THE CUP BEARER

By DJ

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

From Chapter thirty-three

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie and he found Rudkin standing by him with a paper cup of coffee in his hand. There was another on the desk. “Drink up, it might be a long night. At least when we find him he’ll have a team of experts waiting to go to work on him. Grafton’s on his way by helicopter from London, with Percival Rosscroft Junior. According to Grafton, he’s a brilliant plastic surgeon. It’s his helicopter they’re travelling in.”

Don had taken only two sips when phone rang. Rudkin grabbed it and almost immediately said, “Right, we’ll be down there right away.” Putting the phone down he said flatly, “They’ve found him, and it’s not good.”

*  *

Now read on

The farm was just over the Derbyshire border, mostly grazing land with several small areas the owner rented out for fairs and gymkhanas. The fire brigade was already on the scene, and the farmer, an old, gruff ‘salt of the earth’ type, waited to talk to them. “Bikers are always a nuisance, parking on my land uninvited. It were my wife who spotted the fire from our top bedroom window and I came out ‘ere with my lad to chase ‘em off. Got to the top of the rise back there and couldn’t see no sign of ‘em, just the fire. We come over to put the fire out and came by way of the bottom field and had to come across the old dike. Not used no more now we got the new one dug. As we climbed across, I ‘appens to look down and I see this white thing, looked like one of them shop window models. Then it moved and I thought I was seein’ things at first. Then it moved again, so I sent my Tom back to call for ‘elp, ‘im been’ faster’n me, like. Then the fire men and the ambulance came.”

“Modest, isn’t he?” a voice spoke behind the farmer, and the fire chief stepped forward to shake hands with Rudkin. “It’s a pity you and I only meet when there’s a nasty piece of work afoot. This one’s really nasty, and if Mr. Fairhold hadn’t climbed down, to help the boy, he would have been a goner. There’s a sheer six foot drop below him into the gully and it was only the boy’s hair caught on the thorns that held him up till Mr. Fairhold got to him. That was a brave thing you did tonight, sir. How you did it I don’t know. One slip and you would have been in the gully as well.”

Frozen with panic, Don found he couldn’t ask the question he dreaded hearing the answer to, and heard Rudkin voice it. “How is he?”

“Not good. We’ve got to cut back all the bushes before we can winch him up, that’s what’s taking so long. We’ve had to cut most of his hair off. It was too badly tangled. I’ve tried to stop people trampling around the immediate area, and your men have cordoned it off as best they can, but we’ve had to bring the winch up as close as possible in order to lift him. Sorry if it’s destroyed possible evidence; couldn’t be helped.” Even as he spoke the winch roared into life and the Chief excused himself to supervise the careful raising of the stretcher and its occupant. Rushing forward, Don resisted Rudkin’s attempts to stop him and was at the Chief’s side as a group of yellow helmets bobbed their way up beside the stretcher, hauling themselves up on several ropes. Dreading the face he would see, but knowing already what to expect, he was nevertheless shocked, and almost screamed out in reflected pain as the firemen lowered the stretcher onto the ground for the paramedics to take over. Don caught a brief glimpse of a wispy cap where before there had been a mane of black curls, and beneath it a face swollen and criss-crossed with bloody lines above the neck brace, but with an expression of peace upon it. Then the paramedics obscured his view as they got to work on him. Quickly they wrapped him in blankets and foil and transferred him to an ambulance where Don threatened mayhem if he wasn’t allowed to ride with him, and Rudkin had to oil things over for him. They ran the stretcher into A&E and transferred Gypsy onto a gurney and straight into the operating theatre area where Don’s determination to stay with the boy was thwarted at last by a green clad nurse who apologised and pushed the door shut in his face. He leaned his face against the nearest hospital wall and wept.

Friday 7th June 1995

It wasn’t the waiting that Sandy found hard to cope with, but the way everyone kept him in the dark, treating him like a school kid instead of a responsible teenager concerned for his mate. Don Clooney seemed too cut up to talk. Sandy had never seen a guy reduced to tears for a second time so much as Gypsy’s minder was. To see a brawny giant like him aimlessly pacing the ICU reception area, with nothing to say and a whole lot of anger to get rid of, was a pitiful sight indeed. Sandy knew Clooney was blaming himself for what had happened but how could he have known that the pinching of the Rover was a hoax to get him out of the way? In Sandy’s book, the guy was a nothing short of a hero.

Sandy watched him pacing up and down past the reception desk under the scowl of the duty nurse, waiting for someone to come and tell them what was going on and unable to sit for more than a few minutes before pacing again. Sandy knew Edward Grafton was somewhere in the building, probably talking to the doctors. Gypsy had been in theatre more than three hours and Perquita had been at his bedside ever since. If only they would tell them something, anything. Even when MacCaffrey put in an appearance and tried his official status on the staff nurse, he couldn’t get anything out of her either, and had to sit down beside Sandy and wait.

Beside the waiting room there were some chairs out in the reception area, and they sat on these, having found the waiting room rather claustrophobic. Don stopped in front of Sandy, stared down at him for a moment with red-rimmed eyes. “This is getting to me real bad, Sandy; you too, huh? No-one tells you nothing.” He sank down on the chair next to MacCaffrey and leaned his head back against the wall with a sigh of dejection. Sandy was about to comment on something he’d been thinking hard about when someone came through the doors at the end of the corridor and walked quickly towards them, a person instantly recognisable and had Sandy out of his chair and striding down the corridor to greet him. Manuel looked haggard with dark shadows under his sunken eyes, indicating hours without sleep, hours filled with nothing to do but sit in a plane and worry about his son and imagine all kinds of dreadful things; the most important being the thought of not reaching his son’s bedside in time.

“Hello, Sandy.” Manuel’s smile only enhanced the tightness of his face as they shook hands. “At least there is one familiar face to meet me.”

“ ‘Ow did you get ‘ere so fast?” Sandy asked in amazement as he turned to walk alongside Manuel. “Gypsy said you were in the Far East.”

“We were in Israel on the homeward leg of the tour when Edward Grafton contacted me. For once I am glad money is no object, although my maestro having a wealthy Israeli friend with a private jet certainly helped. I would have spent my last pound to get here.”

Don and MacCaffrey, they rose to their feet and waited to be introduced, doing the usual double take as most people do when first seeing Gypsy’s father.

“Mr. Diaz, this is Don Clooney, Gypsy’s minder, and this is James MacCaffrey, headmaster of our school. Folks, this is Gypsy’s father, Manuel Diaz Lopez.”

“Ah! Mr. MacCaffrey!” Manuel’s eyes suddenly tightened. “Pleased to meet you again. Didn’t you attend Rita’s funeral for a few minutes? We didn’t have time to talk.” He shook hands with him, then with Don. “Hello Don, you were at the funeral as well, weren’t you, but you didn’t stay either. My son has talked to me about you recently. Perhaps we might have a talk in private sometime?”

Sandy saw Don’s eyes narrow, as if expecting to be accused of something, “Sure, why not?”

At that moment a nurse at the reception desk called out. “Can I help you?”

Manuel turned with a disarming smile. “My name is Diaz. I have come to see my son.”

“One moment please. “ The nurse lifted a phone and spoke quietly for a few seconds and replacing the phone she smiled. “If you’d like to take a seat the doctor will be along shortly.”

The smile disappeared from Manuel’s face. “Senora, I do not wish to sit down. I wish to see my son as soon as possible. Surely that is not too much to ask.” The nurse’s hand reached for the phone again and she would have lifted the receiver had not the doors to the ICU ward had not pushed open. Edward Grafton walked through the doors and relief flooded Manuel’s face. Don’s shoulders relaxed and Sandy felt a weight lift from his own mind. Here was someone who could cut through hospital red tape and give them some answers. “Edward! Thank The Lord.” Manuel breathed as he started towards him. “Tell me what is happening? When can I see Gypsy?”

“Calm down Manuel.” Edward smiled as he steered Manuel towards the waiting room. “Your son is out of Intensive Care and I’ve come to take you up to the surgical wards, but first I think we’d better have a chat; you too Don, and Mr. MacCaffrey.”

The weight landed back on Sandy like ton of concrete as yet again he had the feeling he was going to be ignored, but Manuel said, “Sandy is just as anxious to hear how Gypsy is. Perhaps you would not mind if he heard what you have to say. After all he is my son’s closest friend.”

“Of course.” Edward nodded his head at Sandy. “Shall we use the waiting room?”

Edward waited till they were all seated. “I’ll try to explains things as simply as possible and hope I don’t sound too blunt. Gypsy was kidnapped and driven away in a van by someone who must have known about his knowledge of the martial arts. During the journey a person or persons used a bar of some kind on his hands and feet to render him incapable of defending himself. When they reached the farm he was handed over to a group of bikers. Rudkin’s team found evidence of at least six bikes at the scene, tyre marks, oil and boot prints, that sort of thing. He was stripped, and his clothes burnt before the bikers left the scene. That was the fire Mrs. Fairhold saw from her bedroom window. He was beaten and kicked, and there are bruises on his arms and legs to suggest he was held down on the ground while someone used a knife or a razor on his face causing four major lacerations. Further evidence at the scene, and the state of his elbows and knees, suggests he tried to crawl to safety once his assailants rode off. Unfortunately he crawled in the wrong direction and fell down a dike. It is a day he will be thankful he had long hair. It became tangled in the thorns and halted his descent, otherwise he would have dropped into the dike itself which, at the time, had four feet of water in it.”

“How serious are his injuries.” Manuel asked him.

Edward frowned and shook his head. “The least serious but obviously more noticeable are the facial lacerations. Fortunately there is little nerve or muscle damage but he still needed extensive surgery. We’re fortunate to have an excellent burns and plastic surgery unit in this hospital. More serious are the fractures and contusions to his hands and feet with nerve and tendon damage, particularly to the left hand.

At this Sandy saw Manuel’s face turn grey. A guitarist’s hands were his life. Sandy’s heart sank to his boots as he imagined Gypsy unable to play his beloved guitar or to dance, or skate. “He writes left handed,” was all he could think to say.

“Quite.” Edward replied. “The bruises on his arms and legs, although severe, will heal and are of minor concern, but it appears he was kicked several times in the bladder area. The bladder, penis, and testicles are severely bruised with the possibility that he may never father any children.  Tests will have to be completed, sometime in the future, before a definite pronouncement can be made. It’s almost as if it was a deliberate attempt to render him incapable of performing the sexual act.” Sandy thought he heard Manuel give a groan of despair, and Edward said gently. “I’m sorry, Manuel, but you did say on the telephone you would want all the details and to spare you nothing. I have almost finished but I’m afraid there is something else.” Edward hesitated before saying in a voice full of pain. “They didn’t just beat him.” Manuel’s eyes came up quickly to fix Edward with a look of open-eyed horror. “I’m sorry, Manuel. There is internal damage and -.”

Sandy felt sick as what Edward meant sank in. Manuel gave a moan of horror and turned his face away from everyone. “No! Oh no! Not again. Dios Mio! Not again.”

“They had to stabilise him first; he was suffering from the early signs of Hypothermia.  Then they had to make sure every thorn and foreign body was removed, which is why he was so long in the theatre. There were a lot of them, and he’ll be very sore for quite a few days. They’ll perform a detailed colonoscopy as soon as they can.”

No one spoke, each digesting in his own way what Edward had said, each face indicating they appreciated not being spared the harsh facts.

Sandy looked round at Manuel and Don and the Beak, and saw how immersed they were in their own thoughts, and decided it was time to air what was on his mind. “May I add somethin’?” Four pairs of eyes swivelled towards him and Edward waved a hand in consent. “You were sayin’ about the kidnappers knowin’ Gypsy did martial arts, right? Well they must have known about him having a duff ankle too, because the first thing Ramon said was that those creeps came out of nowhere and went straight for ‘is legs.”

Don nodded. “That’s what Ramon told me too. I put it in my report to Rudkin.”

Sandy continued. “What I’m sayin’ is,‘e ‘ad a row with Brian MacCaffrey, right?” He told them in brief about the fight over Shana, Brian’s visit on Wednesday and the threats he had made. “Now I don’t know whether it ties in or not, but Gypsy’s made a real enemy of that one, isn’t it?” then remembering the relationship between Brian and MacCaffrey he blushed. “I’m sorry sir; I ‘ad to say it.”

MacCaffrey shook his head “That’s all right, lad. My nephew got what he deserved from what I’ve heard.”

“As for Gypsy,” Edward said, “that boy is becoming harder to control as time goes on.”

Manuel stared coldly at him. “Is it surprising? What he’s been through is more than can be tolerated by any fifteen-year old.”

“I’m not disputing that, but if he wishes to have more freedom to make his own decisions, which Thomas and I dearly wish him to have, he has to show he can be responsible for his actions, and obey the law. Under the circumstances the sooner he reaches his sixteenth birthday the easier I will feel.”

“Surely my presence will make a difference? I’m more than ready to take over his guardianship.”

“I dearly hope so, Manuel, I really do. He certainly needs someone younger to hold the reins and not control them from so far away as we are. Thomas and I are feeling our age, being a lot older than our late brother; neither of us have had any personal experience with children other than through the justice system. Now, if you would like to come with me, I will take you to see Gypsy.”

Manuel stood up. “First, I want you to assure me that only the best surgeons in the country will attend to my son’s injuries. As for any medical bills that are incurred, I will bankrupt myself if necessary.”

Edward placed a comforting hand on Manuel’s shoulder. “That has already been attended to, Manuel. Percival Rosscroft Junior and his team are the best. Percival’s in consultation with the surgeons even as we speak, and will have Gypsy transferred to the Northern Rosscroft Clinic as soon as this hospital allows. Now I suggest we all go up and see your son.”

Sandy had often seen photographs in papers and magazines, of little bomb victims lying in hospital beds with their damaged limbs heavily bandaged and raised on pillows, tubes in their bodies supplying life giving substances, their battered bodies and faces stitched, and looking as if they had just fallen asleep. He looked through the observation window of the private ward that Manuel had insisted on paying for, and wept at such a sight now. Sleeping, but not really sleeping, bandaged hands and feet surrounded by ice packs and elevated on pads, and what little they could see of the rest of his body a mass of scratches and abrasions. The face was not Gypsy’s but a cartoon version of him, a swollen crisscross of black lines, and his hair just a cropped untidy cap. What shocked Sandy the most was how small and vulnerable he looked. Don had been allowed in at Manuel’s insistence, and had collapsed onto a chair with his head in his hands while Manuel stood with a hand on his shoulder. It was obvious the guy was still blaming himself for what had happened.

Edward had taken Perquita to where the other Gomez children were waiting, to hear about their brother. Sandy’s Dad was waiting with them but Sandy would not leave his mate, not till Gypsy knew he was here. He just wished he could go in and touch him. He stared at his mate’s ruined face and almost believed he saw Gypsy’s head move ever so slightly. He so desperately wanted to believe it. Gypsy’s eyes opened just a fraction and were looking straight at him. A thought came to him. “Touch?” before Gypsy’s eyes closed again. Joy burst into song in Sandy’s heart as Manuel suddenly lifted his head to look at his son then at him, and signalled for him to enter the ward. He marched straight to the bed and reached out to touch his mate but hesitated, his hand hovering uncertainly, not knowing where his mate didn’t hurt, he had that many scratches. He leaned over to touch his mate on the left shoulder and was astonished to see Manuel do the same on the right. Manuel glanced his way and smiled, relief making the man look so much younger and less tired.

“He’ll be all right now. He won’t be able to talk for a while, some of those stitches are too close to his mouth, but at least he knows we’re here. That is what is important, is it not?” Sandy couldn’t speak, and just nodded dumbly. Don had risen to his feet at the sudden muted activity and came to stand at the foot of the bed. Sandy saw Gypsy’s eyes open again to stare straight at Don, and he managed to whisper, “You promised.”

With his hand still on Gypsy’s shoulder, Sandy looked round and saw the anguish on Don’s face before the man turned to stumble out of the ward.