The Practice Manager...

The Practice Manager dropped in to his office first thing looking harassed and worried. She showed him two invoices from the preceding week, each for 50 bottles of Ketamine. This was unusual for a number of reasons. Firstly, they normally bought Ketamine in numbers of one to five, and then only every three months or so, so consecutive orders were out of order. Obviously, some cock up at the wholesaler, he thought.

“Send ‘em back”

“That’s just it, I can’t find them”

“What, any of them?”

“That’s right”

“Who unpacked the orders?”

“Louise”

“What has she got to say?”

“She’s on holiday”

So, one hundred bottles of hospital grade Ketamine (also known as K in the clubs) was missing, and so was the nurse who might throw light on the problem. He knew that he would have to account for all of it in due course, so the main thing was to find out where it had got to and get it back.

Louise was a South African locum nurse. She was unnaturally blonde, with a faint moustache and one eye slightly adrift, but a dazzling smile when things were going her way. They had all seen a lot of her petulance over recent weeks as her relationship with her Italian boyfriend Silvio, whom no one had ever seen, had blown hot and cold. Her holiday had come as a relief to the other staff. On questioning, one or two of the other nurses expressed the view that she might not be back at all. Louise and Silvio had apparently gone off in a camper van with friends that very morning, and were travelling down through France to Spain. Further fruitless searching confirmed his view that his Ketamine was probably also on holiday. He rescheduled his appointments and went around to Louise’s flat. Sitting on the steps he found Paddy, one of their flatmates. Paddy confirmed that they had left for Portsmouth that morning. As the conversation continued, he told Paddy that he thought that that they had taken drugs from the clinic, and that he was going to follow them. To his surprise, Paddy offered to keep him company, and so, within the hour the two of them were bowling down the M3 in his BMW. It was now afternoon, and they had some ground to make up. Paddy had a fairly good idea of their route, and on the other side of the channel they struck out on the N3098. Banking on their having stopped for the night, he elected to drive on. Eventually he spotted the van parked outside the Rouen Novotel. Paddy went ahead to see if he could spot them in the restaurant or pool, while he tried the door of the van. The door opened easily, and there in the middle of the floor were the two boxes of Ketamine. He couldn’t believe his luck. He put one under each arm and carried them back to his car and locked them in the boot. He went back to close the door of the van, and was surprised when someone’s arm slashed his cheek with a Stanley knife and someone else hit him over the head from behind. He went down like a light, and the next thing he knew was that the van was gone and Paddy was standing over him. His car alarm was bleating. On autopilot he reached for his keys, but couldn’t find them. He looked at the car. Someone had tried to jemmy open the boot and failed. That set off the alarm and made a mess of the bodywork. He was outraged. Not only had he been slashed and pole axed, but they had ruined his beautiful car. His head hurt, and the alarm was beginning to annoy him, and draw unwanted attention. He remembered that he had had the keys in his hand when he went down. He found them in minutes at the edge of an ornamental flowerbed.

“They searched all over for your keys and couldn’t find them”

“Who were ‘they’?”

“Oh, Some friends of Louise. I’ve met them before, but I don’t know their names. Louise is up at the hotel. They have left her behind.”

He de-activated the alarm.

“Did you get what you were looking for?”

“I did”

“You have a hole in your cheek.”

“I want to talk to Louise. I can’t go up to the hotel like this. Get her down here”

“I’ll try”

After a longish time, when he was beginning to get annoyed, they appeared through the darkness.

“He made me do it”

“Who, who made you?”

“Silvio – he’s a dealer. He set me up to work for you. He said it always worked and no one gets hurt. Then you came after us and they all panicked. They thought they had got you before you got the Ketamine. When they couldn’t get into your car they scarpered. I don’t know where they have gone. I’m so sorry” She went to touch his face. He banged her arm away angrily.

“You can just f*** off”

He got in the car. Paddy jumped into the passenger seat, and he drove off leaving Louise standing in the car park, crying.

“Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer. He knew a place to hide up just outside St. Jean D’Angely. A barn conversion belonging to a friend where they had had a party the previous year. Banking on it being empty, he headed there at speed, remembering to stick to the right side of the road. They got there in about forty minutes, and as he swung the car in behind the barn out of sight he said

“This should do. We can clean up here and go back in the morning.”

“Whatever you say”

He remembered a way in and opened the door from inside. He turned on a light. He went back to the car and got his mobile. He talked briefly, animatedly, in French, and rang off.

“Just telling the owner we are here”

Paddy scowled or so he thought. Dismissing the idea, he went upstairs and started to make up some beds. He lay down for a moment, and fell fast asleep before he could get up again. He awoke to sounds of shouting, and shook his head. It hurt. He stood up and quietly crept to the top of the stairs. Below in the half-light of the kitchen he saw four figures, one of which was Paddy. They were all talking at once. Then they spotted him and charged for the stairs. Just in time he threw himself back into the room and got the window open. As they crashed into the room, he jumped. He fell and rolled like a pro, and came to his feet at the bottom of a small hill, in trees. He looked up and could see faces in the window light, and realised that they could not see him. He really did not know what was going on. Only that morning, he had started out like any other. Now another day was dawning, he was standing in a French copse, his damaged car only feet away containing enough Ketamine to stun the entire country, and a posse of strangers who it seemed would stop at little to see him off and get their hands back on the Ketamine. Another thought struck him. Not only did he have a carload of now illegal Ketamine, in the boot of the car he also had a Smith & Wesson .32 free bullet humane killer. Quietly he opened the boot and took out his visit bag and the gun. The end of the barrel had a bevelled end for placing on the forehead of the animal to be despatched, but in every other respect it was a normal .32, which is to say it looked like a toy. He checked the magazine and made sure all nine rounds were in place. He was going to sort this nonsense out once and for all. With the visit bag in one hand and the gun in the other he sidled in the door.

As soon as he took a step inside, he was jumped from behind. He fell to his knees and rolled, then managed to straddle his attacker and lay the point of gun on his forehead. He had never killed a human before. He had never even threatened to kill a human before. A long second passed. Two things happened. He hesitated as the attacker inhaled sharply, irises dilating in terror. He realised safety catch was still on, and in any case that he couldn’t do it. He also experienced the realisation that he was astride a girl! Who had now gone very still, from the flailing fury of moments earlier. Across the room, it looked as if Paddy was getting the worst of it from two others. He heard a baseball bat make contact with Paddy’s head, and saw Paddy go down. He slipped the safety, and shot the nearest one in the foot. There was a scream, and the two froze into an apprehensive tableau. The vixen (he had called her this in his mind) tried for surprise, and almost succeeded in unseating him. With his left hand, he grabbed her hair and yanked her head back down on the floor. Turning the gun in his hand, he tapped her lightly on the nose with the butt.

“Nose job?” He looked at her with distaste, blood dripping from his cheek, onto the gun.

“Understand?” She understood. The universality of cosmetic surgery. She averted her eyes and gave a barely perceptible nod. The two others were thinking of moving, so he aimed at the wounded one and said

“Lie down” signalling with the barrel. He looked at the other and said

“Water” gesturing at Paddy, prone where he fell. The fellow went to the sink and came back with a basin of water and threw it over Paddy. Nothing happened except the sound of the water, dripping off onto the stone floor. He motioned the other down onto the floor. He waited. Perhaps Paddy was dead. He looked into the gloom, and thought he could see the rise and fall of his chest. As he peered, Paddy came to. He put his hand to his head, and groaned. He called out to him

“Can you stand?”

Pause. Shambles to feet and takes in the bodies and the gun.

“You shot them?” Incredulity.

“Only one, in the foot. It was the other bastard that did for you. This one’s a girl”

“What the f*** are you going to do now?”

The body below wriggled. He looked down, and she seemed to shrink into the floor. He pulled the visit bag over, pulled out an elasticated bandage, and having rolled her over, secured her feet and wrists. The other two, facing away, and seemingly unaware of developments, were now guarded by Paddy with the baseball bat. The wounded one was moaning a lot. He picked her up by the belt of her jeans, and carried her face down towards the centre.

“Put me down, you bastard,” wriggling furiously. He made as if to drop her. She gasped silent. He put her down. Gently. With an admonishing wave of the butt of the gun, he looked pointedly at her nose. Venomous look back. But understood.

He made the unharmed one roll over, and Paddy tied him up with more bandage.

“What about him”

He thought about it. The bullet was in the foot in all probability not too difficult to find. A nerve block should be no different to the horse, or the greyhound. How different could it be? He bent over the moaner.

“You understand English?

“Yes”

“You want me to fix your foot?”

“What are you, a doctor?”

“No. But I can do some things. I have local anaesthetic, and I can try to get the bullet out”

Silence.

“You want me to try”

“OK”

Paddy tied his wrists and knees. He held up the syringe, looked at him, and said

“Local”

Moaner nodded. He blocked the nerve with so little trouble it surprised him. Minutes later he had the shoe and sock off and found the entry point just midway down the lateral tarsal bone (the outer longbone of the foot). He cleaned the area with soap and water, then iodine. The bullet had nicked (and broken) the lateral tarsal and buried itself in the sole of the shoe. He wiped the area of skin with spirit, and stitched up the gape as well as possible. He reckoned the other tarsal bones would act as a splint, so applied a dressing and support bandage. Picking up a forceps, he lifted the bullet out of the shoe and clattered it into the kidney dish. The moaner started, and tried to sit up. Paddy pushed his shoulder back down.

“You found it?”

“I’ve finished. You have one small broken bone. You should be fine. I will give you a shot of Methadone – that will give you about four hours.”

He told Paddy to roll up Moaner’s sleeve, while he broke the top off the vial. He tapped the syringe to get rid of the air bubbles, and, pinching the muscle on the back of the arm, he slid the needle in and injected the Methadone, having made sure he was not in a blood vessel.

“Now” he said, taking the gun from Paddy, “how did you get here?”

“Our van is at the back in the village”

He gave the baseball bat to Paddy.

“You” he said, indicating the uninjured one, “Go get the van and bring it back here” Turning to Paddy

“You go with him. You OK?”

“I’m fine, just fine.”

“Good. You cover him while I untie him” This he did, and stood back out of range. “Off you go” The uninjured looked as if he didn’t know what to do. The vixen spoke

“Do what he says, Silvio, please”. He looked at her. She looked away. Paddy prodded Silvio out the door, and they clattered down the passage.

His own cheek was aching badly, and still bleeding. He was beginning to feel fatigue as it made him yawn and shiver. He put a pan of water on the stove to boil, and washed his instruments under the tap with a nailbrush. While awaiting the water, he washed his face and the bleeding got worse. He rubbed some anaesthetic gel onto the cheek, and made himself a strong espresso with the little machine on the stove. When the water boiled, he dropped the instruments in and looked at his watch. He sat down and drank his coffee. Moaner was sleeping now. The vixen was testing her restraints when she thought he wasn’t looking. After twenty minutes, he turned off the gas, poured off most of the water, and then pulled the instruments out one by one, cursing as they burnt his fingers. He got them all back on the tray. He carried the tray over and placed it on the floor next to the vixen.

“Don’t touch!” He took a last gulp of his coffee, touched his cheek, then got some sewing thread (skin sewing) with a tiny needle attached from his bag, reached up and removed the mirror from the wall and carried everything over to the table with the lamp. Then he went back to his bag and took out a post-mortem knife. This had been sharpened many times, and now had narrowed almost to a stiletto. He walked over and dropped down beside the vixen. She tried to move away in fear. He put his free hand on her shoulder, and he could feel her tense. He looked at her coldly.

“You’re going to help me” No reaction. He lifted her up, carried her to a chair, and plonked her down in the seat. Then he got another chair and sat opposite her, his knees outside hers, close. He took her hands and sliced the bandage off. She looked wary. Surprised. Rubbed her wrists.

“Now I am going to trust you. If you make a wrong move, I won’t hesitate to stop you with this” holding up the knife. “You do understand me?” He looked hard into her eyes and she looked hard back.

“I understand you. What must I do?”

“You did this,” indicating the torn cheek “Now you can help fix it” She paled. He handed her the mirror.

“I was asleep. In the van. I thought you were going to attack me.”

“Hold that up, and keep it angled so that I can see what I am doing”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to stitch it up” Silence

He put a new needle on the syringe full of local anaesthetic, and injected a series of blebs all along the edge of the wound, top and bottom. He winced a bit, but the gel had done its work. A few minutes later he picked up the needle in the forceps, and pierced the skin at the end of the wound. No sooner had he done so than the mirror wobbled and his reflection sheared off. He grabbed the knife, thinking she had elected to try to escape at the first sign of his preoccupation, but need not have worried. One look at her face was enough to tell him that her legs wouldn’t carry her. She was white as a ghost, and looked as if she might pass out.

“I ..I’m sorry”

“Take it easy, take it easy.” He took her hands – they were cold. He took the mirror from her and placed it on the table. He massaged her hands to get the circulation going. Passive response.

“Don’t look at me, don’t look in the mirror, and don’t think about it, think about something else” He was worried now that she might not be up to it.

“OK now” angling the mirror in her hands again, and pointing towards the door.

“Look over there, and tell me about yourself” She stared fixedly at the door, and held the mirror fast. Not a word, but the colour was coming back into her cheeks. He pulled the needle through the skin and through the other side with only a passing grinding of the teeth. Neatly tying a surgeon’s knot with something of a flourish, he said

“Go on, what ‘s your name? He picked up the next stitch. Silence. Another knot.

“Come on, talk to me.” More silence. A third stitch. Out of the blue, in a weary voice

“Veronique”

“Oh!” he said, “that’s rich, Veronique the vixen” with a laugh. Another stitch and knot. He knew he was taking too much time as the local was wearing off. He quickly tied another, then another, wincing as he laid the stitches.

“What is that…vixen?” He had almost forgotten that he had spoken.

“Oh! You know, … a female fox. When I didn’t know your name, I called you the vixen in my mind” Her response was a snort. He laid and knotted the remaining six stitches, making eleven in all, in silence. He moved the mirror slightly to better admire his handiwork, and seemed well pleased. Veronique took that moment to look around at him. There were little spots of blood oozing from the needle holes, and great ridges of dried blood from earlier. He dipped some cotton wool in the now cold water in the pan, and started to clean his face. Veronique reached tentatively forward and he stiffened, on his guard again, but she picked up a wad of cotton wool, dipped it in the water, squeezed it out as he had done, and started to clean his face. He was startled, but let her do it. She was nervous of the wound itself, so he finished off, and tapped a thin strand of the wool over the stitches to absorb any further blood. They looked at each other.

“Thank you”. She looked away. He touched her on the knee, and her head spun around to face him. He held his hands out, indicating that she should do so, and she did, with obvious reluctance and the hint of a tear in her eye. He lifted her chin up with his finger, the better to see if this were so, and she flung her head away in furious embarrassment. Well well, he thought, our Veronique has a heart after all. He stood up and stretched. He knew that he was tiring fast. He made two cups of coffee and came back and untied her hands once again. They looked at each other. He gave her the coffee.

“Milk? Sugar?”

“Non”

They sipped in silence.

When they finished the coffee, Veronique said

“What are you going to do?”

“How do you mean?”

“Are you going to kill us?” He looked momentarily startled.

“No, of course not. I’ve never killed anyone, and I don’t intend to start with you lot. You attacked us, remember, not the other way around”.

“Then why are we tied up? You have all the weapons. How come you have a gun if you don’t shoot people? He realised that he was being pumped. He smiled.

“When Paddy gets back with your friend, we will put Moaner here with your friend in your van, and you can travel with us in ours. We will let your friend take Moaner to a hospital, and then you and your friend can go, as long as we have time to clear up here and move on without any further interference.

At that moment, the mobile rang. Paddy.

“The bastard ran away. We had to stop for petrol and he legged it. I’m in St. X. I’ll be back in 10 minutes. I have his van.” The line crackled and died. He looked at Veronique and wondered how much she had picked up.

“Change of plan. Your friend has done a runner. Probably on his way back here.”

“He is the dangerous one. This one is OK” pointing at the comatose moaner “and Paddy is OK, but Silvio is not very nice”. As soon as she said the name Paddy, it all fell into place for him, and she knew it.

“I’m sorry” It was his turn to snort. So, Paddy was also part of the team. No wonder they had found the barn. He wondered how long before Paddy turned up in the van, all smiles, waiting for him to turn his back. And where were Silvio and Louise? He made a spot decision. He looked at Veronique speculatively, calculating.

“We’re leaving”

“What about him”

“Your friends will be back soon. They can take care of him”

“Then leave. Leave me here. You don’t need me now”

He thought about it. He knew he couldn’t make it back to St. Malo on his own. He was almost out on his feet. Also, he didn’t fancy running the gauntlet of the port police looking like he did, with a damaged car, and a gun and a load of Ketamine that were not supposed to leave the UK. Should anyone choose to look.

“Can you drive?”

“Of course!” She answered without thinking, and wished she hadn’t. “Not tied up like this!”

“OK” he said. “Here’s the deal. You are going to drive my car. My very special car. And I am going to rest. We are not going far. Just far enough to avoid your friends. Then I’m going to get some sleep. Then you can go”

She said nothing. He gathered the instruments up, and cleaned up quickly. Then he put the bag in the boot and the gun in his pocket, again making sure the safety catch was on. Then he untied her and marched her to the car. He sat her in and told her to move the seat forward and adjust the mirror. Then he climbed in the back, slammed the door, and passed the key forward to her.

“Drive carefully back towards St. Malo. Stop at the first Ibis you see. Any tricks and I’ll whack you – understand?”

“Yes, sure, I understand” Impatient. Annoyed. They set off. He dozed a bit in the comfort of the leather seating and the warmth. Each time they stopped in traffic, he surfaced, but increasingly less well. When she turned the engine off, he started upright.

“We are here. This is Hotel Ibis” As in all French towns, the Ibis chain of motels are in an industrial zone outside town.

“Now, we are going to get a room. You are going to behave yourself. Any more trouble and so help me I will rearrange your features”

“I don’t understand”

He tapped her nose with his index finger gently.

“You. Behave”

He took the car key, locked the car, and they walked into the lobby together. He got a room with his credit card, and bought a Bic and shampoo in the shop. He got up to the 6th. floor room before anyone noticed that they had no luggage. Once inside, they looked at each other. He couldn’t let her go as she would alert the others, and he had to sleep and clean up before heading for St. Malo. He wasn’t thinking straight, and couldn’t work out what to do. He sank down on the bed nearest the door wearily. He threw the shampoo onto the other bed and said

“You want to get cleaned up?”

She looked warily at him. He gestured towards the bathroom. Veronique shrugged, picked up the bottle and made as if to slip through the door.

“Not so fast” She looked at him.

“What?”

“You have a mobile?”

She paused. He moved toward her

“I’ll look for myself”

“No!” She pulled a phone out of her pocket. He reached over and took it from her, removed the battery, and handed it back to her.

“Go ahead” He put the battery in his pocket and sat there, thinking, fighting fatigue. He disconnected the wall phone and put it under the mattress. Then he pushed the bed across the door, and waited. After about 20 minutes, Veronique emerged from the steam with her hair wound up in a towel and dressed as before, but he realised with a shock that she was probably only a kid, and that she was beautiful.

“How old are you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You look very young”

“I am 20”

“I am going to get some sleep. You can watch television or sleep, as you wish”

He sat the alarm on his mobile for 4 hours later, and got into bed fully dressed.

Awaking and turning off the sound in one blinking sit up, he fought off the siren sleep and looked around. The Vixen was asleep, stretched out on the floor in front of the TV which flickered on. He quietly moved into the bathroom and had a shower and attempted a shave. As always, it made the outlook better. Dressed, re re-emerged to see the door ajar and the vixen vanished. This catalysed his resolve and he checked out and made for the car. Cautiously into the open he looked all around. Nothing. He opened the car, got into the back seat, and covering himself with a rug, attempted to sleep some more once he had locked himself in. It wasn’t long before he had company. An arm punched in the rear window and curled around to open the driver door. Glass sprinkled over the rug. Someone got in and opened the passenger door. Another sat in. An accented voice said there must be a boot release somewhere, and the other – he recognised Paddy’s voice – said he though a key was required. They rooted around under the dash for some minutes without result other than releasing the bonnet catch. Paddy got out to snap the bonnet down at which point he sat upright and leaned over to lock the passenger door while at the same time sticking the barrel of the gun in Silvio’s ear and cocking the hammer. There was a momentary gasp, but he wasn’t foolish enough to move. Jim jabbed him with the gun and encouraged him out onto the tarmac. Joining him there, he pointed the direction he wished Silvio to take. Paddy, who had tried to creep around the back of the car to surprise him found himself looking straight down the barrel. He motioned him alongside Silvio. The two of them looked angry rather than weary or beaten. They looked at each other and looked quite capable of a charge when the two girls appeared some twenty paces away. The vixen and a random blonde. Who was she? Looked like Louise. Could be a sister.

The vixen walked straight up to him as the others circled.

“He’s not going to shoot us! He has never shot anybody! See” she was less than a metre away and went to take the gun by the barrel out of his hand. The others tensed for a pounce. He took a step forward and turning the gun in his hand to cup the chamber and barrel, he smacked her sharply on the bridge of the nose with the butt. She screamed and collapsed. The two guys had started towards him. Paddy pulled up sharply when he saw Veronique go down, but Silvio was up for it. He had a knife that looked like a letter opener held in his clenched fist and he raked down Jim’s gun arm with it. Blood ran down his arm, but the attack fell away as he placed the bevel on Silvio’s shoulder and fired. The fight went out of him as consciousness deserted him and he fell where he stood. He pointed the gun at the other two and they ran. He had a look at Silvio and realised the bullet had gone straight through him. Realising he was unlikely to recover that one, he went to have a look at the vixen. She looked up with fury at him. He put out a hand to help her up and was rewarded with an obscenity delivered with feeling. He shrugged and sat into the car. The next thing he knew the van appeared out of nowhere and pulled up beside Silvio. Paddy got out with a limping moaner and they dragged Silvio in the side door. The blonde drove. Then they slammed the door and drove off! As the sun came up, he sat there in his damaged and now windowless car, a healing gash in his cheek, and a very stiff and painful arm under his shredded shirt. Sitting not 10 paces away was a crumpled youngster with a broken nose. He looked at her. No response. “Will they come back for you?” Nothing. He got out the visit bag again. He got his shirt off on the damaged side and bandaged the wound using his teeth and other hand. He got the shirt back on and felt up to driving, if only to get away. He tried one more time to get a positive response from the sobbing girl on the ground. Failing, he got in and started the engine. She stood up and looked at him through the windscreen. There was hate, but also panic. He turned off the engine and got out and opened the boot. He took her by the shoulder and steered her to the car. “Empty your pockets” There was a momentary pause while he took a sharp intake of irritated breath, then she handed him two phones, money passport and odds and ends. “OK. Get in” pointing to the boot, a hand on the lid to close it down on her. “No, Please!” Close to fresh tears. He stood there a moment, weighing up the position. “Take off your boots” She did, and he half expected a knife to clatter onto the ground, but it did not. He threw the boots into the boot, and made her put her arms up while he frisked her. She was livid, but still. He slammed the lid and opened the passenger door for her, feeling the chivalry odd considering she had tried to distract him so her cohorts could jump him, and he had broken her nose. She got in. He went ‘round and got in behind the wheel. She huddled against the door, as far from him as possible, like a trapped creature. He drove to the hospital. No sign of the others. In the car park, he gave her her boots money and passport, and one of her phones. In his pocket the battery for the other. They walked in silence to Casualty and he stood back for her to enter the door. As she stepped through, he turned and walked back to the car park. He didn’t look back. In the car he thought about the previous 36 hours. Any more of this and someone will get killed, he thought, and it might be me. He reckoned he could, impediments aside, make the ferry in two hours. Much easier to explain everything on home turf. Without conscious thought he was in gear and moving off.

As he pulled into the ferry port loading yard, the phone rang. Not his phone. He pressed accept, and listened.

“Where are you?” He didn’t speak.

“I want my phone. You broke my nose. I need my phone.” There was a silence. “I…I have no money. I …I cannot stay here. My friends have gone”. She sounded so forlorn, he began to feel sorry for her, but nonetheless, there was little reason to risk helping this girl. She had brought all her problems on herself. In spite of this, he said

“Where are you?”

“At the hospital”

“Where is home?”

“London”

“Do you know Angouleme?”

“No, not really. Why?”

“Walk into the centre of town. Go to the railway station. Ring again in two hours. And don’t ring your friends, for your own sake!”

“What will you do?”

“I’ll come and get you” He rang off.

Wearily he turned around and drove back. All the way telling himself he was being stupid. He made good time and parked under some plane trees about 50 metres from the station. He walked back towards the station and stopped at a café. He had just finished a strong espresso when the phone rang.

“I am at the station. It is two hours”

“Walk out of the station and turn right. There is a café just along. Go there and wait for me”. He rang off to avoid further discussion. Three minutes later she walked in the door and spotted him at once. He burst out laughing. Her nose was covered by a beak like bandage and the effect was comical. He saw her eyes blazing fury and stifled it. They stood there sizing each other up. He sat down. She stood. He caught the waitress’s eye and asked for another coffee. Two, he suggested, looking up at her. She hesitated, then nodded and sat down. Looking at her in the pavement café light he realised that she looked dreadful. He had missed the ferry that he had started out to get, and knew the next was in three hours, so he had an hour to spare. “Do you want some food?” It hurt her to say so, but she accepted. He ordered two omelettes and a couple of glasses of rose. Leaving, he watched for any sign that her friends were in tow, but saw nothing of note. She saw him looking.

“Why did you come back for me if you think it is a trap? There is no one” They got in the car and drove to St. Malo He paid for an extra passenger, and a cabin. Once on board he pushed her towards the cabin. She looked wary but too weary to fight back. They lay on opposite bunks till they got underway. Then he got up and stripped to the waist. The arm looked bad. He went into the tiny shower and cleaned himself up. The water on the gash made him grit his teeth, but he dried himself and came back out. He had the visit bag with him, though the gun was locked in the car. He looked at her. He pulled her two phones out of his pocket, gave her a £20, keycard, and the phones. He said “I’m going to clean this up” indicating the arm.” You can go and get yourself some food, do whatever you like. I’m going to grab some sleep. If you want a lift back to London, be here when we dock. If you organise a reception committee for me at the other side, you’ll live to regret it, OK?”

“OK” She looked uncertain. “Why did you come back?” He didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure himself. Partly it was because he felt he shouldn’t have hit her, that her predicament was partly his fault. But part of it also was that he was attracted to her, in spite of himself, and he certainly wasn’t going to admit to that! So, he said nothing. She went out and closed the door. He felt suddenly depressed. He knew it was just shock, and the feeling that he was nearly home. Once he had cleaned the wound it didn’t look so bad. The skin was torn in a great swipe over his biceps and down to the elbow, but it was a clean cut and not much more than skin deep. He had found cleaning it a bit heavy going, and rested for a moment when the door opened. He jumped up, ready to defend himself, but it was merely the vixen with two coffees and two cognacs. She looked at him standing there braced like a prize-fighter, gashed arm wound gaping open where he flexed his arm. She put down the tray and stood before him. She gently pushed him back to a sitting position. “It’s OK! It’s OK.” She picked up a coffee, poured a cognac into it and passed it to him. “Drink. It will help”. He sipped the coffee and felt the bite. She took a sip of her own, then set about bandaging the arm. “Now you sleep” she said when they had finished the bandaging and the coffee. He looked at her as if to say Can I trust you? She seemed to read his thoughts. She pushed him gently till he stretched out on the bunk with his bad arm uppermost. Then she climbed in between him and the wall and lay against him with her back against his chest. Within minutes they were both fast asleep.

They awoke to the booming announcement that they were landing. They made their way to the car deck in silence, drove off the ferry and through Customs and up the Motorway in no time. As they crossed the M25 he asked her where she wanted to go. Battersea. Less than a mile from the clinic. He got the address and dropped her off. He got out to give her all the other stuff from her pockets that still were strewn in the boot. She took all the items, and then put her arms around his neck and squeezed him. With her mouth very close to his ear, she whispered, “I’m sorry”. Then she walked indoors. He went home.

He organised the return of the Ketamine, and got someone to pick up his car for repairs. His partner took one look at the arm and said he should go to casualty, but knew he wouldn’t. So a nurse injected some local and they tacked the skin together. He swallowed a couple of antibiotics and slept for 12 hours straight.

He was not at all sure in retrospect exactly what had been going on. There was the set up with the nurse and her boyfriend, and he could see that that could have been a very profitable enterprise. Paddy had been left behind to mop up in case there were complications. That left Veronique and Max (whose foot he had shot). Where did they fit in? The flat the vixen had returned to was not the same one that Louise had occupied. How did Veronique become such an enthusiastic gangster? Imponderable eventually. The weeks passed and he got his car back. He had the afternoon free, so he drove down to Le Bouchon for lunch. A fine day, he sat at a table just inside the building, open to the pavement. He ordered and started reading a book. He knew the waitress and they discussed the book for a moment, and then he started eating. A moment later a girl in a wrap around silk dress, heels and a hurry slipped into the seat in front of him. And it was. The vixen, her nose all healed and apparently no worse for the wear, and looking disconcertingly beautiful, clear eyed and shiny hair, she exuded vitality and good health. She looked up at him.

“You remember…”

“Of course I remember. You look...better!” and he laughed. She laughed too. A bit. Then she said, “I want to explain”. He thought 'this’ll be good!' She concentrated, wondering where to start. There was a tension in the air, and to defuse it he asked her if she wanted something to eat with a questioning gesture. She dismissed it with a wave of her own, and said

“I have not much time. I thought you were a criminal. That is why I attacked you.

When I arrived in London, I met Louise and Silvio. They shared a house with Paddy and Max. We were friends. Then Silvio had a plan. Louise would get a job in a practice and order the Ketamine. Then we would take the Ketamine to Paris and sell it and use the money go to the coast for a holiday. It was mad! I see it now. But it seemed like a good idea. No one was supposed to get hurt. Then you came after us and it was suddenly serious. Silvio said that if we didn’t get away from you, we could all go to jail. So, when Paddy sent a text to say where you were and we realised you were still after us. Paddy told us you were very angry. He said you were a drug dealer, not a vet. I thought you might shoot us. So, I struck out with the blade, but I thought I was fighting for my life. I did not mean to harm you." She looked over at him. He finished eating and lit a cigarette, offering her one. She looked around quickly and took it. "Now they are back" she continued "They are blaming me for it all going wrong. There are more Italians involved, and I think Silvio has done this stealing many times. These others are the bosses, I think. They want me to help them.”

“What do you want…expect me to do?” he looked at her with as close to a neutral expression as he could manage. Eventually she said

“You came back for me. I thought that maybe you would help me again. They don’t like you. They think you were really a dealer because of the gun. I need to get away.” He thought about the situation for a second and said

“Where do you want to go? Paris?”

“No! no. I think I need to get to La Rochelle. I have a cousin there who is an artist and will let me stay. The others don’t know about this place.”

“So, what’s the problem? Fly to Paris and take the train”

“I have no money and no credit cards. I only got this far by leaving all that behind, but I do have my passport. They think they have it but I applied for a new one and it came this morning. Today is my first chance. I knew you ate here sometimes, so I checked here first. If you can help me, I will repay you in a few weeks. I promise.” He looked at her, trying to weigh up the pros and cons. She kept checking the street. He took out his phone and tapped away. A moment later he said

“What’s the name on the passport?”

“Veronique Lapersonne. Veronique Therese Lapersonne. Why?

He continued tapping away. Finishing up he asked her for her mobile number. Again, she gave him the number and asked why.

Almost as she finished the question her phone bleeped. He said

“That’ll be your ticket. I’ve booked you on the Eurostar in 90 minutes and you are booked all the way through to La Rochelle. Can you get to Paddington?” She was silent for a moment and then said

“Thank you. Now all I have to do is stay clear of them until I get on the train”

“Do you have enough money to get the Tube and to get some food”?

“No, I have no card or cash.”

He pulled out his wallet and extracted a few £20s and a crumpled 50€ note and handed them over, with a smile of sorts. She had the good grace to look embarrassed. She seemed reluctant to move, and it struck him that she was scared.

“Would you like me to come with you as far as Paddington?” Her eyes became a bit teary.

“That would be good if you don’t mind. I am frightened now. My plan has worked. I was sure you would help. But now is the last step and I am imagining them pouncing on me in the station. It is probably foolish, but it has been a difficult time and I do not know what to expect. If you could do this one more thing, I will never ask you for anything again!”

“My car is just behind here. If you wait just a few minutes and then walk out that back door” he said, pointing “I will be waiting in the car. OK?”

“Now?”

“If you are going to make that train, we had better get a move on”

“O.K.”

When she got into the car, she spotted a fedora and waxed jacket on the back seat. She reached back and put the hat on. She turned

“What do you think?”

“Wow! He said.

“Ah, that is good, yes?”

“Yes, it looks better on you than it does on me! Try my jacket on too. Could be a cold night” She looked dubious

“You can post them back. You know the surgery address.” She pulled the jacket on and sat low in the seat. When they got to Paddington, he walked with her to the barrier. She went to go through, stopped, turned and said

“Thank you. You are the only friend I have now. I will send this” indicating the jacket ‘back, and the money” She stopped as if weighing up something in her mind, then stretched up and kissed him. “I wanted to do that since I saw you in the restaurant today. Will I see you…again?”

“I don’t know. Keep in touch” he pulled out a card. “That’s the practice e-mail and if you send me a test, I will e-mail you back on my personal one. Have a safe trip”

She twisted through the barrier, somewhat incongruous in the hat and much too big jacket, but a beautiful girl is still a beautiful girl even in a much too big jacket. She waved just before rounding the train. He went home.

He didn’t know what to feel. She was a great looking girl, but she was one who had been mixed up with low-life and who had left him with a scarred cheek. She had now also skinned him for a few hundred, not to mention the hat and coat. Time would tell, he supposed. She had asked for help. He could hardly refuse.

Two weeks later a parcel arrived. Hat, jacket, & a letter.

Cher Jim,

Thank you again for the help (and the hat and coat.) I enclose some money. It is not enough. I will send the rest soon. Well almost soon. I am working in a bar, but the money is not much.
I have a good life here but it is not enough if you understand me. I think I will sign up at the University in Nantes and study medicine. I know that this is mad, but I must have a plan. I do not know yet how I will live, but I will get a job and my parents are so happy that I am doing this that they wish to support me.

All is going well for me now. There is only one more thing. I would like to see you again.

A bientôt

Veronique XX

There was a studio address in a Rochelle and an email. He thought long and hard before he replied. Eight years her senior and not given, normally, to flights of imagination, he nonetheless knew that something was drawing him towards this girl and he was not sure if this was good or bad. He went for a meal and thought. If I got the ferry tonight, I could be there for breakfast. Then he dismissed the thought. But it kept resurfacing. Two days later he emailed.

Hay, great to hear from you. Thank you for the parcel and letter. I think it is a great idea that you become a student. A much better line of work, if you know what I mean.

I will have a week free next month and I normally take three weeks off in the summer. If you would like I could come down to La Rochelle for one of those breaks and you could show me the sights! I can book into an hotel. Let me know if either would fit in with your plans.

This email is my personal one (for friends & family) so I hope you will use this one and not the practice one. My mobile is below. Let me know.

Jim.

Within 5 minutes a reply.

Come next month! What day? It is great that you come. My cousin is asking me why I am suddenly so happy!

Came the day. He got in the car and started down towards the coast. He felt a little foolish. What do I expect here? Why have I built this up in my mind, when it is just a happy youngster trying to repay a debt. Why should there be a romantic element? Am I reading too much into what is after all her second language? These thoughts rattled around in his head all the way across the channel and intensified as he drove into La Rochelle. He had booked into an hotel and emailed Veronique to say where he would be and when. He parked and checked in. There was a message: Call me very first thing! Veronique XX. So he called.

“Hi, I’m in the hotel. How are you..” She broke in

“I am coming now” and the phone went dead. Ten minutes later there was a knock on the door. Jim let her in and they both sort of stood there not sure where to go next. Veronique took a deep breath and walked up to him. She took his hand and kissed him. The she drew him into the bedroom. Jim had lots of questions, unspoken.

Afterwards she said

“Now we are good friends, no? Before it was we were strangers, now we are friends.” Jim did not know what to say. He sat up and put his feet over the edge of the bed as if he were about to stand.

“Something is wrong? You did not want this?” Jim turned and saw the beginning of a tear. He rolled back and lay on top of the sheet on top of her and said

“I have thought of nothing else for weeks. What worries me is the power you have over my actions. I want you so much that nothing else matters.” He looked unblinking deep into her eyes. She held his gaze, then groaned, pulling the sheet away. It was even better the second time.

They showered together for fun and when dressed Veronique said

“You must meet my cousin”

“What about dinner?”

“We can go, all three of us, if that is OK?

“Sure. Is she as gorgeous as you?”

Veronique looked at him quizzically

“Why? Am I not enough for you?”

Oops! Jim thought.

“You are perfect and more than I had ever hoped for. No one else could come close. So you need not worry.”

“Oh I am not worried…no that is not right. I do not want you going off with other girls. I want you for myself!”

“You got me”

“Good” And they walked to the studio arm in arm.

They walked in and a tall girl with striking red hair and paint bespattered clothes said “Hi Hi”

Veronique said “Jim this is Christine, Christine, Jim” Christine said

“So you are the one my cousin is in love with. Welcome. Veronique has been jumping up and down with excitement since you said you were coming” and she laughed. Veronique looked a bit disconcerted, so Jim said

“I too have been a ball of nerves since I booked the ferry. I think I just might be in love with your cousin.” At that Veronique put her arms around him and rested her head on his chest. Christine said

“I think for the first night you two lovebirds should have dinner alone, with out me. I will be fine. Tomorrow night we will all dine together.”

When they sat down in the restaurant, Veronique passed an envelope over the table to Jim

“That is the rest of your money. Thank you again for saving me. I will never forget how you helped me.” Jim put it in his pocket

“Thank you. It isn’t going to make you short of money, is it?”

“No, my cousin is very good and I have a job, you know. I have taken a week off to be with you. That is good, no?”

“Of course it’s good. I want to spend every minute of this week with you.”

“And then you will go back to London and forget all about me” She looked a bit sad.

“I will never forget about you. How could I when I shave over this every morning” he said running his fingers down the scar.

“Will you ever forgive me for that?”

“I have forgiven you already. It was not meant maliciously. It was an accident.”

He is taking French lessons, they speak on the phone every night, alternating native tongues, and he spends every weekend off in the Charente Maritime.

© Dave Cuffe 2025

2023