Part 23 (1/2)

'Aren't you one of the local jockeys? The jumping boys?'

'Mm.'

'Then you know enough about being injured to give me an a.s.sessment of your state.'

I said that my toes, fingers and lungs were OK and that I had cramp in my legs, the trapped arm was aching and the instrument panel was inhibiting the digestion of a good Sunday lunch.

'Do you want an injection?' he asked, listening.

'Not unless it gets worse.'

He nodded, allowed himself a small smile and wriggled his way out onto the road. It struck me that there was much less leg-room for the back seat than there had been when we set out. A miracle Martha's and Harley's legs hadn't been broken. Three of us, I thought, had been incredibly lucky.

Simms and I went on sitting quietly side-by side for what seemed several more ages but finally the extra gear to free us appeared in the form of winches, cranes and an acetylene torch, which I hoped they would use around me with discretion.

Large mechanics scratched their heads over the problems. They couldn't get to me from my side of the car because it was tight against the bus They decided that if they tried to cut through the support under the front seats and pull them backwards they might upset the tricky equilibrium of the engine and instead of freeing my trapped legs bring the whole weight of the front of the car down to crush them. I was against the idea, and said so.

In the end, working from inside the car in fireproof suits and with thick foam pumped all around, using a well-sheltered but still scorching hot acetylene flame, which roared and threw terrifying sparks around like matches, they cut away most of the driver's side, and after that, because he couldn't feel or protest, they forcefully pulled Simms's stiffening body out and laid it on a stretcher. I wondered greyly if he had a wife, who wouldn't know yet.

, With Simms gone, the mechanics began fixing chains and operating jacks and I sat and waited without bothering them with questions. From time to time they said, 'You all right, mate?' and I answered 'Yes,' and was grateful to them.

After a while they fastened chains and a winch to the family car still impacted broadside on the Daimler's wing and with inching care began to pull it away. There was almost instantly a fearful shudder through the Daimler's crushed body and also through mine, and the pulling stopped immediately. A little more headscratching went on, and one of them explained to me that their crane couldn't get a good enough stabilizing purchase on the Daimler because the family car was in the way, and they would have to try something else. Was I all right? Yes, I said.

One of them began calling me Derek. 'Seen you in Hungerford, haven't I,' he said, 'and on the telly?' He told the others, who made jolly remarks like, 'Don't worry, we'll have you out in time for the three-thirty tomorrow. Sure to.' One of them seriously told me that it sometimes did take hours to free people because of the dangers of getting it wrong. Lucky, he said, that it was a Daimler I was in, with its tank-like strength. In anything less I would have been history.

They decided to rethink the rear approach.They wouldn't disturb the seat anchorages from their pushedback position: the seats were off their runners, they said, and had dug into the floor. Also the recliner-mechanism had jammed and broken. However they were going to cut off the back of Simms's seat to give themselves more room to work. They were then going to extract the padding and springs from under my bottom and see if they could get rid of the back of my seat also, and draw me out backwards so that they wouldn't have to manoeuvre me out sideways past the steering column, which they didn't want to remove as it was the anchor for one of the chief stabilizing chains. Did I understand?

Yes, I did.

They more or less followed this plan, although they had to dismantle the back of my seat before the cus.h.i.+on, the lowering effect of having the first spring removed from under me having jammed me even tighter against the fascia and made breathing difficult. They yanked padding out from behind me to relieve that, and then with a hacksaw took the back of the seat off near the roots; and, finally, with one of them supporting my shoulders, another pulled out handfuls of springs and other seat innards, the bear-hug pressure on my abdomen and arm and legs lessened and went away, and i had only blessed pins and needles instead.

Even then the big car was loath to let me go. With my top half free the two men began to pull me backwards.

and I grunted and stiffened, and they stopped at once.

'What's the maTter?' one asked anxiously.

'Well, nothing. Pull again.'

In truth, the pulling hurt the left ankle but I'd sat there long enough. It was at least an old, recognizable pain, nothing threateningly new. Rea.s.sured, my rescuers hooked their arms under my armpits and used a bit of strength, and at last extracted me from the car's crus.h.i.+ng embrace like a breeched calf from a cow.

Relief was an inadequate word. They gave me a minute's rest on the back seat, and sat each side of me, all three of us breathing deeply.

'Thanks,' I said briefly.

'Think nothing of it.'

I guessed they knew the depths of my grat.i.tude, as I knew the thought and care they'd expended. Thanks, think nothing of it: it was enough.

One by one we edged out onto the road, and I was astonished to find that after all that time there was still a small crowd standing around waiting: policemen, firemen, mechanics, ambulance men and a.s.sorted civilians, many with cameras. There was a small cheer and applause as I stood up free, and I smiled and moved my head in a gesture of both embarra.s.sment and thanksgiving.

I was offered a stretcher but said I'd much rather have the crutches that might still be in the boot, and that caused a bit of general consternation, but someone brought them out unharmed, about the only thing still unbent in the whole mess. I stood for a bit with their support simply looking at all the intertwined wreckage; at the bus and the family car and above all at the Daimler's buckled-up roof, at its sheared-off bonnet, its dislodged engine awry at a tilted angle, its gleaming black paintwork now unrecognizable sc.r.a.p, its former shape mangled and compressed like a stamped-on toy. I thought it incredible that I'd sat where I'd sat and lived. I reckoned that I'd used up a lifetime's luck.

The Ostermeyers had been taken to Swindon Hospital and treated for shock, bruises and concussion. From there, recovering a little, they had telephoned Milo and told him what had happened and he, reacting I guessed with spontaneous generosity but also with strong business sense, had told them they must stay with him for the night and he would collect them. All three were on the point of leaving when I in my turn arrived.

There was a predictable amount of fussing from Martha over my rescue, but she herself looked as exhausted as I felt and she was pliably content to be supported on Harley's arm on their way to the door.

Milo, coming back a step, said, 'Come as well, if you like. There's always a bed.'

'Thanks, I'll let you know.'

He stared at me. 'Is it true Simms was shot?'

'Mm.'

'It could have been you.'

'Nearly was'

'The police took statements here from Martha and Harley, it seems.' He paused, looking towards them as they reached the door. 'I'll have to go. How's the ankle?'

'Be back racing as scheduled.'

'Good.'

He bustled off and I went through the paperwork routines, but there was nothing wrong with me that a small application of time wouldn't fix and I got myself discharged pretty fast as a patient and was invited instead to give a more detailed statement to the police.

I couldn't add much more than I'd told them in the first place, but some of their questions were in the end disturbing.

Could we have been shot at for any purpose?

I knew of no purpose.

How long had the car driven by the man with the gun been in front of us?

I couldn't remember: hadn't noticed.

Could anyone have known we would be on that road at that time? I stared at the policeman. Anyone, perhaps, who had been in the restaurant for lunch.

Anyone there could have followed us from there to Milo's house, perhaps, and waited for us to leave, and pa.s.sed us, allowing us then to pa.s.s again. But why ever should they?

Who else might know?

Perhaps the car company who employed Simms.

Who else?