Chapter 3: Ron Meets a Victim

Saturday midday, Ron was sailing along the canal still heading towards Birmingham. He had made quite good time since leaving Mary on Thursday Morning. They had both been feeling lonely since they parted and had exchanged regular texts and phone calls. Ron couldn’t believe how much he was missing her.

Sailing along in the sunshine, through the peaceful countryside at just under four miles an hour, he sat at the tiller and did a lot of thinking. He had never thought about settling down before as it seemed so unlikely to occur. This break from Mary was showing him how terrible life would be if he were to sail away from her permanently.

He was deep in thought, steering on mentally automatic pilot as he approached a canal bridge. Like many canal bridges, the canal narrowed to single file to go through the bridge and was very low. This meant a big saving in time and materials when they were being built. In horse drawn days, the horse would be unhitched just short of the bridge, the boat would drift through whilst the horse went around it. The boat would still be moving as it came out the far side. The horse would be hitched up again and off they went without pause.

The canal turned slightly the other side of the bridge, so that although Ron could see there wasn’t another boat coming towards him, he couldn’t see the towpath immediately behind the bridge. People on the towpath the other side of the bridge wouldn’t know there was a boat coming until its bow appeared from under the bridge, but then they would see the boat for ages until the back end appeared with the man at the tiller.

As Ron came out from under the bridge, a terrible sight met his gaze. On the tow path up against the bridge where three teenagers he guessed about fifteen. One of them was sitting on the floor with his back against the bridge, shielding his face with his arms, whilst the other two were attacking him.

One was standing up nearest to Ron, kicking him in the legs and side, whilst the other was kneeling on the far side of the victim punching him all over. Ron took it all in at a glance and screamed out, “Stop that right now,”

A canal boat moves quite quietly, and when your engine is the other side of a bridge, it can’t be heard. These two had been so busy working on their victim, they hadn’t noticed the bow of the boat sliding past. Ron’s scream startled them, then as Ron jumped off the boat and ran towards them, they scarpered.

Ron had put the boat in neutral before he jumped off, but even so, the boat had drifted on a length. Looking at the victim who was crying, but hadn’t moved, he said, “Sit still, I’ll be back in a moment” He ran after the boat, jumped on board put it in reverse. Backing up to the bridge, he twiddled the gears between forward and reverse to bring the boat to a standstill, then hopped off right by the lad who had stopped crying but still sat in the same place.

Ron introduced himself and asked him where he was hurt and asked if he needed an ambulance. The boy told him his name was Quentin, he was fifteen a week ago and he didn’t want an ambulance because he didn’t want his mum to know what had happened. Ron checked his eyes for concussion, asked him if he had been unconscious and checked he could move his neck, arms and legs without too much pain.

“Ok,” he told him, “I don’t think they’ll come back, but let’s get you on board, I’ll move away from the bridge, then I can check you over and dress any cuts.” He helped Quentin to his feet and supported him whilst he got on board and down into the galley. Ron lifted the table top off, so the room now had two bench seats.

Telling Quentin to lie down, he gave him a pillow saying, “Just lie still for a moment whilst I move so I’m not blocking the bridge. If you need anything just shout.” “Thank you,” Quentin said, “You saved me from a lot more injuries.” Ron went on deck and moved the boat about six lengths away from the bridge, hopped ashore and tied up, then came back in to see to Quentin.

“Now,” Ron said, “Since they stopped hitting you and now, does anywhere hurt more than it did.” “No, I don’t think so,” he answered. Ron got up and drew the curtains in the galley, then turning to Quentin, he said, “Are you ok if I check you over and look at all your injuries?” Quentin nodded, “Yes, thank you,” he answered, “That would be kind of you.”

Ron sat on the edge of the seat by Quentin’s knees, facing him. Telling him to sit up, he checked his eyes again, then carefully felt all over his head and examined all of his neck and face. “Good so far,” Ron told him, “At least nothing will show.”

“Can you take your top off?” Ron asked. “Ok,” Quentin answered, then cried out as he went to do so. “Where did that hurt,” Ron asked. “The side of my chest just here,” Quentin said, pointing to his side. Ron took hold of Quentin’s T shirt, eased it up slowly, got him to slip his other arm out and then lifted it over his head before sliding it off over the arm that had caused pain.,

Quentin was very thin, about five foot six, with a weak look about him. His chest didn’t look particularly muscular, and he had no hairs on his chest. Ron got up and moved around to his back. Resting his fingertips on Quentin’s shoulders, Ron pressed gently across his shoulder and all the way down his back to his waist. There were a couple of spots where Quentin called out, “ow,” but on pressing around them Ron decided they were just bruises that would heal. He then pressed down each side from under his arms to his waist. One side was fine but the side that had hurt before was very painful.

Ron told him to take a breath as deep as he could but slowly. Quentin did so, just giving a small, “ow,” towards the end of his breath. He said the pain was on his side. As it hadn’t seemed too bad a pain, Ron told him to take an even deeper and faster breath. The pain showed at the same time and at the same level, so Ron was thinking it was a bruise not a break.

“I’ll check that again in a moment,” Ron said, he put his arm behind Quentin’s neck and said, “lie down flat now,” helping him by taking some of his weight as he did so.

Ron went down his chest carefully, finding a couple of bruises. He deliberately pressed hard on each rib to the side of where the pain was which didn’t hurt. This made it seem likely that the ribs where not broken, just bruised. Once he had checked all of the surface of Quentin’s chest, he went down the painless side, then went very carefully down the other side.

The pain showed itself over an area the size of a clenched fist, so it seemed likely that it was a severe bruise from a heavy punch. “I don’t think it’s broken,” he told Quentin, “Just a bad bruise, it’ll be painful for a few days and will probably go black and blue, but otherwise it’ll be fine.” “That’s a relief,” Quentin said.

Ron rested his hands on Quentin’s stomach and pressed his fingertips in very gently. Moving all over between the bottom of his chest and his waist, he found two sore spots, which again seemed to be just bruises. Quentin was wearing jeans so Ron said, “Can I slip your jeans off and check your legs?” Quentin nodded, “Sure, go ahead,” he said. Ron undid his belt, button and zip, then took his shoes off before easing them down and off over his feet.

Quentin’s legs were very skinny. He was wearing a pair of small black underpants and didn’t seem concerned with Ron seeing him undressed. Ron started at his feet and worked his way upwards. He found four painful spots which he said would also probably go black and blue, but there was no damage to the skin.

“Can you roll over onto your front so I can check the back?” Ron asked. Quentin just turned over. Or at least he started to, but only got halfway before crying out, “Ow.” Ron got hold of his hips and helped him, realising the movement was pulling on his chest. Once he was settled, Ron checked down the back of his legs. These were ok, having been protected by Quentin sitting on the floor.

Ron told him, “I’m going to check your spine now,” he said, putting his fingers on the back of Quentin’s neck. He felt and pressed every bone in the neck, then down the back of the chest, followed by the lumbar vertebrae around the waist. These are the only bones that hold the top and bottom of our body together.

When Ron reached Quentin’s waist, he said, “Can you lift your hips up a little so I can pull your underpants down to check the bottom of your spine and your cheeks.” Quentin lifted his hips an inch or so, enabling Ron to slip the back down to below Quentin’s cheeks.

Ron checked the bones at the bottom of the spine from his waist right down to between his cheeks. All was well. Both cheeks were ok too, as Quentin had been sitting on them, but there was a nasty bruise to the side on one hip where he had been kicked. It was already discolouring. Ron felt all around it and said, “This one will be sore for a while, you need to get some cream to put on it, but there’s no major damage.”

“Ok,” Ron said, “Let’s turn you over again for the last time.” With Ron’s help Quentin turned onto his back and lay flat. Because Ron had pulled his underpants well down at the back, the front had come down part way too. All of Quentin’s abdomen was visible along with the top half inch of his pubic hairs.