Ashleigh and Remy Brett 1982 Aged 20 #8
Don’t die, Tony . . . Please don’t die .
. . I love you so much . . . She silently pleaded with the universe to help her friend, to spare him.
She wished Ashleigh were there, wished her twin were holding her hand, right by her side, remembering when they’d crouched on the floor of the cubicle at their primary school, Ashleigh crying, holding each other tightly, knowing that to be in such close proximity made everything feel a bit better.
‘Please . . . please . . .’ She spoke quietly into the ether, part praying now, part wishing, part asking for help from whoever and whatever might be listening.
‘Let’s get him into the ambulance.’
She watched as two paramedics carefully lifted him on to a stretcher and carried him to the vehicle, where two open doors awaited.
‘Here you go.’ She looked up at the sound of a voice, a nice voice, kind, as a tall boy of about her age slipped his jacket around her shoulders. She was grateful for the warmth it offered.
‘I don’t want to get blood on it.’ Her voice carried the slur of one whose lip was split, bleeding and swollen.
‘Don’t worry about that. Where are you hurt?’ He knelt on the pavement by her side.
‘I don’t know.’ It was as this fact registered that her tears sprang and offered something close to relief.
‘Don’t cry. You’re going to be okay. I promise you. What’s your name?’
‘Remy,’ she managed.
‘Rennie?’ He cocked his ear.
She shook her head. ‘Remy.’ She tried again.
‘I’m going to call you Ren for short.’
She didn’t mind. Ren was close enough.
‘I’m Midge.’
Reaching for the sides of his jacket, she pulled it closed at her neck, trying to stem the chilly tremble that shook her whole body.
‘You’re in shock. But don’t worry, these guys will get to you in a mo.’
‘Are you a doctor?’ She assumed he was a medic.
‘No,’ he laughed. ‘I’m a Royal Marine. We all are.’
‘Marines?’ She twisted her head to look at the group, who were folding down their sleeves and wiping their hands on the thighs of their jeans.
‘Yep, we’re on a training exercise not far from here and we were just off out for a bite to eat.’
‘Midge?’
‘Yes?’ He leaned in closer, a big man who radiated tenderness.
‘Is Tony, my friend, is he alive?’ She hardly dared ask, as the prospect of losing him sat like a stick wedged into her throat and about as painful.
‘He is. He’s alive.’ His reticent tone suggested that this might not remain the truth as the night wore on.
Her tears were ribbons of distress that washed her face and now offered scant respite at the fact that her friend was not out of danger. She couldn’t imagine a life without Tony in it.
‘They, they hurt him!’ – she hiccupped – ‘for no reason! We were just walking along,’ she sobbed. ‘Just walking along!’
‘Don’t cry. I never know what to do or say when a girl cries.’
She sniffed up her tears as best she could.
‘Are you with the young lady, sir?’ A policeman knelt beside her.
‘No, no, we’ve just met.’ He smiled at her, a nice smile, a nice face.
‘You’re one of the men who came to the rescue?’
‘Yep.’ Midge nodded.
‘Do you mind if I give you some advice?’ The officer lowered his voice.
‘Please do.’ Midge leaned in.
‘Get out of here, all of you. Get out of here before my over-officious colleagues start taking names and addresses.’
‘Right.’ He took a sharp breath through his teeth. ‘Will you be okay, Ren?’
She nodded, and with the one arm that didn’t hurt, went to remove his jacket.
‘Keep it.’ He smiled.
‘I can’t keep it.’
‘Yeah, you can. Give it to me the next time you see me.’
He held her eyeline, and just the thought of seeing him again was a thin beam of light shining in this, the darkest of moments. She didn’t want him to leave, wary of being alone here; what if the bad men escaped from the police van and found their way back to her?
‘I mean, it won’t be for a while. We’re off to the Falklands.’ He kept his eyes trained on her. ‘But when I get back, I’ll look you up. Is your number in the phone book?’ He spoke with confidence, as if the policeman wasn’t present.
‘Yes.’ She gave a small nod and winced as the movement hurt her cheek, her eye, her lip, her jaw. ‘Brett. We’re on Church Lane, Broadhaven.’
‘Got it.’ He stared at her face, as if taking her in for the last time, this stranger who had saved her, saved Tony. ‘I hope your friend’s okay.’
‘Me too,’ she managed. Please let him be okay! Mentally she offered up the prayer.
He smiled broadly, knowingly, and her heart, despite being encased in sorrow, gave a little squeeze.
‘See you in a bit,’ he said softly, and then he was gone.
‘See you in a bit,’ she whispered.
‘Now, what have we got here?’ A medic appeared and dropped down on to the pavement, shining a light towards her face. ‘What’s your name, lovey?’
‘Remy.’
‘And how old are you?’
‘Twenty. We’re twenty.’
‘Right, Remy, have you been drinking?’
‘No.’
‘Have you taken any substances that it would be useful for me to know about?’
She thought of her mother and their drugs conversation earlier, before . . . her gut bunched at the thought of the conversation they were going to have. And who would tell Tony’s mum?
‘No.’
‘Where are you hurt?’
‘Everywhere.’ This the truth, as her body and mind caught up and she replayed the horror of what had happened. ‘Can I go and see my friend? I need to be with him.’
‘We’re taking you to the hospital now.’ As he spoke a second ambulance appeared and with the help of the medic and the policeman she stood on shaky legs, and they guided her towards it.
The ambulance made its way through town as she lay on the gurney, strapped in, staring at the ceiling.
A strange and unique mode of transport that she had often thought about, wondering what it might be like to be ensconced in the back of one.
They had given her something for the pain, which curiously didn’t stop it, but rather muted it, made it less acute, and she certainly cared less about it.
Her shivering was so intense her teeth chattered.
The kindly paramedic tucked the blanket around her, but Remy knew it was not only an issue with temperature that caused her tremors.
It was something harder to explain, something that had happened deep inside of her.
Her core, shaken. Her belief in human nature, shaken.
Her faith, shaken. Her optimism, shaken.
It had taken mere minutes for her to understand that she now lived in a different world, a dangerous world, undermining all she had thought she could rely on.
This in turn induced such fear that she shook some more.
She had lost track of time; they might have left home minutes ago or hours. How long were they on the ground? How long did they kick him for?
Tony . . .
And then more tears at the memory of the one word that had changed everything, Oi! The noise like a burst of gunfire in her brain, Oi! And still so loud.
‘Can I see him?’ she asked, as they ferried her into a small anteroom in the bustling casualty department.
‘Not right now.’
One of the paramedics patted her good shoulder as he pushed the trolley beneath the row of strip lights, so bright they were an affront to her eyes.
Having been wheeled into position, she was transferred to a narrow, raised bed, wary of getting blood or dirt on to the pristine white sheet that covered it.
She felt embarrassed to be so grubby. The medics clearly didn’t have the same concern, and positioned her, shoes and all, on to the bed, before laying a clean, soft, wool blanket over her.
‘We’ll leave you now, but you’re in good hands.
Someone will be here in a little bit to get you fixed up. ’
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, feeling like she might fall off the bed and aware of a wooziness that made her feel nauseated. It would only be in hindsight that she would regret not thanking them more profusely for the job they did, the help they had given and all they had done to care for Tony.
Tony . . .
A nurse came in, older, busy, distracted.
‘Can I see my friend, the one I came in with? I really need to see him!’
‘I’m afraid not,’ the woman said, as she fixed the blood pressure cuff around her arm and popped the glass thermometer into her mouth. ‘Just hold that under your tongue. He’s in the very best hands and you would only get in the way. I’ll get someone to come and talk to you as soon as they can.’
She nodded, the woman’s response giving no indication that her friend was going to make it. Remy thought she might be sick. Seconds ticked by and the nurse took her readings, removing the glass thermometer.
‘Thank you.’ There it was again, that mealy-mouthed two-word catch-all that didn’t convey half of what she wanted so desperately to say.
Please, Tony . . . Please don’t leave me . . . Please be okay . . .
‘Try and rest, and if you need anything, just pull this.’
The nurse looped a red cord that looked like the bathroom light at home over Remy’s shoulder and into her hand before she left and closed the door behind her. It was the first time she had been alone since the assault and she stared at the door, her heart racing, wary of who might walk in.
How can I be sure the police have kept them locked up? Or are they out? Could they find me here?
She ran her thumb over the red cord and took comfort from knowing it was there, that all she had to do was pull. Closing her eyes as the drugs riddled through her system, she felt herself on the verge of dozing and let her body sink deeper into the trolley bed on which she was perched.
Oi! There it was again, that gunshot.
She came to with a start at the sound of the door opening. Her heart raced as, momentarily stunned, she took a second to remember where she was and why.
‘Oh, my baby! My baby girl!’ Her mother spoke as she rushed towards her, making no attempt to hide her distress, her dad following behind, his face ashen. Ruthie Brett stopped short of the trolley and placed her hand over her nose and mouth. ‘Oh my God!’