The Way We Were (8 page)

Kevin pulled her in and hugged her.

Harold croaked, ‘Forty-five years and nine months since he was born.’

Seventeen years and eight months since I said, ‘I do’, Alice thought, as she began to cry again.

The soldiers pushed Ben and Declan onto the floor of the jeep and held guns to their backs. They drove for what seemed like hours, uphill and over very rough terrain. Ben’s legs ached.

At first he tried to memorize the route, left, left, right, left … but soon it was a blur. He thought about Alice and the girls. He had to stay strong.

Declan kept asking the men where they were taking them. They repeatedly told him to be quiet. Ben whispered at him to shut up. He was only going to annoy them. But Declan was not to be deterred. When he asked for the third time, he got a rifle butt in the head. After that he was quiet.

They stopped abruptly. They were pushed out of the car. They were high up in the mountains. The land was arid and there was no sign of any life, just miles and miles of dusty, rocky mountainside. The men pushed Ben and Declan onward up the mountain, one man in front and two behind. The other man drove the jeep away, back down the mountain.

They were now walking on a narrow path that wound across the mountaintop. Declan was in front of Ben, who could see blood matting on the back of his head where he’d been hit. It was a small cut but, still, these men meant business. They’d have to be careful not to do anything to cause trouble for themselves.

Ben tried to remain calm. Every time he began to panic,
he thought of the girls – he had to stay alive for them. He’d operate on the leader’s son and then, hopefully, they’d let them go. Ben prayed that he was able to save the boy’s life. What if he was too far gone? What if the damage was irreparable? What if he got an infection and died? Ben doubted that the conditions for operating on anyone were going to be ideal in this remote place.

He plucked up the courage to approach the leader, who was walking directly in front of him. ‘What are your son’s injuries?’

‘Bullets.’

‘Can you tell me where?’

‘Here.’ The leader thumped his chest.

Now Ben was really worried. If it had been a leg or an arm, there was a good chance of survival, but gunshot wounds to the chest were a potential nightmare. The kid could be dead before they even got there. Then what would happen? Would they just shoot them? Ben somehow doubted they’d accompany them all the way back to their hotel, give them a pat on the back and let them go. Panic rose inside him and he struggled to stay in control.

He tried to focus on the patient. ‘How old is your son?’ he asked.

‘Fifteen,’ the man answered proudly. ‘Very brave soldier. Now, hurry, hurry,’ he said, urging Ben to walk faster. ‘You need to save him. If he dies, it will be bad for you.’ He gave Ben a dig in the back that shunted him forwards, so he was on Declan’s heels.

‘Fucking brilliant,’ Declan hissed, under his breath. ‘They want us to perform a miracle on a kid who’s been shot in the chest. You need to tell the old man that we’re doctors, not bloody magicians.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ Ben warned. ‘I need you
conscious for the operation, not knocked out because you can’t keep your mouth shut.’

‘If the kid dies, we’re dead men.’

‘I’m aware of that, thank you. You’re not helping.’

‘How good a surgeon are you?’

‘I’m good,’ Ben said. It was true, but under these circumstances, who knew what might happen?

‘I’d rather you’d said great. It would have been more reassuring.’

‘We have to stay calm. Do not antagonize them in any way.’

‘I don’t have a death wish!’ Declan said angrily.

‘No, but you have a big mouth. Keep it shut.’

‘One more thing,’ Declan said, as he stumbled over the rocks.

‘What?’ Ben was getting frustrated.

‘Ask him how long more to go.’

Ben raised his voice and asked the leader how much further they had to walk.

‘Close now,’ the man snapped. ‘Hurry, hurry.’

Ten minutes later they rounded a corner and were met with the sight of about thirty tents. They were beige, so they blended in with the pale, dusty landscape of thorn trees and boulders. Women and children stared at them, while men wielding guns watched closely as they were rushed into a big tent to one side of the encampment.

Ben was surprised to see small children. It was like a makeshift village. He’d presumed it would be a soldiers’ bivouac.

Inside the big tent was a ‘hospital’, with four men lying on stretchers made of tree branches and sheets. They were groaning softly. There was a dividing curtain, which was pulled back by one of the guards to reveal an ‘operating theatre’. This consisted of a home-made wooden table with a bare bulb hanging over it, a bowl of water and some sheets
on a low table in the corner. Another table was covered with suture kits, antibiotics, painkillers, two battery-powered headlamps, scalpels, scissors, needles and a tourniquet. They’d clearly raided a clinic for medical supplies.

The fifteen-year-old boy was lying on the makeshift operating table in a pool of his own blood. The leader went to his son and held his hand. He spoke gently to him, pointing to Ben and Declan, smiling and nodding.

‘Looks like he’s telling his kid we’re going to save his life,’ Declan whispered.

Ben looked at the large bloodstain on the front of the boy’s shirt. ‘We have to save him, no matter what. Even if we can keep him alive for a day or two, just long enough for us to persuade them that he’s going to survive and they should let us go.’

‘I don’t think we’re going anywhere until that kid is running around playing football for the Eritrean national team. What the hell are we going to do?’ Declan’s voice shook.

Ben grasped his colleague’s arm. ‘We are going to do our job. Now, I need you to keep it together. I want full focus. We are going to save this boy’s life.’

‘I’m trying.’

‘Try harder. I thought you came from a tough area of Dublin.’

‘Living next door to a couple of drug-dealers and petty criminals hardly prepared me for lads holding Kalashnikovs in my face.’

‘Get it together, Declan. Come on.’

While Declan composed himself, Ben blocked out his own fears and allowed himself to concentrate on his job. He asked everyone to leave the room, but the two soldiers with guns stayed, as did the father.

Ben was getting angry. ‘If you want me to save your son,
you must leave. We never allow relatives to watch operations. It will upset you and you will distract me from my work. If you want to leave the gunmen, fine, but they are not allowed to say a word or make a move. I need complete silence and calm. One shake of my hand and your son could die.’

The leader reluctantly agreed, but said he’d sit outside the ‘door’. Then he reminded Ben of the consequences of not saving his son, making a gun shape with his hand and pointing it at Ben’s head.

Ben turned away from him. He picked up a pair of scissors and went to cut away the boy’s shirt. The teenager had been hit twice in the right shoulder, an exit wound below the right nipple showing the path of one bullet.

Ben washed his hands carefully, scrubbed them and put on surgical gloves from the suture kit. Declan did the same and came over to look. The boy was gasping for breath. Ben tapped his chest with his fingers. On the right side, below the clavicle, it sounded normal, but when Ben tapped lower down he could hear a dull sound.
Thunk.

‘I suppose an X-ray is out of the question.’ Declan half smiled, but Ben could see his hands were shaking.

‘I’m pretty sure it didn’t come with the suture kits. But I’m confident it’s a left haemopneumothorax.’

Declan nodded. He’d heard it too.

Ben, now fully concentrated, felt with his fingers for the dip between the boy’s fifth and sixth ribs. Declan, anticipating his needs, handed Ben a syringe of local anaesthetic, which Ben injected between the boy’s ribs.

The boy’s eyes snapped open and he cried out in pain. The leader came rushing in as the guards raised their Kalashnikovs. Ben raised his hand. ‘Stop. Your son felt pain when the needle passed through the pleura – the membrane that lines the chest here.’ Ben pointed to the exact spot. ‘Now look.’
Ben pointed to the dark blood that was being sucked back into the syringe. ‘Everything is under control. I need peace in my theatre, please.’

The leader spoke to his son, and left.

‘Good thing he’s not here for this bit,’ Declan said, handing Ben a scalpel.

Ben cut through skin and muscle and the wound bubbled air. Declan handed him a tube, which Ben carefully inserted into the hole, then stitched it to the skin to prevent it being dislodged.

‘Here it comes!’ Declan said, as blood gushed out. The boy cried out in pain and coughed.

Again, his father came charging in and stared at the blood. His face fearful, he glared at Ben.

‘STOP!’ Ben shouted. Then he guided the man to his son’s side and indicated that he should lean towards his son’s chest. ‘Listen to your son’s breathing.’

The leader did so. With every gasp the boy was breathing more easily as the pressure left his chest. Declan connected the chest drain to a tube and then, using the bowl half filled with water, he placed the end of the tube in it to act as a simple one-way valve. With each exhalation, air and blood bubbled out of the submerged end of the tube and the lung started, little by little, to expand.

Ben peeled off his gloves and set them aside so they could be washed and reused.

‘Your son will be fine. He needs antibiotics and painkillers. The lung will reinflate, then the drain can be removed. I’ll show you how to do it. Then I want to leave.’

The leader smiled. ‘Thank you for helping my son, but you will not be leaving until I am sure he is well. I also have more injured soldiers I need you to treat, Doctor. You’re not going anywhere.’

‘We had a deal. I save your son and you let me go,’ Ben said, trying to stop his fear showing in his voice.

The leader laughed. ‘I made no deal with you. You will stay here until I say you can go. You will stay here until I don’t need you.’

Rage ripped through him. ‘Fine. I have no intention of operating on anyone else. I helped your son and now I’m leaving.’

The leader put his big hand on Ben’s chest, preventing him from moving past. He shouted some words to the two soldiers. One grabbed Declan and put his gun to Declan’s head.

‘If you refuse to help me, Doctor, I’m afraid your friend will have to die.’

‘You bastard,’ Ben cursed. ‘Let him go.’

The leader ordered his man to stand down. Declan moved aside, white and shaking.

‘War is hard. We do what we have to do to survive,’ the leader said.

‘What war?’ Ben asked. ‘Eritrea is independent. Who are you fighting?’

The leader’s eyes narrowed. ‘The Ethiopian scum who killed my parents and my brother. They say the land is on their side of the border, but it’s my land and I won’t stop until I get it back.’

‘Once we’ve helped those soldiers out there, I want your word that you’ll return us to Asmara.’ Ben was desperate to get reassurances.

The leader laughed again. ‘I spent a year in London studying English before I was called home when my village was attacked. You English are obsessed with your “word”. Words mean nothing. Promises mean nothing. The only thing that matters is family and pride.’

‘Exactly, and that’s why we want to get back to our own families. So when we’ve helped the remaining wounded, I want you to let us go.’

‘Save my men and then we will talk.’

‘This is bullshit.’ Declan found his voice. ‘We need some kind of guarantee. Otherwise what’s to say you won’t shoot us when we’ve finished operating?’

The leader grinned at him. ‘Nothing. As you say in England, “You’re snookered.” But if you do a good job, you will live. If not, you will die. That should be a good incentive.’

‘Wanker,’ Declan muttered.

The leader ordered his men to bring in the next patient, then left the room. The soldiers carried their friend in on a blood-soaked mattress.

As the two doctors bent over to examine the man, Declan whispered, ‘Jesus, Ben, what are we going to do? These guys are total bandits.’

Ben shook his head. ‘The important thing is to stay alive and try to figure it out as we go along.’

‘Is that it?’

‘What?’

‘That’s your solution?’

‘Well, what’s yours?’ Ben snapped. ‘Curse your way out of here?’

‘We could use the scalpels.’

‘A scalpel against a Kalashnikov? Seriously?’

‘Okay, okay, it’s not brilliant, but at least I’m thinking of ways to escape.’

‘I’ve got two daughters and a wife. I’m not getting shot in some stupid escape attempt. Do you understand?’

The two men stared at each other, almost nose to nose, breathing hard. It was Declan who stepped back first. ‘Okay, no need to rip my head off.’

Ben wanted to rip the head off every man in the room with his bare hands. He felt desperation and terror creeping in. What was going to happen to them? Would they be shot? Could he persuade the leader to let them go after they’d helped these wounded men?

Although Ben was usually an optimist, he had a sinking feeling that this situation was not going to end well. He had to stay strong, get out of there alive and back to his three girls. He had to. He’d do anything it took. Anything.

I’m hiding in my wardrobe in the horrible black dress Kevin bought me. I hate it. Everything is ruined. Everything is just awful. My daddy is dead and we have his funeral today and I don’t want to go.

I can hear Mummy crying every night through the wall. She never seems to sleep. Whenever I wake up – which is a lot because I keep having nightmares – she’s crying. I go in to her most nights and sleep with her in her and Daddy’s bed.

She looks so sad all the time. When she sees me or Jools, she puts on this fake smile and tries to be cheerful, but it’s silly and she’s really bad at it. We know her heart is broken. Our hearts are broken too.

I woke up at forty-three minutes past two last night and I heard Mummy crying. So I went in to her. Jools was already in the bed, asleep beside her. I cuddled into Mummy and she held me tight. We didn’t say anything, just snuggled. There’s nothing to say anyway. Daddy’s dead and, as Jools says, ‘Life sucks.’

It was nice all of us being together in the bed. It was less scary and lonely. I think I’ll sleep with Mummy again tonight.

Granddad is here. He arrived this morning with Helen. They’re all dressed in black too. Granddad looks really old now. It’s as if someone smacked him over the head and squashed him. He keeps having to leave the room to ‘blow his nose’. It’s kind of silly because we all know he’s crying.
Mummy said Granddad is a very private person and doesn’t want to cry in front of anyone. We’re all sad and we all miss Daddy, so he should just cry with us.

He’s been up and down all week, helping Mummy organize the funeral. Well, he was supposed to be helping but he kind of took over and was very bossy.

Mummy’s voice goes all stiff and sharp when Granddad’s here. She’s not like her normal self. She’s sort of colder and more correct. Her voice sounds different. They had a fight about the readings at the funeral. Mummy wanted to have a poem read. It’s beautiful – it’s called ‘Don’t Cry For Me’. But Granddad said no poems, only proper readings from the Bible. Mummy said she’d really like the poem to be in the funeral mass but Granddad shouted, ‘This is a solemn memorial service and we’ll not have any of your Irish melodrama.’

I stopped breathing for six seconds. I didn’t know what melodrama meant, but I knew it was bad. I looked it up later. It said ‘overdramatic emotion or behaviour’. I think it was mean of Granddad to say that.

Mummy went very quiet and then she said, ‘Fine, Harold, do what you want. We’ll attend, of course, but the girls and I will have our own farewell.’

Granddad made a tutting sound, then Mummy left the room and I followed her. I saw her kick the wall and heard her say a really bad word. Mummy and Granddad haven’t really spoken since.

Mummy told me and Jools that we’ll have our own service, just us together, with lots of poems and music. And then we’ll plant a beautiful tree and make it special.

Even though this has been the worst week of my life, one kind of amazing thing happened. It made me really happy but also really sad. It happened when Daddy’s suitcase came home. A man from the Foreign and Commonwealth Office
brought it to the door. Mummy opened it, and when she saw Daddy’s clothes, she began to cry really hard.

Kevin had to hold her tight to calm her down. I opened the little pocket at the back of the suitcase and felt inside. I thought I might find Daddy’s aftershave – I wanted to smell it, to remind me of him – but instead I found a little velvet bag. I opened it, and inside were three beautiful gold necklaces! One with an H, one with a J and one with an A.

When I held them up, everybody stopped talking. Mummy put her hand over her mouth and Jools just kept staring at them.

‘Now you know how much he was thinking of you all,’ Kevin said, in a wobbly voice, and we all began to cry again.

I will never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever take my necklace off. I feel as if Daddy is beside me now. I love this necklace so much. I’m so glad Daddy was thinking of us before … before the accident.

It’s been one hundred and thirty-five hours, sixteen minutes and eight seconds since the phone call.

Mummy told us last night that Kevin’s going to move in with us for a while. I’m glad because he is my favourite person after Mummy and Daddy. He always seems to know when I need a hug or when I need to be left alone.

I think it’s good for Mummy too, because Kevin can help us to look after her. Even though Mummy is a doctor and looks after other people, she needs to be looked after now.

Every day I wake up and I forget, and then I remember and I feel sick. I keep thinking about Jo from
Little Women
and how she was so sad when Beth died, but then she started writing, and that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to write more and try to get all the sadness out.

I printed out the poem that Mummy wanted to read today at the funeral. I’m sticking it in here so I can read it when I
feel sad. It’s beautiful and it makes me cry, but it also makes me feel a tiny bit better. Daddy, I miss you so much.