Never Too Late To Explore - 6. Friends In Need

Behind the serving counter, Brian Metcalfe's hand froze mid-wipe for a couple of seconds before the adrenalin started to kick in and he found his voice. “Where? What's happened, Mrs Cook?”

Every single customer in the café stopped what they were doing and listened in.

The woman waved her arm behind her in the general direction of the High Street. “An elderly man's taken a tumble, up past The Black Swan. I recognise him. He comes in here sometimes.”

Brian's thoughts immediately turned to Eric. “Is he OK?”

“Dunno. He says he doesn't want an ambulance calling, but he can't get up. Hurt his ankle or something. A couple of people are trying to get him to change his mind. It's too cold to be sitting on the pavement. And wet. He'll catch his death.”

“Right.” Brian rapidly turned over the possibilities in his head. “Err … Here.” He grabbed hold of the nearest seat. “Can you manage to carry this up to the High Street?”

“Yes, of course I can.” The woman took it from him.

“I'll follow you with a blanket or two. Try and get someone else to go to the doctors' surgery. It's only a couple of hundred yards away. Maybe the practice nurse can come and give him a lookover?”

“Yes, I will. That's a good idea.” The woman lifted the chair up and manoeuvred herself out of the front door.

Brian retreated further behind the counter to open the door leading to their flat upstairs. He peered upwards. “Sandra?” All he could hear was the vacuum cleaner. He tried again. “Sandra?!”

Still no response. Brian looked back at the main part of the café. Several customers had gone outside to see what was going on. Those who were left were minding their own business, drinking and eating quietly. Yes, he could risk it.

He ran up the stairs, pausing when he got to the top to call out again. “Sandra? There's been an accident up the road.”

The vacuum cleaner was turned off finally.

His wife appeared from their bedroom. “Sorry. What's happened?”

“I think Eric Whitehouse has had a fall of some sort.”

She hurried towards him. “Whereabouts?”

“As far as I can tell, at the top of the street, where it meets the main road.”

“Has someone called an ambulance?”

“He doesn't want one called, apparently.”

Sandra frowned. “That's rubbish. He needs checking out. If he doesn't want to go to hospital, that's a different matter altogether.”

“Mrs Cook said he's hurt his ankle. He can't stand up on his own.”

“In which case, he needs the paramedics. Depending on how bad it is, they may want to involve Social Services as well.”

Brian sighed. “Which is probably why Mr Whitehouse doesn't want the paramedics to come in the first place.”

“How's he going to manage at home if he can't look after himself properly?”

Brian didn't have an answer to that. “I need a couple of blankets to take with me.”

“Well, you know where they're kept. I'm going to phone the emergency services. With any luck, someone else will have beaten me to it. … Oh, and I'll take over downstairs for a bit.”

“Thanks, love.”

As he watched his wife hurry into the lounge to make the call, Brian tried to imagine what he'd feel if people went against his wishes like that. He shrugged slightly. It was probably for the best. Eric might not be in the position to make proper decisions for himself. He turned to get the blankets out of the airing cupboard.

As he was hurrying back down the stairs, clutching the blankets, Sandra yelled something after him.

He stopped on one of the stairs. “Sorry, love?”

Sandra poked her head over the bannister. “I said, it's already been called in. The control room said they should have a crew there in fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, OK.”

“You go on with those blankets. I'll be down in a moment.”

“Thanks, love. I'll see you later.”

“Yeah. Bye.”

Brian took the rest of the stairs two at a time and headed straight out the front door without stopping.

Eric blinked several times. What was he doing lying face down on the pavement? Where was his shopping? What had just happened? He tried to focus. Pushing himself up slightly, using his forearms, he discovered the shopping bag was underneath him. He didn't have the strength to do anything else so he sank back down, his brain still trying to process what had happened.

“You OK, mate?” A male voice, coming from the side. Someone leaning in.

Another voice, a woman's, joined in. “Let's see if we can sit him up a bit.”

“Did he hit his head on the way down?” Another voice, further away.

Eric felt detached from what was happening around him. The voices were coming and going, only some of the words reaching his ears. He made another effort to raise himself up off the bag.

“Just keep still for the moment, mate.” The man again. A hand gently pressed him back down. “Where does it hurt?”

Up until then, Eric hadn't noticed any pain. But now the initial shock of the accident was wearing off, his body was busily sending signals from all sorts of directions. Knees, left hand, his upper body – that was the bag – but most of all, his right ankle. That was throbbing like blazes.

“Ankle.”

“What did he say?” The woman.

“Ankle, I think.”

“OK … Let's try easing him up into a sitting position. We'll be able to see what's going on better, and he'll be more in control of himself.”

Hands firmly but gently eased Eric off the shopping bag, laying him on his back briefly before helping him to sit up. The man knelt behind him, supporting his back. The woman, dressed in office clothes, crouched down next to him. Eric looked round, still a little dazed. There seemed to be a number of people standing around, gawping. Didn't they have anything better to do?

“Hi … I'm Julie.”

Eric forced himself to focus on the woman next to him.

“What's your name?”

Even that took thought. “Err … Eric.”

“OK, Eric. I'm a first aider. Do you know what happened?”

“Fell over. Ice.” His brain and his mouth weren't working together.

“Eric, I'm going to have a quick look at you to assess what's happened, then I can call the paramedics and give them the information.”

Alarm bells started to go off in Eric's head. He had to work hard to find the words he needed. “No ambulance. I'm not going to the hospital. I won't.”

“Try to stay calm, Eric. I'm not medically qualified. You'll need a proper examination.”

“I'll go to my GP if I have to.”

The woman sighed. “OK, Eric. Let's have a look at you. Is it alright to roll your trouser legs up?”

Eric nodded. He knew he should get himself looked at properly, but he refused to go to the hospital. He'd manage somehow at home. He'd have to, otherwise they, the Social Services busybodies, would have him put in an old folks' home. There were too many stories around of those poor sods who'd started out being temporary visitors, and then found themselves permanent residents. It wouldn't happen to him. Never. He wouldn't allow it.

His increasing agitation made Eric paler than he was already, and it seemed to add to his shivering.

The woman noticed. “I know you're cold, Eric. And there's some shock in there as well. I'll just finish having a look, then we'll get you somewhere warmer.”

Eric tried to concentrate on what the woman was doing. She'd taken his shoe off now and pulled his sock down. She was gently probing his right ankle with her fingers.

“Hmm … this already looks swollen. No wonder it's painful.”

She prodded a little more.

“Owh!”

“Sorry. I don't think you've broken anything. Your ankle's most likely sprained.”

Was that good news? Eric didn't know. It had to be less serious than a broken bone. A short bout of whispering went on between the two people who were helping him. They were talking about him, no doubt, as if he wasn't there.

The man leaned round from behind him. “I'm going to leave you for a minute or two, Eric. I think you'll be OK sitting up by yourself for a short time. I'll be back before you know it.”

Why were they both talking to him as if he'd lost his marbles? He'd tripped over his own feet on the ice. That's all. It could've happened to anyone. As the inspection of his cuts, scrapes, and bruises continued, Eric noticed the man coming back, carrying a seat that looked to have been purloined from Brian's café.

“Here you are, Eric. That lady over there brought it for you.”

Julie and the man helped him up and sat him on the chair. It felt so much better than the pavement. His bag of shopping was still close by, and his stick.

The other woman, whom Eric recognised vaguely, moved forward. “Mr Metcalfe's not far behind with some blankets.”

“Good. Thanks for that.” Julie smiled at her, then turned back to Eric. “Hear that, Eric? You'll be a lot warmer very soon.”

Eric nearly replied he could hear as well as she, but decided not to waste his strength. He'd need that when they tried to make him go into a home, or the hospital.

The ambulance paramedic disposed of her gloves and the last of the cleansing wipes into a bin. “OK, Eric. That's you cleaned up. You'll have a good crop of bruises tomorrow.”

Eric lay in the back of the ambulance with his damaged ankle raised up higher than the rest of him.

The paramedic sat down next to him. “The good news is you shouldn't need to be admitted to hospital, but …”

Eric held his breath. That 'but' smacked of bad news.

“But I'm concerned how you're going to manage at home. Your ankle sprain will take a while to get back to normal, and for the first few days, you'll have to keep off it as much as possible.”

Just as he thought. “I'll manage. I always have done.” Which was true, but he didn't know how he'd cope now.

“Hmm …” The woman must've heard it all before in her job. She reached for her tablet computer again. “Do you have a downstairs loo, Eric?”

Eric stared at her. The question was straight to the point. What was he going to say? Honesty prevailed. “No.”

A tap on the screen. “Anyone who can come and stay with you for a few days?”

As if. Eric swallowed a sigh. “No … There's someone who comes round two or three times a week …” He trailed off. Andy's visits weren't going to be enough. Even he saw that.

“This is the Andy Harper you mentioned earlier?”

Eric nodded.

“Well it's a pity you don't know either his phone number or his address. We can hardly involve him if we can't contact him.”

He tried again. “It's not as if my ankle's broken. I mean, I can still walk on it if I have to?”

“Eric, you'll find your ankle will be sore and possibly very swollen initially. How d'you think you're going to manage if you suddenly need to go to the loo? You might just be able to get around on the flat with your stick, but I don't think you're going to be able to manage your stairs.”

The paramedic's sympathetic expression in no way lessened her brisk professionalism. Another tap on the computer. “OK … In which case I think we've got no alternative …” She was interrupted by a loud knock on the rear doors of the vehicle. “Oh. … Excuse me a second.” Frowning slightly, she got up to open the door. “Yes?”

“Err … Hi. I'm a friend of Eric's. Brian Metcalfe. I know I'm not a relative, but I wondered how he's doing?”

Eric smiled to himself, staring up at the roof of the ambulance. Even after their last encounter, Brian was still looking out for him.

The paramedic stepped out of the vehicle and left the door ajar. Eric listened carefully.

“Eric has no medical need to be hospitalised, but he's going to have difficulties being at home. At least in the short term. If Social Services are unable to find him somewhere suitable to stay, he may have to be admitted to a ward.”

“Oh … Ah … I can't offer anything – my wife and I live in a flat above the shop. But I might know of someone else who could help.”

“That wouldn't be Andy Harper, would it? Eric mentioned him as his sort of social worker, but he doesn't have any contact information for Mr Harper. And he couldn't remember the name of the charity Mr Harper works for either. The shock has left Eric a little confused.”

“Yes, Andy Harper's who I've got in mind. I haven't got his details to hand, no. But they'll be easy enough to find out.”

Eric lay still, willing his friend to continue. However the paramedic's voice was next.

“That's good. You'll have to be quick though. I've got a little more paperwork to do before I need to start phoning people. We can't keep Eric in limbo – decisions will have to be made.”

“I'll be as quick as I can – the café's only down there. I'm sure Mr Harper will want to be involved.”

Eric could only hope Andy would come to his rescue. Somehow.

This is a message from Brian Metcalfe. Eric Whitehouse has been involved in an accident. Nothing that serious fortunately. Please phone me as a matter of urgency on the following number …

Shit! Andy stared at his phone. He was parked in another layby. He'd heard the call coming through, but had been disinclined to answer it on the hands-free because the traffic had been busy. A couple of idiots had nearly caused a pile-up: overtaking when they shouldn't have been. At least the call had only been ten minutes ago. Mind racing, he called the number and waited.

Brian Metcalfe.

“Hi. It's Andy here. Sorry I didn't answer earlier, I was driving. How's Eric?”

Hi, Andy. That's OK. Eric's going to be fine. The main problem is his ankle. It's looks like a fairly bad sprain. There's pressure coming from the paramedics: they have to make a decision about putting Eric into the care of Adult Social Services, admitting him, or releasing him into the care of someone appropriate.

Andy rapidly scoured his limited medical knowledge. “Err … so that's damage to muscles? Tendons?”

Yeah, both. The bone's fine. That's one small mercy. Their assessment – which I agree with, for what it's worth – is that Eric won't be able to cope at home for the present. As I think you know, the only loo is upstairs.

Andy grimaced. “God … so that'll mean a geriatric ward or a temporary place in a nursing home. Eric will hate either of those with a passion. He's so bloody independent.” He thought for a moment. “Brian? I need to make a call. Can you stall any action until I get back to you? My thought is Eric can stay with us, but it's not entirely my decision. And I'm currently fifty miles away. If my fiancé agrees with me, it'll be him who will take charge of Eric. As far as I'm aware, he's got an afternoon without any client appointments.”

OK … Just be as quick as you can. I don't think it'll be long before Eric gets sucked into the system.

“Yeah, I'll try.”

Brian paced up and down next to the ambulance. The paramedics were getting impatient – they needed to get Eric placed somewhere so they could eventually get back out onto the road.

He fished his phone out yet again and glared at the screen, willing it to ring. “Come on, come on.”

This time, it obliged.

Brian nearly dropped in the phone in his eagerness to get the call. “Hello?”

Brian? This is Adam Partington. I'm Andy's fiancé.

“Oh, hi. And …?” He held his breath.

And we're happy to offer Eric a place to stay while he recovers sufficiently to go back home. I'm doing the offering as a friend rather than getting Andy involved. It would be weird otherwise.

“Ah, wonderful! Thanks. I'm sure Eric will be very relieved.”

I imagine so. Right, you'd better hand your phone over to the paramedics so I can talk to them.

“Thanks to you both.” Brian knew he was standing there, grinning like an idiot.

It's our pleasure.