CHAPTER TWELVE - Love Turns to Hate

Just after midnight on the following day …  Sunday 5th March …

12:05 am

As midnight came and went, Roger found himself seated in a waiting room at Littlesea General Hospital. Alongside him sat Mr. McTavish. There was no conversation between them. Neither person had spoken a word for the last two hours. Both were anxiously awaiting news. Mimi had just undergone an emergency operation to stop the massive internal bleeding. She was critically ill and her life hung on a knife edge.
Roger leant forward and placed his head in his hands. There were tears in his eyes and despair in his heart. He was already in deep shock. Godfrey Brookes was dead. The farmer had died instantly from a broken neck, and there was nothing the ambulance crew could do to save him. Mimi's fall had been softened slightly by the wind catching below the large wooden structure and acting as a parachute. In an act of survival Mimi had clung on desperately to the woodwork all the way down.
Godfrey Brookes' youngest daughter Marion had joined Roger for a while in the reception area, but in the end the emotional strain became too much for her, and her husband took her home after a short while. The airline where elder sister Joyce worked had been informed of her father's death and the word was that she was catching the next flight home.
Just after midnight the surgeon came out of the operating theatre and sat down next to Roger. He was dressed in his green overalls, had a green cap on his head and a face mask hung about his neck.
Roger looked up. The man's face looked pale and grey. Mimi had been in the operation theatre for five hours, and in all that time a team of eight had fought desperately and non-stop to save her.
"Well doctor?" asked Roger.
He steeled himself in readiness. He was expecting the worse.
"She's in a very bad way… but she's still alive… and we've manage to stem the bleeding," said the surgeon.
A small cloud lifted from the gloom.
"Alive!… She's still alive?" uttered Roger.
His statement was intended to be a question, but it sounded more like total disbelief.
"Yes, she's still alive,… but still in a very critical condition,… she may not yet survive," explained the surgeon, then added sadly: "I'm afraid the baby is lost though… There was no way we could save the embryo… it was far too early in the pregnancy to do anything about it."
Roger shook his head in sadness.
"I know doctor… I understand,…" he told the surgeon.
"She's being moved to intensive care now… She's on a respirator and that should keep her condition stable… but she remains in a coma… and even if we do manage to save her life, there's no guarantee that she will ever come out of it… or what damage has been done to the brain… it's early days yet… and only time will tell I'm afraid," explained the surgeon.
Roger held out his hand to thank the surgeon.
"Thank you doctor," he said. "I know that you've done all that you could to save her… I just hope and pray that it was enough."
The surgeon took Roger's hand and patted him on the shoulder.
"If you want to see her now you can," said the surgeon. "I'll get a nurse to take you through to intensive care… You'll need to put on protective clothing first."
Roger nodded his head.
"Thank you doctor, I want to be with her please," said Roger.
The surgeon got up and the two men shook hands once more.
"Thank you doctor," said Roger.
"Just wait here and I'll get a nurse to come for you," said the surgeon.
Roger nodded his head and resumed his seat. Mr. McTavish patted him on the knee for comfort.
"Och laddie, she'll be all right," said Mr. McTavish. "Doona yee worry. Just give the wee lassie all my love."
The nurse arrived to lead Roger away. As he rose he turned to the seated Mr. McTavish and said: "Thanks for staying with me Mr. McTavish."
"Och laddie, just goo an' see yee lassie," replied the Scotsman.
Ten minutes later, Roger now attired in a green protective overall and wearing a mask about his face, was taken into intensive care.
Mimi lay on her back. Her eyes were closed, her head heavily bandaged, there were tubes up her nose and drips connected to her arms. Also a respirator alongside the bed hissed and puffed rhythmically, and a heart machine 'pinged' away at a steady beat. She looked still and cold, and not moving. Her arms were out by her side above the bed clothes and resting on the surface. Roger sat down by Mimi's side and held her hand. There was warmth there, but no response. Not even the flicker of an eyelid.
"Keep fighting Mimi… keep fighting… I know you'll pull through," he whispered.
Roger delved into his pocket and extracted a small box. He took out a diamond ring. Slowly he slipped the ring on Mimi's finger.
Holding tightly to Mimi's hand and with two fingers on the ring, he said: "There you are Mimi… you're wearing my ring… so we're officially engaged now and I can tell the world… so you've just got to pull through… and as soon as you do, we're going to get married… now don't you ever forget that... so keep fighting Mimi… please keep fighting... don't give up on me!… please Mimi, don't give up…"
Roger just broke down and began to cry.

 
11:00 am

Roger wanted to stay at the hospital forever, but he had been persuaded to leave; to go home and take a rest. He had not slept at all and had stayed by Mimi's side holding her hand all throughout the night. Staff at the hospital had assured him, that if there was any change in condition, no matter how small, then he would be informed immediately.
At sometime around eleven o'clock Roger parked up the Mercedes in the pot-holed drive leading to Carrowbank Farm. He was a little way short of the courtyard and house. Further progress beyond this point had been blocked by streamers of blue and white police tape. There were two other cars already parked where Roger had stopped. One was a police patrol car, the other was just an ordinary car with no markings. From his position alongside his Mercedes, he could see men in white overalls sifting through the debris of the fallen section of roof. He guessed that the men would be from 'Forensics' and trying to piece together what exactly did happen yesterday.
Roger, still wearing his best suit and supporting a torn and tattered sleeve, turned and walked away from the scene. There was no way he could face the men in the courtyard, or for that matter visit the place where it had all ended so tragically the day before. Slowly he began to walk away, to stroll aimless about the land that was once the pride and joy of Godfrey Brookes. Dragging his feet and staring blankly at the ground, he set off up the cart track that lead to the north meadow.
On the edge of the north meadow, Roger stopped and looked around. His mind remained in a haze, and the significance of the flattened crop did not register. However he still thought it a little unusual, and wondered whether Godfrey had done this prior to threatening suicide. Of course it was a remote possibility, but somehow he doubted it. Godfrey loved this crop, and all his dreams and aspirations for the future lay growing in this meadow.
Roger trudged on aimlessly following the tracks laid down by the tractor alongside the edge of meadow. He did not know where he was going, or for that matter particularly care. After awhile he stopped. Why he did so, he did not really know, except there was a small box lying at his feet. With hands deep inside his pockets he gave it a kick. The box took off and landed several paces in front of him. He continued on his walk, and on approaching the box a second time he kicked it away once more. This time the box split open down one side, and a silvery metal object fled off in one direction and the box in another.
The box, now much lighter and opened out to catch the wind, did not travel very far, and Roger bent down to pick it up. A folded up sheet of paper protruded from the split along the side. He took out the piece of paper and opened it up. It was a sort of cheap news-sheet from an organisation called 'Cropwatch'. There was a photograph on the front page. It showed a group of seven women all standing with their backs to a wall, and all with happy grinning faces.
Roger read a little of the news-sheet and tried to absorb what they had to say. Slowly in his mind he was able to piece together the events of yesterday afternoon whilst he was away at the amusement park. He was convinced that he now knew what had happened to the crop of oil-seed rape. Cropwatch were the people responsible for the destruction of the complete meadow, that was now evident. They had either pulled up or scythed down the entire crop. He tried to piece together the series of events of yesterday. After the crop had been destroyed, Godfrey must have returned home from Scotland to find the meadow in ruins, and no wondered he flipped his lid. He was always riding close to the edge of another nervous breakdown, so to arrive home after a funeral and find all this would have come as a devastating blow to the farmer.
Roger moved on a few paces, to discover exactly what it was that had spun away from the box. He bent down and picked up the silvery metal object. It was a pair of handcuffs, apparently brand new, with two small keys still attached by a plastic tie to a link at the centre. He slipped the handcuffs in his jacket pocket. His mind not even asking why he should find such an object here.
Exhausted, Roger moved to flop himself down on the side of the embankment. The mud and dirt on his best suit no-longer of any concern. The suit was ruined anyway, so what did it matter? The latest copy of the 'Cropwatch Journal' remained in his hands. Through tired and bloodshot eyes, he returned his gaze, to stare blankly at the photograph on the front page of the news-sheet.
"Bastards!… Bastards!.." he hissed repeatedly.
The rage inside Roger intensified. There was hate in his heart. These people were responsible for everything that had happened. As a result Godfrey was now dead and Mimi was lying critically ill in hospital, and all because of their thoughtless actions.
As tears rolled down Roger's face, suddenly he frowned and looked more closely at the picture on the front of the news-sheet. He thought he recognised the woman standing in the centre of the group.
"Surely not!… It can't be!…" he whispered to himself.
Yesterday afternoon in Canterford he had been introduced to a woman that looked exactly like the one stood in the centre of the picture. She had been at the home of Davina Townsend. Could this be the same woman? Was this really Sylvia Sparelli in the photograph?
His eyes moved to just below the photograph. A glance at the list of seven names printed immediately below confirmed his suspicions. He had not read the names before, but the name 'Sylvia Sparelli'  was printed there, along with the word '(Chairperson)'  in brackets following on beyond her name.
But that was not all. There was also someone else in the picture. Alongside Sylvia Sparelli stood a second girl he recognised, or at least he thought so. This time he was not one hundred percent certain, but the printing beneath told him that her name was 'Gayle Jackson, (London Area Delegate)', and that most definitely was a name he did recognise. Although he had never met the girl ever in his life, he was certain that he recognised both the face and the name. He had seen her before in a pornographic bondage magazine, and also in photographs taken by Lenny. As for the girl herself, there was something else he knew about her; if this really was the same Gayle Jackson, then she was a student at the same university as Chloe.
Roger folded up the news-sheet and placed it in his pocket. He threw himself backwards against the embankment, to lie flat against the sloping ground and stare blankly upwards at the sky.
With tears streaming from his eyes, he cursed: "I'll get you for this, you bastards!… I'll get you for this!"

End of Part One

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