“Hold on a minute,” she said. I could hear her asking someone else. “Apparently, he was air-ambulanced home to America over the weekend, out of Stansted.” And I hadn’t yet been paid for the Guineas lunch.
“Do you know what his injuries were?” I asked.
I could hear her again relaying the question. “Head injuries,” she said. “Seems he’s lost his marbles.”
“I hope you don’t write that in your paper,” I said.
“Good God no,” she said. “He’s suffering from mental distress.”
“How about the others who were injured, the non-Americans?” I asked.
She relayed the question again. “There’s a couple from the north who are still in the hospital with spinal injuries or something. The others have all been discharged from Addenbrooke’s. But we know of at least one who has been transferred to Roehampton.”
“Roehampton?” I said.
“Rehab center,” she said. “Artificial limbs.”
“Oh.” The images of missing arms and legs made another unwelcome visit to my consciousness.
“Look, I must go now,” said Ms. Harding. “I’ve got work to do.”
She hung up, and I sat on the end of my bed wishing that she hadn’t stirred my memories of the carnage, memories that had started to fade but which all too easily rose to the surface like a cork in a bucket of water.
I decided to cheer myself up by calling Caroline.
“Hello,” she said. “You’ve still got my number, then.”
“You bet,” I said with a smile. “I called to thank you for last night.”
“It should be me thanking you,” she said. “I had a great time.”
“So did I. Any chance I could entice you up to Newmarket for dinner tonight or tomorrow?”
“Why don’t you beat around the bush a little?” she said. “Why don’t you talk about the weather or something?”
“Why?” I asked.
“It might make you sound rather less eager,” she said.
“Do I sound too eager?” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” she said, laughing. “In fact, I think I rather like it.”
“So will you come?” I asked.
“To dinner?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Where?”
“At my restaurant.”
“I’m not eating on my own while you do the cooking.”
“No, of course not,” I said. “Come and watch me cook, and then we’ll have dinner together afterwards.”
“Won’t that be rather late?” she said. “How will I get home?”
I wanted to ask her to stay with me, in my bed, in my arms, but I thought it might not be prudent. “I will get you on the last train to King’s Cross or I will treat you to a night in the Bedford Lodge Hotel.”
“On my own?” she asked.
I paused for a long while. “That’s up to you,” I said finally.
There was an equally long pause at her end. “No promises and no strings?”
“No promises and no strings,” I agreed.
“OK.” She sounded excited. “What time and where?”
“Come as early as you like, and I’ll pick you up from Cambridge station.”
“Isn’t there a station at Newmarket?” she asked.
“There is, but you have to change at Cambridge anyway and it’s not great service.”
“OK,” she said again. “I’ll look up the train times and call you back. At this number?”
“Yes,” I said. I was elated at the thought of seeing her again so soon.
“What do I wear?” she said.
“Anything,” I said.
Even the prospect of being prosecuted under the 1990 Act couldn’t dampen my spirits as I skipped down the stairs. I laughed out loud and punched the air, as I collected my coat and went out to the car. Caroline was coming to dinner! At my restaurant! And she was staying the night! Pity it wasn’t going to be at my cottage.
The brakes of my Golf failed at the bottom of Woodditton Road.
I was feeling good, and my speed, probably like my expectation, was rather too high. I put my foot on the brake pedal and nothing happened. I pushed harder. Nothing. The car actually increased in speed down the hill, towards the T junction with Dullingham Road at the bottom. I suppose I could have been quicker in my thinking. I suppose I could have tried the handbrake, or maybe downshifted the gears to slow me down. I suppose, as a last resort, I could have turned the car through the hedge on the left and into the field beyond. Instead, I gripped the steering wheel tightly in panic and kept pushing the useless brake pedal harder and harder into the floor.
In a way, I was lucky. I didn’t hit a truck carrying bricks head-on like my father. My dear little car was struck by a fifty-three-seat, fully air-conditioned passenger coach, with individual video screens built in. I knew this because the Golf ended up on its side around the back of the bus, and I could read the details of their service, as advertised, in large white letters painted on a red background. Funny how the mind works. I remembered the words as my consciousness slowly drained away: fifty-three seats.
10
I was being wheeled on a hospital gurney along a gray corridor. I could see the lights in the ceiling. But they weren’t the usual bright rectangular panels; they were different. They were round glass globes. And there were windows, lots of bright, sunlit windows. And voices too, lots of voices, both male and female.
“I think he’s come round again,” said one male voice above me.
“Hello,” called a female voice on my left. “Mr. Moreton, can you hear me?”
A face came into view. The face smiled at me.
“Mr. Moreton,” said the face again. “You’ve had a bit of an accident, but you are going to be just fine.”
That was a relief, I thought.
Nothing seemed to hurt much, but my body, strangely, didn’t feel attached to my head. I felt like I was looking down on somebody else’s corpse. Oh no, I thought, surely I haven’t broken my back?
I began to panic and I tried to sit up.
“Just lie back and rest,” said the female voice, a restraining hand placed firmly on my shoulder. She looked into my face. “You’ve had a nasty bang on the head.”
Oh God, I must have broken my neck.
I tried to wiggle my toes and was rewarded with the sight of the blanket moving. Waves of relief flowed over me. I lifted my hand to my face and wiped the cold sweat from my forehead. All was well, I thought, even if the sensations were a bit unusual.
“You’re probably concussed,” she said. “You’re on your way now to have a brain scan.”
I hoped they’d find one.
I wondered where I was. I knew that I was in the hospital, but where? And why was I in the hospital? The questions were too difficult for my befuddled brain, so I decided to take the easy option and do as I was told. I laid my head back on the pillow and closed my eyes again.
FOR THE NEXT few hours, I was dimly aware of being lifted and poked, of being talked about but not talked to. I just let the world get on without me.
I couldn’t remember why I was here. Rather worryingly, I couldn’t remember very much at all. Who am I? I wondered, and was comforted by at least knowing that it mattered. I decided that I probably wasn’t crazy. Surely, I thought, if I was crazy I wouldn’t know to ask myself the question in the first place. But what was the answer?
Thoughts drifted in and out of my consciousness without any threads of connection. Come on, I said to myself,
