Chapter 1
1411 Words
Jake Conley was irritated. Try as he might, he couldn’t rid his fiancée’s cutting remarks from spinning like a carousel around his head. As far as self-fulfilling observations were concerned, Livie—Olivia to her parents—was an expert. She had labelled him an oddball, always with his head in some distant century, and accused him of not listening to a word she said. Had he not stomped seething out of their flat and been so many streets away, she might have been justified taking him to task now. He had no destination, no awareness of his surroundings; he was simply striding with the aim to walk off his bad mood…and to think about the Dark Ages. He wasn’t considering their relationship. He simply wanted to work out a structure for the novel he had in mind. His greatest desire was to achieve international recognition as an author. This was what Livie couldn’t understand, his need for reflection, for the peace to create his masterpiece. She was creative, too, but her passion for the theatre was less reflective, more spontaneous.
oddballMasterpiece? For sure, his ambition was to write a bestselling historical novel. Maybe she’d understand his needs more readily if, with his ability and the necessary luck, the feature film of the book appeared in high-street cinemas and the royalties came his way. He wasn’t thinking any of this when the accident happened. Rather more typically, Jake was wondering whether his main character should be a Saxon ceorl or a nobleman and running through the pros and cons of each. If Jake Conley’s head was not in the twenty-first century, what could be said of that of the Jeep driver? He was so lost in thought, he failed not only to see the STOP sign at the junction but also Jake, who was crossing the road without looking in either direction.
HeWhen he recovered from a coma seven weeks later, he was no longer an oddball but decidedly weird. The first unfocused face he struggled to see was that of Livie, with her milk-chocolate complexion and black eyes, whose bedside vigils had gained the admiration of the nursing staff.
“Oh, Jake, thank goodness, you’re awake! I’d better call the doctor.”
“Livie? Is that you? Where am I?”
“You’re in hospital, my love. You had a nasty accident.”
“Did you assault me, Livie?”
She gave a nervous laugh. Had she heard him right? Was he simply being provocative? Joking?
“Don’t be silly; you were run over by a Jeep on the corner of Percy’s Lane and Walmgate. The driver claims he didn’t see you, but how’s that possible? I expect the police will want to speak to you; they’ve been three or four times, but you’ve been unconscious for almost two months.”
“Two months! How am I?”
As he spoke, he groaned at a sharp pain in his ribs.
Concerned, Livie left her seat and hurried to fetch a nurse. She returned two paces behind a staff nurse in a dark blue, white-trimmed uniform.
“How are you feeling, Mr Conley?” She beamed at him.
“Lousy, and you can call me Jake.”
Lousy, “Well, Jake, the doctors rule out brain damage. We did a CT scan, and everything’s fine given the entity of the blow. You were badly concussed, but all in all, you’re a lucky man.”
“Lucky, am I? You have a strange definition of the term.”
LuckyLivie tut-tutted, “Jake, don’t be unpleasant. The nurse is looking after you very well.”
“I’ll be as damned unpleasant as I want, thank you, miss. It’s your b****y fault if I’m in here.” He groaned and closed his eyes. “My side’s killing me!”
your“What do you mean, it’s my fault?” Livie’s tone was searing.
“Best to humour him, miss, the gentleman’s still confused,” the nurse whispered.
“Do me a favour, clear off out of here, the pair of you!” Jake attempted to shout, but the effort hurt his two cracked ribs. “Or at least give me something to kill the pain.”
The experienced nurse took Jake"s sullen-looking fiancée by the arm and led her out into the corridor.
“It’s just the impact the poor man got to his head,” she said by way of explanation, hoping to soothe the devoted girl’s nerves. “Come with me, and we’ll fetch the painkiller he needs. I’ll get the doctor to check him over. You should be happy he’s regained consciousness.”
“Oh, I am.”
Or so she thought, until she returned to his private room and found Jake gaping towards the window.
“Who’s that?” he said, pointing a finger at thin air.
“Who? Where? There’s nobody except us.”
“Don’t be stupid, Liv. Look, he’s waving at you.”
“Who, Jake? The room’s empty, I told you.”
“The old geezer. Look, he’s got three fingers missing from his right hand.”
Livie paled and put her hand to her neck. Her granddad had died four years before, aged 94, and Jake knew nothing of him. She’d only been going out with her fiancé for two years. How then could he know her grandfather, who had lost three fingers in the Second World War?
“He’s smiling at you, Livie. Why are you ignoring him?”
Mercifully, a doctor came in at that moment and saved her from more of Jake’s ravings.
“Good afternoon, Mr Conley, how are you feeling?” The doctor raised a chart from the end of the bed and lifted a couple of sheets attached to a clipboard. He scrutinised the charts and recorded readings. “Mmm, all seems well. We’ll soon have you fighting fit.”
“b****y hell, I’m a pacifist, doctor.”
“Since when? Ignore his bad manners, doctor, he’s been acting strange since he came around.”
“I b****y haven’t! Why don’t you just piss off home, Liv. I don’t need you here.”
“See what I mean, doctor? He never used to talk to me like that.”
The tall, thin doctor, distinguished-looking with the aged skin of a heavy smoker, turned to her.
“Forgive me, miss, I need to examine my patient; would you be so kind as to wait outside?”
Alone, he began to shine a pencil light into Jake’s eyes and use his stethoscope before asking Jake to cough.
“It hurts, damn it!”
“Of course, it does. You have two cracked ribs, but to be honest, you got off lightly. There was considerable bruising, ah yes, it’s steadily being absorbed. You’ll be fine. What about your shoulder? Does that hurt? No? Good. Tomorrow, we’ll have a neurologist visit you. The scan suggests you got away with head-butting a Jeep, but we need to be cautious. Concussion can be dangerous. If I were a betting man, I’d say you’ll be as right as rain in no time, Mr Conley.”
“Jake, please. Tell me, doctor, and forgive me asking, but have you lost someone dear to you recently?”
The medical man’s face became as white as his lab coat.
“W-what? Have you been talking to the nurse?”
Jake looked at the doctor with concern. “No, not at all. It’s just – I can feel your pain.”
feel“Good Lord! I lost my daughter a month ago, she was six.”
He looked as if he wanted to say more but fought back the urge – who was this fellow to him? He was a private person and had no wish to share his grief. He cut short his visit, and with words of circumstance, he left Jake Conley to take his painkiller. As he walked out of the room with what felt like an icy grip on his heart, he wondered at the exchange he’d just had. If the patient hadn’t spoken with Nurse Ashdown, then how could he possibly know about Alice? Doctor Wormald had no time to muse because the patient’s girlfriend intercepted and bombarded him with questions.
All he could give her were reassurances about Jake’s physical condition. What they were both concerned about, for different reasons and without mooting it, was the patient’s mental state.
- Writer
