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Part 9
The sound of metal clanking from somewhere down the hospital corridor jolted Amy awake from her nap so quickly that she nearly bumped her head on Tom’s bedside table. She had dozed off, her arms folded before her and her head resting on top of them. It hadn’t been the most comfortable position she realised now as her neck ached from stiffness, but it was quickly forced to the back of her mind as the memories of that disastrous night returned with an unpleasant clarity that almost made her ill.
She raised her head slowly, blinking back the sleep from her eyes as she surveyed Tom with a worried frown. They’d warned her that it could be a while before he regained consciousness and that, even if he was awake, he wouldn’t be out of danger anyway. In fact, Amy got the distinct impression that the doctors were happier to let him rest.
Amy, on the other hand, just wanted him to wake up. She knew that it wouldn’t mean he was out of danger, but just seeing his wise blue eyes shining up at her would instil a kind of hope that she was now very familiar with. It was the kind of hope she had learned to live on since the shooting. Tom’s faith in her had always been unwavering and she just needed to see his eyes and hear his voice, just to reassure her troubled mind that he had faith in himself.
She closed her hands around his tightly, raising it to her cheek as she stared imploringly at his unnaturally pale face. “Come on, Tom,” she whispered, her voice soft yet somehow encouraging. “Wake up. I know you’re in there and I know you can hear me. Don’t you dare give up now. You promised me that you’d fight just as long as I did, so don’t you dare go and back out on me now.”
Her voice seemed to echo gently throughout the hospital room, which unnerved Amy a little. She felt uncomfortable in the hospital, despite the large amount of time she had spent in it following her shooting. She’d always felt as though her whole life was on public display and, truth be told, it was. Half of Mt. Thomas had known that Evan Jones was in love with her by the time she was finally released. She and Evan had never told anyone about their relationship. They had wanted it to be only theirs for just a little while. They didn’t want their love paraded around for the whole town to see. But everyone already knew. The snoopy hospital staff had spread the word long before Amy or Evan had even gotten the chance.
“You’re there,” Amy continued, squeezing Tom’s hand increasingly tighter in her hands. She was almost certain she was going to be cutting off the circulation if she held it any tighter. “I know you’re listening to me. You’re a fighter, Tom. You can’t be anything else. You can’t give up the fight.” She paused, suddenly recalling Tom’s comment to her before he’d collapsed. Hadn’t he said something about a white flag? About giving up? “We’re not going to wave the white flag, Tom,” she told him firmly. “We never will. We’re fighters and we that’s the way we’ll always be. So, come on. Wake up.”
She stared ever harder at Tom’s face, begging him just to move. She would have settled for even just a flutter of his eyelids. Something to let him know that he was listening, that he was still fighting. Her heart sank in her chest as she realised that he was probably not going to wake up until morning at least.
Amy was settling back in her wheelchair, preparing herself for another late-night nap when suddenly something moved within her grasp. Her heart skipped several beats in her chest as she loosened her grip on Tom’s hand enough to get a look at it. His fingers were moving slightly between her palms. As she became increasingly preoccupied with his slowly wiggling fingers, Tom’s dry lips moved to form a single word. “Amy.”
“Tom!” she exclaimed, unable to quite curb her excitement as she tore her gaze away from his hand, clutching it tightly to her chest with one hand while she raised the other to comb back his grey hair. He seemed to like her being there, for she could have sworn that she could see him smiling. His eyelids were fluttering slowly. The movements were so small that they could have easily been missed, but Amy saw them immediately. She hollered over her shoulder for help before turning back to Tom, little tears of relief creeping down her cheeks and making the dark bags under her eyes look even more pronounced. “It’s going to be alright,” she assured him, barely able to keep her voice at a reasonable volume through her excitement. “You’re going to be alright.”
She didn’t get a chance to say anything more for, at that moment, several doctors and nurses barged into Tom’s room and, without a single word to Amy, wheeled her out of the road. Under other circumstances, she would have told them off for such an action. If there was one thing she had refused to tolerate, it was people thinking she was such an invalid that she couldn’t even push herself around. But even that couldn’t disturb her happiness as she caught a glimpse of Tom’s eyes before his face was blocked from view by a nurse. He was fighting.
So he sat alone, staring blindly at the television as its dim glow cast long shadows around the room.
Rory would be getting home at about eight the next morning, Alex thought to himself as his mind barely registered the Lost reruns on the television screen. He’d be going to back to his daily existence of trying to get through to his son. He frowned upon that thought. He had to find out what made Rory Hayes tick and he had to do it soon. Life was too short.
Alex dragged himself to his weary feet and switched on the hallway light as he trudged towards Rory’s bedroom. He’d never liked to pry into Rory’s private world, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He had to do something. He flicked on the light in the small bedroom and cast his eyes around it curiously.
The footballs and sporting memorabilia had been shoved aside onto a few shelves in the far corner of his room, while paper and various art supplies lay around the floor. There was not even a shred of order in this room, Alex realised as he stepped over Rory’s art supplies carefully. A part of him was appalled at the shock that Rory’s mess generated. Had he really forgotten how much of a pig sty he had lived in when he was that age?
He crouched down beside a few sheets of paper that had been stacked next to Rory’s television and Xbox. “He’s been painting,” Alex mumbled as he picked them up and gently began to leaf through them. They were nice, he realised with a smile. Landscapes sprawled over the pages, long dry grass with dilapidated farm fences. He’d never seen Rory’s artworks before, but the scenes seemed vaguely familiar. They were the kind of landscape that surrounded Mt. Thomas, he suddenly realised with a sharp pang. The rolling countryside that Rory had been thrown into by his mother’s abandonment had inspired an artist.
It took Alex a long time before he could tear his eyes away. He’d thought Rory was growing up, maybe even rebelling against him by abandoning his football abilities. It had never occurred to him that his son had found something even greater lurking within himself.
Alex finally set the paintings aside and was about to leave the room when his gaze fell upon Rory’s Xbox. It had been a gift from his mother and step-father. They had abandoned Rory on Alex and never made contact, except once a year when they sent him some horribly expensive gift that made anything Alex could offer him look cheap and tacky. It was almost as though Belinda was trying to rub it in his face.
A light chuckle left Alex’s face as he ran a hand along the console’s dark plastic surface. He remembered well the video games he and Evan had played when they were young, the old Nintendo games where a tiny blocky coloured sprite had been the height of technological sophistication. Oh, how times had changed.
He brushed Rory’s paint set aside gently as he switched the television on and sat crossed-legged on the floor. He watched as the game came to life before him – some V8 racing game. Alex tried to have a go at the game he’d watched Rory playing so many times before; only to end up crashing so many times that his vehicle could barely move by the time he reached the finishing line. He laughed again as he thought of the chunks of the virtual car that lay strewn across the virtual raceway. Nope, he was no better at video game racing then he used to be.
When she re-entered the room, the sight of Tom both sickened and relieved her. He looked so weak, so ill that it made Amy’s stomach tie itself into knots in her abdomen. His face was pale and his eyes half-closed with exhaustion. He barely even had the strength to raise a hand to her in greeting. Yet, she felt relieved. He was awake and he was fighting. That was the Tom she knew and loved.
“You look like shit,” Tom grumbled as she wheeled herself over to his side, taking his hand within hers once more.
Amy laughed at Tom’s comment as little tears of exhaustion and sheer joy found their way down her cheeks. She barely had the energy to keep her eyes open, but she somehow found the strength within her to smile. “And that’s not the pot calling the kettle black, is it?” she retorted, reaching up with her spare hand to comb his grey hair back from his forehead, where it hung limply and messily.
Tom’s pale lips twisted to form a smile as he closed his eyes, taking in every little word Amy said. Her voice sounded sweet and so beautiful. Evan, Alex and Amy were all like family to him, but Amy most of all. She’d always had a stubbornness that matched his own and had always spoken her mind, even when it meant upsetting a few people. She had always noticed when something was out of place and had always had the common sense and reasoning to be able to put his irrational anger into logical thought. “Very funny,” he replied, trying not laugh at what this must look like. He got the feeling that laughing would hurt too much. “Where is everyone?”
“Pub,” Amy told him simply, her smile fading somewhat as her mind drifted back to her beloved Evan and the rest of her colleagues, both past and present. She’d seen Susie when Evan had dragged her in with a broken wrist, but she hadn’t heard a word about the rest. But she got the feeling that their night had been just as rotten as hers and Tom’s. “They’ll be alright,” she reassured him hurriedly, recognising the concerned look that was spreading across his face. He was thinking of them as though he was their father again, when tonight of all nights was when he had to relieve himself of that role. “They’re adults, Tom. They’ll be fine. Besides, they’ve got Chris and Evan to look after them. What more could they want?”
He nodded slowly, channelling his strength through to his hand as he squeezed Amy’s tightly. He had to tell her the two little words that had been haunting him for a year, making his feel sick to his stomach and angry that Amy was suffering. “I’m sorry.”
Confusion spread across Amy’s face. She couldn’t understand what on earth he was sorry for. “Sorry?” she queried, shaking her head in bewilderment.
He nodded again. “Sorry for what you’re going through,” he elaborated, pointing to her wheelchair with his eyes. Amy cast her gaze downward, swallowing down the rising lump in her throat as she stared momentarily at her motionless legs. She quickly tore her eyes away, meeting Tom’s eyes again as he continued. He was close to tears. “I let Adam Cooper down. I ignored him and never treated him like I should have. If I hadn’t had done that…or shut you out when they were shutting the station down…” He was sobbing quietly now, wishing desperately for the strength to stop his tears. It wasn’t coming.
Amy shook her head, lowering her hand from his hair and mopping at his cheeks with all the tender love of a daughter. She could tell that he had been kicking himself over this for a very long time and it pained her to see him like this. Her surrogate father, her rock. Even though a part of her brain told her that she should hate him and blame him for her paraplegia, she couldn’t. She didn’t even blame Adam Cooper anymore. It was past the time for blame and anger and bitterness. It was time to fight. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head as she squeezed his hand ever tighter. “No. You couldn’t have known. Don’t look back. Don’t ever look back and wonder. You can’t go back; you can only go forward.”
Tom paused, a little taken aback by Amy’s encouraging words. For the year that he had been blaming himself, he’d expected Amy to blame him. Even as he’d apologised, he’d half-expected anger and crying and resentment. Instead, all he’d gotten was encouragement. He wondered if that had been how Amy had coped – not looking back, not asking ‘what if’. Just accepting what she couldn’t change and fighting to get back on her feet. Either way, it made him realise that for all the strength he’d once thought he had, Amy was much stronger than him. And he felt a little proud for being a part of that strength.
Amy stopped mopping at Tom’s tears and returned to brushing the hair from his forehead. They remained that way for several minutes, before Tom’s tears had sufficiently subsided for him to speak. “You should go home,” he told her in his croaky, weak voice.
“I’m fine,” she told him pointedly, trying desperately to stifle a yawn. It didn’t really work – he eyed her doubtfully, knowing full well that she was almost falling asleep in her chair. “Don’t worry about me,” she continued. “I can take care of myself, wheelchair or no wheelchair. Despite whatever everyone else thinks.”
He nodded, reaching up with a shaking hand to run his thumb along her cheekbone. Her skin was soft to the touch and the warmth of her body was a reassurance. A tiny smile found its way to his lips. “I know you’re fine,” he pointed out. “It’s me I’m worried about. What use are you going to be to me if you’re passing out from exhaustion, eh?” His smile broadened as a tiny chuckle escaped Amy’s lips. “Go home, get some sleep. You need some rest. You’re a good copper, not Superwoman. And make sure that Evan and Alex get some sleep too. I don’t want the crims of this town having a field day because the coppers are too busy snoring their heads off tomorrow…”
The rest of Tom’s spiel was drowned out by Amy’s laughter. She couldn’t help it. It was so typical of Tom to be trying to organise everyone else’s lives, even when he’d just had a heart attack and was lying in a hospital bed. Then again, if memory served her right, she’d spent most of her bedridden days telling Evan and Alex how to run an investigation she knew nothing about. “Oi, stop it,” she told him finally, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek gently. “Take some of your own advice for once and realise that you’re not Superman.” Tom nodded at Amy’s words, settling back into his pillows. “Goodnight, Tom,” she whispered as she turned and wheeled herself out of his hospital room and down the corridor.
He watched her go, a tired smile imprinted upon his lips. She was a bloody good woman, he told him as he eyes closed slowly and sleep began to descend upon him. A bloody good copper. And, if anybody ever hurt her again like Adam Cooper had, he’d rip their bloody head off.
Rory had been dropped home by his friend’s mother and hadn’t said a word to him. Later, Alex supposed he’d tell him that Tom Croydon had nearly died and maybe even try to explain the predicaments that his old friends had found themselves in. But for now, he remained in the kitchen, sipping on his coffee, wondering how to best approach the subject of Rory’s artworks. It was times like these that he wished Evan were still living with them. He’d know how to reach out to Rory. He always had. For all of Alex’s child-like immaturity, he knew nothing about children.
Finally, he slammed the coffee mug down so hard that he was surprised it didn’t shatter and dragged himself off to Rory’s bedroom. He knocked softly on the door, ignoring the sign that told him that Rory didn’t want to be disturbed, and entered before Rory even had a chance to tell him no. Rory was sitting cross-legged on the floor, Xbox controller in his hand, the paintings still sitting where Alex had left them the night before. The boy turned to stare up at Alex with surprise mixed in with confusion. He’d become accustomed to his father just keeping his distance.
Alex craned his neck, smiling as he caused sight of the Rory playing the same game he had played the night before. He wondered if Rory knew that he’d been in there. “I used to play video games with Jonesy,” he explained, nodding towards the console as he felt his heart pound in his chest. “Jonesy had a Nintendo Entertainment System and we used to play it all the time.”
Rory nodded, his eyes shimmering slightly. “I thought Jonesy must have played video games before,” he explained. “He was too good at it when he played it at the barbecue last month…”
“Yeah…he always wiped the floor with me,” Alex continued, laughing at the memory of Jonesy and Rory playing the Xbox. He had decided to not get involved and had instead spent the afternoon talking with Amy and Tom in the kitchen. “Video games were never my thing. We’d play some racing game, but I always lost.”
Rory nodded again as he looked away to the paused video game screen. His gaze then drifted downward to the spare controller than Lochie used whenever he visited. Perhaps he could ask Alex to play, he wondered as he looked up to his father once again. He’d kind of missed being close to his dad; it’d be nice to get to know him again. He picked up the controller and offered it up to Alex. “You can play, if you want,” he explained. “Just don’t expect me to go easy on you.”
Alex nodded, a grin spreading broadly across his face as he entered the bedroom and sat cross-legged beside his son. He took the controller and watched as Rory began setting up the details of their race. There’d be time enough later to ask him about his paintings and plenty of time to tell him about Tom’s heart attack and everything else. Right now, Rory was all that mattered. Rory had to come first from now on – life was too short for his son to be coming second best in his life.
She used her arms to push herself up gently, careful not to jolt the bed too sharply for fear of waking Evan. However tired she felt, she knew that he couldn’t be fairing any better. While she’d been maintaining a bedside vigil, Evan had been running around after Susie and keeping an eye on Kelly, Joss and Matt. He’d told her a little about what had transpired at the pub during her absence, but not everything. He’d told her that he was just too exhausted to even try to comprehend it all. The explanation would come later.
Amy cast her gaze around the bedroom, taking in every little sight. The bedside table which was covered in everything from the moisturiser that stopped her from getting blisters on her hands to Evan’s shaving cream. The mirror that had long ceased to function as much as a mirror than as a photo frame because they kept cramming pictures around the edge. The second television that Evan was often forced to use because he wanted to watch action movies when Amy wanted a comedy. And, of course, the wheelchair that sat just within arm’s reach, taunting her.
As she stared at the chair with weary eyes, she realised that she didn’t resent it. No…it was a challenge. It was something that she needed, for now, but she was determined to one day defeat. She knew that she’d walk again one day. She’d defy Sophie Ash and every other doctor’s expectation and she’d walk. And Tom and Evan would be by her side when she did it. They were her pillars, her confidantes, her friends. And Evan was the man she’d marry one day. Maybe.
But for now, she was happy. If that night had taught her one thing, it was that as imperfect as her life was, she wouldn’t change it for the world. She couldn’t change the past, but she could control her future. Her future would be here, in Mt. Thomas, working alongside Evan Jones, enjoying the early mornings and late nights in his arms, while she enjoyed the company of Tom Croydon and Alex Kirby.
And she would keep fighting, she told herself as she crawled back under the covers and snuggled up to Evan’s strong and welcoming chest. They all would. They wouldn’t just give up like this ever again. They were going to fight for justice, fight for peace and fight for the way of life that they loved. There would be no waving white flags in Mt. Thomas.
Amy yawned as she closed her eyes and, with those determined thoughts rolling around her head, she found herself drifting off to sleep in Evan’s arms.
I will go down with this ship
And I won’t put my hands up
And surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I’m in love and always will be…