We covered the rest of the distance in less than twelve minutes. I threw the Capri into the service road behind the Archway units. The ambulance hadn’t arrived yet. The Capri slithered on the loose surface and Dylan grabbed the handhold over the door to steady himself. I stamped on the brakes and the car slithered to a halt outside the workshop entrance. Dylan jumped out of the car before I did and yanked open the shop door.
The acrid stink of spilled petrol burnt the back of my throat the moment I raced through the doorway. A five gallon can lay on its side in a pool. It was a lethal hazard, but I ignored it.
Steve lay on the ground propped up against a workbench, a large adjustable spanner in one hand. He wasn’t conscious.
Dylan got to him first, but I shoved him aside. I was sick with fear and my mind was in a panic. I didn’t know whether to check Steve’s pulse, lift him up, leave him where he was or kick a hole in the wall and I was too frightened to do any of these things in case I made it worse.
‘Steve, it’s me.’
He stirred. His eyes opened, searched the room, failed to lock onto anything, then closed again.
God, it was a relief to see even that small response. I got my arms under his shoulders to lift him.
‘Maybe you shouldn’t move him,’ Dylan said.
‘Steve, come on, mate. Wake up.’
He came around, this time more alert. He tried to sit up. I got behind him and guided him into a sitting position.
‘Take it easy,’ Dylan said.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked.
‘Get me up,’ he said. His voice sounded cracked and broken.
‘An ambulance is on the way,’ Dylan said.
‘No hospital. Just get me up.’
‘No, you’re going to hospital, Steve,’ I told him. ‘You don’t have a choice.’
‘We’d better check you out,’ Dylan said.
Dylan and I got Steve up onto his feet. He groaned.
‘Just get me to a chair. Anything’s better than being stretched out on a concrete floor.’
We carried him to one of the two ratty armchairs we kept in the workshop. They were dirty, greasy things we kept around for when we took a break from working on the cars. They were hardly the most sanitary place for an examination, but Steve would be comfortable.
I helped Steve to sit forward while Dylan helped him off with his shirt. His chest and stomach were mottled with palm-sized, red bruises. Many overlapped to make one big bruise. Steve looked so old and frail there in the armchair. He’d always seemed so invincible to me. It was frightening to see how easily he could be dethroned.
‘I’m sorry, Steve. I’m so sorry.’
Dylan took over. He pushed me aside and looked Steve over as best he could. He was fantastic. I was useless. I was shaking, but I didn’t know if it was from rage or fear. Probably both. Derek had struck too close to home. This was far too personal for me. Now I understood why doctors rarely treated family members. It wasn’t an ethical boundary, but one of objectivity. They couldn’t view the patient as just a patient, or a set of symptoms or an injury that needed fixing. It was a loved one. One screw up on their part could make it worse. I stepped back and gave Dylan the space he needed.
Sirens wailed outside before becoming deafening.
‘They don’t need all the details,’ Steve said. ‘As far as the world knows, this was a bungled robbery. No mention of Derek, Alex or anyone. You got that?’
‘Steve, no,’ I said.
‘Yes, Aidy. We can’t trust the cops yet. This stays between us. Promise me.’
I didn’t like it, but understood it. ‘Whatever you say.’
‘What about the petrol?’ Dylan asked. ‘How do we explain that? A burglar wouldn’t be throwing it around.’
‘Shit,’ Steve mumbled. ‘I’ll tell them I used it as a weapon to scare the tosser off.’
Two uniformed police officers called out to us as they barged their way into the workshop. Naturally, the 999 call had brought the police.
‘Here,’ I said. ‘Quick.’
They raced over and shoved Dylan and me aside to get to Steve while tossing out questions. I had no problem letting them take over. One of the officers gave Steve a cursory examination and asked him how he was doing.
The other officer distanced Dylan and me from Steve so his colleague could question Steve alone. He asked us who we were and what had happened then called for a detective and a scenes-of-crime team.
The ambulance arrived before we were through explaining. The paramedics rushed in. They worked on Steve for a minute before loading him onto a stretcher and into the ambulance.
The officer who’d checked Steve out said, ‘I’m going with the victim to get his statement.’
Dylan and I went to leave too, but the second officer stopped us.
‘I need someone to stay here.’
‘I’ll stay,’ Dylan said.
I followed the first officer out. He pointed to his patrol car and I got in with him. He introduced himself as Officer Luke Pine. The ambulance roared off and we followed.
The ambulance took us to King Edward VII hospital in Windsor. The second we arrived at the hospital, the paramedics rushed Steve into the accident and emergency centre. The doctors pumped me for details and Steve’s medical history, then eased me into the waiting room.
Officer Pine remained with Steve and the doctors but emerged a few minutes later. He was in his forties and he radiated the type of assuredness that came with experience. He sat next to me.
‘Your grandad is going to be alright,’ he said.
I exhaled. ‘Thank God.’
‘It’ll be a while before the doctor is out to talk to you. OK if I get your statement?’
‘Sure.’
‘Any idea why someone would do this?’ Officer Pine asked.
‘Archway is well known. There are a lot of expensive tools there and the cars are valuable.’
Pine swallowed our cover story of a random break-in gone wrong and filled out an incident report. It didn’t take long to get my meagre account down on paper.
When he had it all down, he said, ‘Well, it sounds like your grandad gave the bastard a crack in the ribs. If he seeks medical attention, that’s as good as a confession.’
I hoped the police did pick up balaclava man. His identity could prove interesting. Depending on who it was, it might put Derek in an awkward position.
Pine excused himself to report in and left me alone.
Knowing Steve was going to be OK dissolved my fear, but anger replaced it. Derek had actually done it. He’d come after me, but his thug had gotten the wrong person. Well, the stunt had backfired. Instead of destroying Alex’s car, it was now under the police’s watchful eye. There wouldn’t be a second chance at the car. Not tonight.
The doctor came to see me after a couple of hours. She smiled at me as she approached.
‘Your grandfather is going to be OK. Nothing’s broken. He’s just banged up. He took a pretty big knock to the head resulting in a mild concussion and because of that I’ll be keeping him in overnight for observation.’
‘Can I see him?’
‘Of course.’
The doctor showed me into Steve’s room. He looked drained, clinging loosely to consciousness. I pulled a chair up to his bedside and sat before picking up his hand and gripping it. He squeezed back and fixed me with a lazy stare. A tear rolled down my cheek.
‘Hey, kiddo.’ Steve’s voice was thick with fatigue.
‘You’re a daft old bugger, do you know that?’
He smiled.
‘Who do you think you are playing the sodding hero?’
‘Steve McQueen. Everybody says we share a certain likeness.’