Paul grinned at him once, skidded down the outcrop and back the way he had come.
Under the tree, his breath came in gasps as he fumbled for his phone. ‘Er bonjour. Er police?’ He watched Max in the near distance reach the spot, peer over the edge then drop to his knees with his hands over his face.
~~~
Paul glanced at his friends, both of whom wore weird expressions - not the shocked faces he might have expected after such a revelation. He poked out his chin and said, ‘Something you want to say to me?’
Sweating, Mick swivelled his eyes to Maurice then back to Paul. ‘Paul, there’s something I should tell you.’
Maurice swallowed. ‘Me too…’
76 KITTY
The horrible contraption fixed to Kitty’s hips had been replaced by a kind of girdle, and with the help of gruelling physiotherapy, her legs were growing stronger, but she was still confined to her room, and her patience and temper were fraying. Jim, the Editor of the newspaper that provided her with most of her income, visited occasionally, bringing grapes or biscuits; uncomfortable, not wishing to upset her by discussing the newspaper that was their usual topic of conversation. He said he was not great with blubbing women, and Kitty smirked to herself. She was not that great at blubbing, so she did not see the problem.
Although being an invalid was tedious, it was safe here. Her confidence had taken a bashing and more than that, there was something in people’s faces, something she was not being told that fed her insecurity. She thought about the Matchless. She had ridden that motorbike for years. Like a lover, she knew every part of its engine and body. Never had she imagined she might crash it.
Her memory of the accident was zero, but she understood that she had been in collision with a car, and the driver had left the scene. This event, amazingly, had not upset her. It seemed like a fairy tale - something that had happened to someone else. Even though she was lying here in a terrible state, she could not connect her condition with this story of the accident.
It would be months before she was well enough to ride her poor bike. Sam had rescued it from the police garage and, bless him, found a specialist restorer. The old girl would survive - that would please Dad. The thought of her father reminded her that Paul had not visited for days. Cerys and Anwen visited regularly, but apparently, his virus had spread to his chest, which made everyone worry that he would bring bacteria into the hospital. Fair enough, but he might have rung her. She hoped he would come today.
Sam had been a star, sitting here beside her every day, making her laugh with stories of Cerys and Anwen’s arguing over social media and Luc falling in love. She put out a hand and touched the iPad and a reporter’s notebook Sam had left for her. She had not tried to write. Some obstacle was preventing her. It was a problem she could not yet face, so she put in earbuds and tuned the phone to Classic FM. The music was soothing, and she closed her eyes, drifting to sleep amid the strings of Elgar’s Nimrod.
‘Knock, knock.’
She jerked from the beginnings of a dream and pulled out the earphones. Sam’s face smiled at her from the doorway. Was it her imagination or was he tense?
‘Hi.’ Kitty beckoned him in. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Not too bad.’ He pulled a chair close to the bed. ‘Bit odd to be honest.’
‘What is it?’ It was not like Sam to bring troubles to her room, and she clasped the fingers of both hands behind her neck, as if supporting her head would help her face whatever followed.
He hesitated. ‘Do you need anything?’
She glared at him. ‘Sam. Tell me. I’m not terminally ill or anything. I can take it. Tell me now.’
‘You won’t like it.’ Sam’s face was grim, and Kitty’s unease grew.
She dropped her hands into her lap and listened to his story of Mick’s death and Maurice and Paul’s arrests with increasing anxiety and disbelief. When he told her that one of their fathers was responsible for her accident, had driven straight into her as she came round the curve of the road, she found she could not breathe. Her lungs heaved but her breath would not come past a tight belt around her chest.
As she gasped, Sam flew to the door shouting for help, and a nurse hurried in. After a brief examination, she pronounced her opinion that Kitty was experiencing a panic attack. ‘Blow out slowly,’ she ordered. ‘That’s it. Now in again. Count to five. Good.’
Gradually, Kitty’s heart rate slowed, and her breathing became easier.
Sam shook his head. ‘I’m so sorry. I should have told you more gently.
Kitty said, ‘It’s OK. It was only a panic attack. Nothing broken. No permanent damage.’
Sam subsided into a chair. ‘There is one positive thing.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘Not positive, but I understand how you feel about Paul. We’re both in the same situation - Josh too.’
‘Yeah. And poor Lucas. He’s lost his Dad - they were so close. Has anyone told Olivia?’
‘Lucas rang her. They’re at his place now.’
In silence, Kitty struggled to organise her thoughts. She wished now that Max had left her alone. But he was innocent of a crime he had served nearly thirty years for. Realisation hit her. ‘Sam!’
‘What? Are you OK?’
Yes, well, no, but that’s not why I yelled. Have you told Max?’
‘How could I? I have no idea where he is.’
Poor Max! Kitty fumbled for her phone, still attached to the ear buds. ‘Here’s his number. Call
