy when the staff nurse came to my bed and said,
“Are you up to having a visitor?”

Because of the drugs, I didn’t argue.
“Sure.”

The nurse took one look at my face and laughed.
“Those happy pills are really working aren’t they?”

“Yep!”

“I think I’ll get the doctor to adjust the dose.”

I wasn’t going to object. I was feeling good, very good.

My visitor was a Police Officer, a Constable Barnes.

“Mr Scott, are you up to answering some questions?”

I grinned back at the officer.

“I’m on some pretty strong painkillers at the moment. Please take that into consideration but otherwise, I’m ok. As far as I know, I’ve not broken any major laws recently.”

He didn’t argue so I asked,
“Could you tell me what happened? The doc said that I fell off a railway bridge.”

"You didn't fall. You were pushed over the parapet by a van. The van had been stolen and it'd front offside tyre blew out as it was crossing the road. It hit you with its side mirror and lifted you by your pack straps over the parapet. You fell over the parapet and down onto the old trackbed. That seems to be when you damaged your shoulder.”

“Bummer!”
“What happened to the driver of the van?”

“He was only thirteen but has been charged with TAWOC.”

“TAWOC?”

"Taking away without the owner's consent. It isn't his first offence so he'll probably get a custodial sentence this time. The van is a write-off. It didn't have any Insurance, MOT certificate or Road Tax but the owner had declared it as being off the road so he’s in the clear but is mightily peed off because he’d spent a lot of time and money restoring the vehicle.”

“Can’t he sue the parents?”

The officer laughed.
“They are a well-known family of ne’er-do-wells. Whenever we investigate them, they appear to never own a thing, not even the clothes that they wear nor have any visible income yet…?”

I used to know someone just like that.

“So that’s a no-no then?”

He nodded.

“Now Mr Scott. What were you doing in Bingham?”

“Walking.”

“Walking where to? Where did you come from?”

“Is being homeless and on the road a crime now?”

"No, but you are a person of interest to us."

“Person of Interest?” I replied laughing.
“Really? I must be an axe murderer or something equally bad.”

"This is no laughing matter, Mr Scott."

“It is to me. I’m sorry but Constable… I’m homeless. I don’t have a home. Before coming into Hospital, the last bed I slept in was over a month ago. Since then, I have slept wherever I could.”

“I’ve grown to like being on my own and free to wander the countryside.”

I closed my eyes and began to think happy thoughts. I was done asking questions. I smiled to myself at my mistake.

---

My next visitor was… well unexpected. After the visit from the Nottinghamshire Constabulary, I thought I might have been visited by Yasmin or Jennifer. But I was mistaken.

“Hello again,” said a cheery voice two afternoons later.

I’d been taking a welcome post-lunch siesta when my visitor arrived.

I opened my eyes and was surprised to see the woman whom I'd spoken to at the site of the old Roman Town. Her very presence immediately aroused my suspicions.

“Hello,” I replied trying not to show any enthusiasm for her presence at my bedside. My shoulder was throbbing now that I was no longer on the happy pills. All I had to dull the pain were over the counter medicines but even those were strictly rationed.

“My name is Penny Griffiths. I guess you are wondering why I’m here?”

Talk about the obvious, I said to myself.

“Yeah, but it is a free country or something like that isn’t it?”

“A good friend of yours asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t have any good friends so I know you are lying.”

“Ouch. I was told that you were direct and suspicious of anyone prying into your life.”

“Whoever it was that said that is perfectly correct. I’m just one of the thousands of homeless people plodding around the country trying to survive. I didn’t ask to be here but I am through no fault of my own I might add.”

“I know. Constable Barnes told me that you had been quite short with him.”

“You’re a cop then? I knew that I smelt a rat when you said that you were a tourist guide.”

“Not cop but I work with the Police from time to time.”

“That can only mean that you are a social worker. The last one that I encountered tried to get me into a hostel. The same hostel where a man was knifed to death over a spoonful of sugar the week before. Say what you came here to say and then leave me alone.”

She just gritted her teeth.

“If you are the ‘social’ then you must have had people give you the finger before now?”

I was done speaking. I reacted just like I’d done to the Policeman the day before by turning over onto my right shoulder. It was painful but at least she was out of my field of view. I closed my eyes and thought about cleaning out chicken houses. It might have been smelly but at least they didn’t answer back except with a few loud clucks.

It was only some considerable time later that I remembered that I hadn’t asked her who this so-called friend of mine was. It had to be either Jennifer or Yasmin but as far as I knew they had no clear idea as to where I was since I’d bailed out on them in Manchester.

There was no use worrying about it. I was sure that I’d find out who it was soon enough.

---

Having thirty-two stitches removed without anaesthetic is no joke believe me. It hurt like mad. Then it itched like hell and boy did I want to scratch it but I was told in no uncertain terms that the skin needed time to properly heal and any scratching or rubbing was out of the question for at least a week.

“Well, Mr Scott,” said the Doctor after my latest set of X-Rays.
"The bones are starting to heal nicely. I think that you will be ready to start some gentle physio in a few days. Nothing much at first. Just get the shoulder moving at least a bit. Now, as I've said before, shoulders are like ankles. The joint moves in many directions. The muscles that control this and the operation of the shoulder are complex, to say the least. We have to bring them back into working order altogether. That's where the right regime of physio is essential. Continuity is the key."

"Thanks, Doc but that's the problem. As you know, I'm homeless, jobless and flat broke since some scumbag stole what little money, I had on me after my accident."

The doctor smiled.
“We may have a solution to that. I know someone who knows someone would provide you somewhere to stay while you get that shoulder back into working order.”

I sensed a catch.
“What’s the catch? What do I have to do in return for this free room and board?”

“You are a suspicious person, aren’t you?”

“I’ve learned the hard way not to trust anyone. If I had not been so trusting then I would not be in this mess. She took everything except the clothes that I had on my back. Now she’s serving jail time and as far as I know, the Government has taken the lot instead of fines. Then there is the fact that no one does owt for nowt these days. Am I right to be suspicious?"

“When you put it like that, then yes, yes you are.”

He didn’t add anything so I asked,
“Who is this good Samaritan? Or, am I not supposed to ask?”

“She is the sister of the Prosecutor who tried your wife.”

I shook my head.
“She was never legally my wife.”

“Ok, the woman who appeared to be your wife.”

“How did she get involved?”

“From what I’ve been told, the man from the CPS[1] was impressed by how you had managed while homeless and how you stood up to some intense questioning. He saw your name in a news report about your accident and contacted the local Police to offer his help.”

“It seems that is all signed and sealed without any input from me?”

“Craig, please try to loosen up a bit. Some people are willing to help you get back on your feet. What you do then it up to you. Can’t you trust a few people for a month or so?”

My mind went back to Jennifer and Yasmin. They'd decided my future and… that was it. That had led indirectly to me being in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was a difference in that this was temporary while the other one wasn't.

“Ok. Ok, you don’t need to labour the subject.”

“So? You are going to go along with this idea then?”

As if I didn’t need reminding, my shoulder gave a big twinge.

“Ok but this is just until I get signed off by the medics.”
The doctor just grinned back at me. I could sense that he was pleased. I had to guess that getting me into some form of Rehab would allow him to wash his hands of me sooner than he might have done.

---

I was discharged from the hospital two days later. My shoulder was starting to function but doing simple things like getting dressed was still a PITA.

The host for my rehab had arranged for a Taxi to take me to my home for the next six to eight weeks. I would have preferred to have met my host on the neutral ground of the Hospital but I wasn’t in much of a position to argue.

“Can you stop at a Post Office on the way to wherever it is that we are going?” I asked the driver as we left the Hospital.

“I was told to take you directly to your destination.”

“But if we happen to pass one what problem is there?”

I could see the driver smile.
“Yes. If we happen to pass one then I’ll stop.”

“Thanks.”

I wanted to get another slice of my Benefits money. Being in Hospital had managed to build up a few weeks of money in the bank so even though I’d withdrawn some on the day of my accident. If I didn’t like my new albeit temporary home, I could at least do a runner with a few quid in my pocket.

“There is a Post Office just ahead,” said the driver a few minutes into my journey into the unknown.
"Thanks. Some tea-leaf robbed me while I was waiting for an ambulance."

“That is not right but that’s what it is like these days I’m afraid. I was robbed last year. The guy was really, really high on something so I didn’t argue.”

“Am I expected to pay for this trip to wherever it is that we are going?”

“No charge. This trip is prepaid along with the tip. My instructions are to get you there in one piece.”

“Fair enough,” I said as the taxi came to a stop outside the Post Office.

---

The Taxi took me well out of Nottingham. As we passed over the A46, Fosse Way I felt a tinge of sadness. I would much rather have been walking southwest but I wasn't in any fit state to do that at the moment. The taxi carried on in a southerly direction until it turned off the main road and after a few turns, the cab turned left into the driveway of a large house.

“Where are we? Exactly?”

“Wartnaby. We are just over the border in Leicestershire.”

“I know. I saw the signs. You seemed to know your way here. Have you been here before?”

“This is my second visit today. I brought the lady of the house home from the airport.”

His words threw me for a few seconds. Then I thought that this arrangement must have been set up in a hurry. I'd have to wait and see what happened.

The taxi came to a stop.

“Thanks for the ride.”

He didn’t reply so I got out of the car remembering to take my rucksack with me. It was hard not to use my left hand or arm.

I shut the door and turned towards the house. I heard the crunch of tyres on gravel from behind me as the taxi left me alone.

I looked around. I could just go back to the lane and… the open road would be there waiting for me. Then I heard a noise behind me.

I turned around to see the front door of the house opening. Then a woman emerged. I knew right away that I’d seen her before but I could not remember where it was. She smiled at me and came down the steps to greet me.

“Craig. Welcome to my home. I’m Serena Garrett.”

That was it. She’d been on TV a lot. She had co-hosted some game show until her co-host had been ‘a naughty boy’ and had been caught fixing the game with a contestant in return for sexual favours...

“Hello. I remember you now.”

“Oh.”

“It wasn’t your fault that your colleague was a sexual predator.”

“Thanks for that, but mud sticks. Once tarred it is next to impossible to get it removed if you are a woman that is. But I digress, please come inside.”

I followed a frankly stunningly beautiful woman into her home and I didn’t even have to ask first. The alarm bells started ringing in my brain as I crossed the threshold.

---

“Please leave your pack by the stairs. I’ll show you to your room a little later. First, I think some tea or coffee and we can get to know each other a little better.

I followed her into a kitchen that wouldn’t look out of place in a restaurant. She saw my eyes bulge at all the equipment.

“I can see you like the kitchen. This is all part of my plans for the house.”

I didn’t know how to answer that without seeming to be a nosy parker.

“What can I fix you? Things are a bit of a mess today; I’ve just returned from shooting an Advert in Spain. It overrun by two days so that’s why I’m not prepared for your arrival.”

“Nothing special. A cup of tea with a dash of milk would do fine.”

She smiled back at me.
“That I can do. I’ll need to do a supermarket run later today. I’ll need to know what sort of food you like but that can wait. Please take a seat and relax. Please consider this your home until we get that shoulder of yours functional. From the records the Doctor emailed me, you banged it up pretty bad.”

“Thanks,” I replied as I pulled out a chair and sat at the island counter.

Serena put the kettle on to boil and then sat opposite me.

"I'll expect that you have lots of questions about everything that is going on. I can see that you have sized up the exit. I won't stop you if you do decide to bail out. I do know that some of the exercises I have planned for you won't be easy or pain-free. Feel free to stop me at any time ok?”

"Thanks. I'll remember that. The Physio at the hospital gave me an overview of the sort of torture that lies ahead."

She laughed.
“Brian was always the joker. He and I qualified as a physio at the same time. I wanted him to join me here but as he's working in the same hospital as his wife, he said no."

“What exactly is here?” I asked just as the kettle came to the boil.

“Let me pour the tea and then I’ll tell you.”

A minute or so later, Serena put down a mug of tea in front of me. Then she sat down opposite me as before. For some reason, I got the impression that she was giving my body a scan just like those machines in the hospital.

“This place is intended to be a place where people who need an intensive course in Physio can go to get it done. Having one appointment a week at the hospital or clinic is not enough for the majority of people. I know from first-hand experience that it seems to take forever to get the injury cleared up. The idea is that people come here and stay until they want to bail out or are healed. That's why the kitchen is so well equipped. There is room for eight residents at present. That’s all I can handle on my own plus a couple of part-timers."

“Intended? Isn’t this place up and running yet?”

She smiled at me. Her smile was very pleasant but I guessed that there was a heart of steel behind it.

“You are the first patient. A trial run so to speak. That’s why I agreed with my brother to do it at no charge.”

My shoulders visibly sagged.

“There is an upside you know?”

“I don’t see one from where I’m sitting. All I see is a lot of pain.”

“It won’t be all bad. Any feedback from you about how things are going will be most welcome even if it is just to tell me to go to hell and beyond.”

I couldn’t answer that. Whatever the future had in store for me, it wasn’t going to be plain sailing. Nothing had been remotely plain sailing since I’d been thrown out onto the streets.

[to be continued]

[1]CPS = Crown Prosecution Service. Much like the office of the District Attorney in the USA.