Chapter 1

I hate things like this, I feel like a spare part. All the great and the good are milling around glad handing each, other while Caroline, my wife, talks to them about helping her charity. I've already met the local MP. Then there is Roger Dewey, the local head of Children's Services; I swear if he lays his hands on her again, I'll deck the bastard. The only reason they are here is because Caroline, is doing so well. They are hoping to claim credit. They make me sick. The problem is I also make myself sick.

Look at me; a college lecturer. I teach engineering. I've settled for semi-security and a good pension; and I hate myself for it. Before the company went broke I was the top man for control engineering. Then came the crunch, and it was a matter of move away or take a job at the college. We couldn't disrupt the children's education, so I settled for a secure salary and a pension. Ten years later the children are at university and I'm still there. Meanwhile Caroline has taken her new freedom and shown the world what she can do.

Caroline always said that I was the clever one; she always put herself down. I knew different. She was smart, but in a different way; Caroline was an organiser, a persuader of people. She trained as a nursery nurse but she was wasted doing that; I knew it even if she didn't. By the time the children left school she worked as a frustrated nursery manager, for an organisation she was perfectly capable of running. When the manager resigned I urged her to take it on. She had the ability but lacked the confidence, so I did my best to give her that confidence. I wanted her to fulfil her true potential. Because that's what you do when you love someone. She'd given her all for us, now it was her turn.

I didn't realise would take over her life leaving no room for me. OK, I admit I'm jealous. I'm jealous of her job, not jealous because it's better than mine, but jealous because it gets all her time and attention leaving nothing for me. I don't resent her success, I'm proud of her, proud of what she has achieved. It's just that it's ruined the plan. When the children left it was supposed to be our time. Time to do things together, see the world. Now the plan's gone to hell and I hardly see her. That's the reason I'm here. If I don't show up to these events I never get to spend time with her. Who knows if it goes well, we might even share a small moment of intimacy when we get home.

We take our seats for the presentation ceremony. Caroline waves as she makes her way up to the stage. I move to the far side of the room and can just see her take her seat in the wings, next to that lecherous bastard from Children's Services. I watch Caroline going through her speech. Until recently she would have asked for my help, but I have no idea what's in this speech.

A local radio celebrity steps up to the podium and outlines the agenda for the evening and the room becomes quiet. Caroline is up for two awards one for her organisation and one individual.

I sit through the first part waiting for the Non-Government Organisations awards. We've known for months Caroline's project had won this award she was even asked who she wanted to present it. Like a fool I'd suggested the head of Children's Services. 'Doesn't hurt to get these people on side, ' I'd told her. That was before I found out what a letch he was.

'Now we come to the organisation that has made the most progress in childcare, ' said our master of ceremonies. 'Presenting this award is the head of Children's Services for Welfordshire, Mr Roger Dewey.'

People applaud, but not me. This bloke is an arsehole of the first order. I've seen him groping any woman he can get close to. He's only been in the job six months and already he's got a reputation. He's talking to us all about how the organisation rose from the ashes. You'd think he was there, but that was two years ago, and the council he represents were part of the original problem. Someone has briefed him well though. He tells us all who the winner is and Caroline steps forward to receive her award.

He walks back to his seat and I wait for the speech. Normally I'm as familiar with the speech as she is. I'm her trial audience, her advisor; cut that; expand on this, but this time I have no idea what she will say. She looks back at Dewey and he nods to her. Almost immediately I sense something is wrong. She's talking politics, telling us of the problems caused by the government's funding cuts.

'Keep politics out of it, ' I always said. 'The people you slag off today might be in power tomorrow.'

I glance around the room and see uncomfortable looking faces. Now she's thanking people, the trustees, the nursery managers, the case workers. She looks back at him again.

'Last but by no means least, I'd like to thank Mr Roger Dewey without his help and support we would never have made it this far.'

'What help and support' I'm asking myself?

This award was sewn up before he even took the job. Why is she thanking him, without even a passing mention of me? I was the one who helped her deal with a hostile committee who wanted to close the project down. She sits down, and he puts his hand on her back. He moves his hand across her bare shoulders then lower down her back. This is not a congratulatory pat on the back from a colleague; it's the caress of a husband or ... lover.

Suddenly everything is clear. The late night meetings, the weekend conferences and the fundraising trips to London, all explained in an instant. I get out of my seat. She is making no attempt to stop Dewey running his hand over her back. Not until our eyes meet. I have no idea what expression I'm wearing, but it can't be pretty. Her mouth falls open, and she gasps, before shaking herself and talking to Dewey who quickly pulls his hand back. I make my way to the aisle, then I'm free and walking out of the room.

Once outside I throw up in the litter bin outside the door then lean against the wall, I gasp in the cold night air and consider my position. It can't be true, not my Caroline, but I know that it is. I've not been teaching for ten years without learning something about body language. Dewey's hands were telling me 'She's mine, this is my woman.' Greedy bastard has another one at home looking after the kids.

What do I do now? Do I go back in there and pretend nothing has happened? Can I do that? Can I look at my Caroline without seeing that slimy bastard with his hands all over her? What about him? Can I resist smashing his face in as soon as he comes near me? No, going back inside is out of the question. I've got some serious thinking to do and I can't do it here. Where is my car? Finding my car keys, I press the unlock button and the 'chirp chirp' attracts my attention and I turn to see the lights flash.

Sitting in my car I feel better, insulated from the problems outside. I start the engine. Home, that's where I need to be, I can think there. Caroline has another award to come so she'll be tied up here for another hour or so. I'm on the road before the arguments in my head start.

'What are you doing?' asks the voice. 'You can't be sure there's anything going on. It's not as if you caught them at it?'

'He knows what he saw; that's all he needs to know. It was obvious.'

'But there might be a reasonable explanation.'

'Yes, he's fucking her what further explanation do you need'

All this is going on as I'm driving down the hill toward the bridge. I reach the crossroads; two cars are coming towards me. The first car slows to turn left and the second car pulls out to pass. There is not enough space and I react too slowly. The car tries to pull back in but I hit the back end knocking me sideways. The impact sets off the airbags and I can see nothing. There is another impact and everything goes black.

Blue lights are flashing outside, I reach for the door and a searing pain shoots though me. I can't move; it's like I'm pinned to the seat. The door is pulled open and a stocky man in green overalls stands before me.

'Hello mate. My name's George, I'm a paramedic. What do I call you?'

'John, John Fletcher'

'OK John what have we got here?'

He got out a torch and looked around, opened the rear door and looked around again.

'John mate, I'm not going to lie to you, we're in serious trouble here. I want you to stay quite still. There is a tube, part of the bridge; it's come through the car, through you and the seat. I'm going to have to call out the Fire and Rescue service to get you out.'

George leaves me, and I wonder how things could get any worse. In a few minutes he's back. He sits talking to me while we wait. More blue lights as the Fire and Rescue arrives. George goes to talk to them and then comes back to me.

'Well John, I hope you're not too attached to this car, because they're going to have to cut you out of here. It's a piece of metal right, not important? We're going to get you out of here, but the car has got to go.'

I nodded, and George started to move out of the way

'George, are my legs alright?'

'Yeah mate, they look fine.'

'It's just that I can't feel anything down there.'

He's trying to disguise it but his cheerful expression changes. I'm in serious trouble.

They are cutting the car apart first the doors, then the roof. The floodlights mean that I can see the galvanised tube sticking out of my abdomen. George fills me with morphine and they cut through the tube.

The lights are so bright and I'm surrounded by people. One man seems to be in charge and he's giving orders to the others, someone is talking to me but I can't understand what they are saying. They inject something into the back of my hand and everything fades to black again.

I wake in a brightly lit room. My throat is as dry as the bottom of a bird cage. She is here in the room, still wearing the dress she wore for the presentation. She has her back to me. The same back that Dewey was stroking last night. I'm lying on my side, propped up by pillows. I search for water without success.

'Water' I croak

She turns on hearing my voice and rushes too the bed.

'Thank God you're alright; I've been so worried about you.'

She presses the call button to summon the nurse.

'What happened to you? What were you doing?'

The nurse bustles into the room and Caroline makes room for her

'How are you Mr Fletcher?'

'Thirsty, very thirsty.'

'I can't give you any water yet; it will make you sick. Here suck on this; it will make you feel better.'

She puts a small ice cube into my mouth. It's too cold but so soothing.

'Try not to talk too much. I'll tell the doctor you are awake and he'll be in to talk to you soon.'

Caroline comes back. Her eyes are red; she's been crying. There are tears running down her cheeks now. She takes my hand and squeezes it.

'When the presentation was over I looked for you but couldn't find you anywhere. When I found the car missing, I had to get a taxi home.'

'You mean Dewey didn't give you a lift, ' I think. I would say it but it's hard to talk with an ice cube in your mouth. I pulled the ice cube out for a moment.

'Why are you here Caroline?'

'What do you mean, why am I here? The hospital rang and told me my husband was seriously injured, I came straight here. What else was I meant to do?'

'Call Dewey and tell him the bedroom is available.' It would be cruel to give voice to my thoughts, and I find it difficult to be cruel to her.

'Go home Caroline; get some sleep. It looks like you need it and I certainly do.' 'Anyway you heard the nurse, I mustn't talk much.' I put the ice cube back in and sucked on it.

'Maybe I'll wait, and talk to the doctor'

'I'm not a child Caroline. The doctor can say all he needs to say to me; after all, I am the patient. --Just go home and get some rest. If you really want to do something for me, you can call Bob at the college. Tell him what happened, and I won't be working for while.'

'What's wrong John? Why are you being like this?'

'I don't know; maybe it's got something to do with being run through with a steel tube.'

'Perhaps you're right; I should go home and come back later when you are feeling better.'

She gets up picks up her coat then bends to kiss my cheek.

'I'll be back later, ' she says as she puts her coat on.

She reaches the door and turns back to face me.

'I love you, ' she says, and a tear run down her cheek.

The doctor is a cheerful sort. He's arranged for me to have something to drink and he's viewing my scans on his tablet computer.

'You're a lucky man Mr Fletcher. The tube missed all the vital organs. How do you feel?'

'Like a survivor of the Zulu wars. I'm expecting Michael Caine to come in any minute with a progress report.'

'What? Oh yes the film, I caught it on Netflix a while back. Good to see you've kept your sense of humour. As I say you've been very lucky just a two broken ribs that we've wired back in place. No lasting damage.'

'So why don't my legs work?'

His expression changes. His smile is gone and now he looks concerned. Uncovering my legs he goes through a routine of tests. He pulls a pin from the collar of his scrubs.