Chapter 15

Gradually, Simon became aware of his surroundings. He was in a narrow bed with crisp sheets; the ceiling was high and the walls pale green and cream. Where ... oh. Hospital.

He forced his head to roll first to the left, then the right. There was a curtain between him and anything to his left, on the other side he met the eyes of his mother.

"Oh, thank God, you're awake. I'll go tell the nurse!" she told him, standing quickly and giving him a peck on the cheek as mothers do.

A nurse entered, pulled the curtains around him and took his pulse and temperature. She noted them on the chart that she re-hung at the bottom of his bed, all busy efficiency.

Simon asked her, "Can you tell me what's happened?" but she only replied, "You'll have to wait for the doctor, I'm afraid. He shouldn't be long. Do you need anything? How's the pain?"

"Okay, but I feel really woozy," he told her.

"That'll be the medication. Don't worry, you're going to be fine." She flashed a brief smile at him before whisking the curtains back with the ease of obvious practice, then she walked quickly back to her station at the end of the ward. Simon watched with detached enjoyment. He thought he ought to be enjoying the sight more, but couldn't make himself care enough.

His mother came back, his father with her. Both looked relieved.

"How are you feeling, son?" his mother asked.

"I'm fine," he replied.

"He lied," interjected his father, dryly. "You got us worried, son. I'm glad to see you're awake now, though."

"Leave him alone," his mother chided, "he's just woken up."

His parents sat with him for a while. Gradually, Simon became more awake, though the pain in his leg was getting worse. He started, remembering.

"Marianne. She was there!"

Jackie leaned over to lay a hand on his. "Hush."

"Mum, it was Marianne, and she was there, with those kids. Oh, Christ, there were a couple of kids..."

"I'm sure they're all okay," he heard his mother say, but he was watching her face. No, they weren't.

"Truth, Mum."

His father answered after a moment, his mother remaining silent.

"Marianne's okay, she's here in the hospital too, some burns but she'll be fine. I'm really sorry son, but they couldn't reach the kids. John told us about it, how you tried to get back in to them."

"You could have got yourself killed!" his mother hissed.

"Shhh, Jackie. Simon was trying to do his job. And being a bit of a hero with it."

But Simon's head had fallen back onto his pillow. He closed his eyes and once more saw the flames, saw the frightened faces of those two children, kids he'd left behind.

"'m no hero," he mumbled. "Failed. Those kids..." Tears began to gather in the corners of his eyes.

This time his father reached over and grabbed his hand. He squeezed. Simon opened his eyes again and looked at his normally taciturn, gruff, father in surprise.

"Simon, according to John you got Marianne out, you helped him with another little boy and you, personally, saved the life of one little girl by shielding her with your own body, injuring yourself in the process. Then you tried to get back inside, when the building collapsed, partially on you. No shame, Simon, none. You did well and I'm — we're — proud of you."

The next day, Simon had unexpected visitors. Tina came in to the ward, pushing Marianne in a wheelchair. Marianne's eyes lit up when she saw him. Tina looked grateful.

Simon saw that Marianne's left leg was in a cast, she had dressings on that arm and hand as well. Her hair was short, apparently cut in haste and she had a nasty bruise close to her temple. She looked tired, washed out, an impression made curiously worse by the hospital gown she was wearing, but she smiled anyway. They didn't speak for a long moment, until Tina broke the ice.

"I heard you'd got hurt, Simon. Marianne and I wanted to come over and see you to say, "Hi," and thank you."

"Yes, and find out how you are, Simon. I hear your leg was injured, how bad is it?" asked Marianne, concern evident in her voice.

Simon couldn't hide a grimace. "The doctor saw me yesterday afternoon. The damage to my knee is quite bad, he's sure I'll be able to walk again, he thinks I'll get back up to around 85% of my knee's capability — but I think that'll be enough to take me out of the service. I don't want a backroom job."

Simon looked away. "Besides, I'm not sure I want to stay in regardless. I've had enough, what with those poor kids..."

He felt a soft hand laid on his for a short time, then withdrawn. He looked up and saw Marianne.

"You and John saved my life, and that of several other kids. Don't forget that, Simon." She held his gaze until eventually he nodded in acceptance.

"What about you?"

"The leg's broken and burnt a bit, it's quite sore. These," indicating her arm and hand, " are pretty superficial. I think the scars on my leg are going to be pretty obvious, though," she finished with a grimace.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry to hear that," Simon said, his concern showing in his voice.

"Oh, I think I'd had enough of primping myself for the modelling anyhow, Simon. Chris and I are getting married soon." Simon realised what it was that he'd noticed.

"Oh! Er — is the baby all right?"

Marianne smiled again and nodded. "Yes, it's fine. Thanks. Also, yes, it's Chris's and yes, we're happy about it. It's coming earlier than we'd expected — sorry, bad word! — than we'd intended, but we're both happy about it.

"But anyway, I was going to have to stop modelling for at least a while anyway, of course. In any case I think I'd had enough of the pettiness for a bit, and I don't think I had quite the right stuff to go into the Page 3 side — besides the earache I'd get from Mum if I said I wanted to do more of that!"

"I've never said that!" her mother interjected, but Marianne calmly looked at her, and Tina folded. "Yes, you're right, I had reservations about it."

"Well, Mum, Chris says he'll still want to take photos of me, but not for publication. Just between us. Okay?"

Tina and Marianne stayed for a while, chatting intermittently, the ladies just enjoying being in a different room, Simon enjoying their company. After about an hour they left.

The day after that, Chris arrived to visit Simon.

"Hi Simon," he said as he came up to the bed. "Marianne told me where to find you."

"Nice of you to come, Chris," Simon replied.

There was an awkward silence. Finally, Chris grinned wryly.

"It's a little odd, this. I have to thank my fiancée's ex for saving her life, while he's still annoyed with me for stealing her."

Simon laughed, he flat-out laughed, for the first time since the fire. "Oh, God," he gasped, "that's funny. Anyway, I forgave you ages back for Marianne, I think I realised that she wasn't feeling the same way for me as I was for her. And saving her was simply part of the job."

"I'm sure you know that it's not as simple as that. Anyway, you saved more than just Marianne's life."

Simon looked away. What could he possibly say to that?

"Anyhow, "Chris continued, "I just wanted to thank you. What about your own injuries?"

"Oh, just a broken leg. It'll heal," Simon answered, trying to brush it all off. Chris persisted though.

"From what Marianne and Tina tell me it's worse than that. Your knee?"

Simon just shrugged.

"I see," Chris said. He stood to go. "If there's anything I can do to help? Just ask, Simon."

"Okay, Chris."

Just as Chris was leaving, Simon said, "Thanks." Chris looked back over his shoulder, nodded, and left.

Two days later, he had another visitor to his bed from the Simmons family — this time it was Caroline.

"Hi," she said, a little shyly, around the edge of the curtain.

"Hi," he answered. They looked at each other for a moment. Caroline fidgeted, so Simon beckoned her to come to him. She sat on the bedside chair, as close as she could, looking down at her hands which were clasped together in her lap.

"I — " he began, just as Caroline also began, "I —"

She smiled, and Simon waved to her to begin.

"I just wanted to say 'Thank you, ' for rescuing Marianne, and to see how you are," she said.

"No thanks needed, and I'm - well, not fine, but I'll be okay," he told her. "I need to start physio on this knee soon, which is going to be a pain in the arse, but Doc reckons I'll get most of the mobility back."

"Is that the best they can do?"

"'Fraid so. Apparently I shouldn't have tried to walk on it and then have a wall fall on it after doing the initial damage. Who knew?"

He faked a casual grin, or tried to. Caroline evidently saw through him though, she leaned over, softly said, "I'm really sorry, Simon," and kissed his forehead briefly, lightly.

"It's okay, Caroline. Really. I'll be able to walk and all that, but it seems my dreams of playing for West Ham are over," he tried to joke.

"Not just for that, Simon. I'm sorry."

"Oh."

"Yes, 'Oh' indeed. I'm really sorry, Simon. I've been thinking about you a lot. Have you thought of me?"

Simon had, but not constantly, and not really in a flattering way. "Sometimes," he temporised. She saw the lie instantly again.

"No, you haven't," she told him, "but that's okay. I just needed to tell you."

"Sorry," he apologised, going pink. "Er — how have you been?"

Caroline laughed, patted his hand, and said through a grin, "I've been okay. Well, at first when we parted, I pined a lot. In the end Mum and Mari sat me down and read me the riot act, then they fussed over me until I started eating properly again and getting on with things."

"My turn to say 'Sorry', Caroline."

"No, no. We were silly to part the way we did. I was silly and stupid to say what I did. But we were equally silly to try," her voice caught for a moment, but she recovered, "to try for each other when you weren't over Mari. Too soon, too fresh, and every time you looked at me you must've thought of her."

"Not really, Cari. Oh, I can't deny that I did think of Marianne sometimes, but not every time!" he grinned.

She stuck out her tongue. "You!"

His face became serious. "No, you were — are I guess — amazing. I loved when I was with you. I just ... I guess I just got cold feet."

He hesitated, but before Caroline could leap into the gap he continued, staring into the space beyond the far wall, "Since then I've met another girl. She's gone back to university now, in Liverpool, and we were never meant for anything permanent, but Michelle helped me heal ... in a way that I needed. My Mum & Dad, and John & Patty, they tried to make me get my head up from my arse, but it took Mi."

Caroline said nothing, but her face fell.

"I ... I guess I'll say goodbye, then, Simon," she said, finishing in a rush. She stood up quickly and, before Simon could stop her, left.

"Wait! Caroline, please, wait."

Simon pulled himself up in his bed and looked beyond his bed at his former girlfriend. "Caroline, will you come and see me again? I'd really like that."

"You would?" she asked, doubtfully.

"Yes, Cari. I would, honestly."

"Hmmm. We'll see, Mr. Cook." But she said it with a hint of a smile instead of the determined, firm demeanour she'd shown a moment earlier.

"We'll see."

John and Patty visited, as did Phil in his capacity with the Fire Brigades Union, and his boss, Station Officer Billings.

Time in hospital meant time with little to do but think. Always introspective, Simon sat, or lay, and did just that. He thought about what he would do after getting out of hospital. He thought, and worried, and feared a little, about the rehabilitation he'd soon be undergoing. While he trusted his doctors, recognising professionalism and competence, still he worried about walking again.

He also thought about girls, of course. Well, at first, it was simply about sex, but that didn't get him very far — privacy wasn't that easy to come by. It wasn't as if he could simply stroll to the bathroom! His thoughts moved on to girls, and then he found himself thinking about the girls he'd known. After a while, he found that his thoughts were mostly of one particular girl...

So there was one visitor he found himself anxiously awaiting.

Time passed. His surgeon cut open his knee, checked around, and confirmed the diagnosis. He was very correct, his voice assured and somewhat condescending, but he made Simon feel that he knew what he was doing.

"It's Lateral Collateral Ligament damage, combined, as they often are in such cases I'm afraid, with damage to both Anterior and Posterior ligaments. We've patched them up, but you're in for a long, hard and, I'm very sorry, painful rehabilitation. Frankly, the damage was quite severe, and in conjunction with the other damage to your leg, well, you'll notice it no matter what we do. But I can honestly tell you that you will walk again without a stick; you'll be able to run, jump and all that. Just don't expect me to recommend booking a place in Moscow for the next Olympics."

Simon was able to smile. "That's about what I'd expected, Doc. Without the medical terms, anyway."

He got a Look. "Let's see you smile once you get into the physiotherapy, young man. It's going to hurt."

"I know. But the reward — walking and all the rest — will make it worth it."

Now the Doctor's own smile had shark-like qualities. "We'll see if you still think that when it's happening, Mr. Cook."

"Hello, Simon."

Both he and the doctor were surprised by the small, feminine voice. Simon's heart lurched when he recognised that it was Caroline, her head partly obscured by the curtain.

"Yes, well. I think we're finished here, Mr. Cook?" the doctor said, standing to go. His demeanour softened quite a bit when he looked at Caroline. "Pleased to meet you, young lady." Then he strode off, every step reeking of dignified arrogance.

"Wow," Simon said.

"Is that directed at him, or at me?" teased Caroline.

"Him. But, yeah, wow!" Simon answered her, looking the young girl — no, lady — over from head to toe. Her brunette locks were a mass of tight curls close to her head, she was wearing a close-fitting denim jacket and tight — tight­ — jeans, finished off with a pair of white shoes. The outfit was designed to show off her curves, and did so very well indeed.

"A bit stuck up, wasn't he?" Caroline remarked, sitting down close to Simon.

"Yeah, but a really good surgeon," Simon replied, distractedly. "You look great, Caroline. Um, I'm really pleased to see you again."

Caroline gave him a high-wattage smile. "You are?"

"Oh, yes. I mean it."

"What about, wassername, from Liverpool?"