An Ancient Subaru vs An Old Mitsubishi Evo


For Jeremy, there was no sound worse than the crash cacophony of tortured brakes, squealing tyres and twisting metal.

His legs were moving before his brain told him to run.

Already he could hear yelled instructions and the revving engines of the emergency vehicles they had on stand-by.

Crossing the track he could see James getting out of the battered Subaru he'd managed to park in the long grass in the centre of the track, heard him shout to the crew that he was okay as he removed his crash helmet.

Jeremy called out to him as soon as he was close enough. "Are you okay?"

The shout came back, "I'm fine!"

The Evo had come to a stop in the tyre wall at Quarry Corner, the right hand corner of the bonnet crushed by the impact and the wall's collapse as it had absorbed as much of the energy of the crash as possible. The back of the car on the same side had been crushed by the Subaru hitting it. Jeremy could only guess at what had happened in the cars in the moments before impact.

The paramedics beat him to the Evo by seconds. They had the driver's door open and for a moment he actually felt a rush of relief, expecting Richard to climb out - shaken but uninjured - as James had.

But although, rightly or wrongly, he'd obviously managed to wrestle his helmet off, otherwise he didn't move. And as Jeremy approached he could hear - over the pounding of his own pulse - the paramedics talking to Richard, looking at something in the foot well.

It was only when he was standing next to the wreck and the deflated airbag had been cut away could he see why.

Something from under or inside the dash had ploughed into Richard's left leg, just above his knee. Blood was quickly soaking through the blue and white trousers of his race suit as one of the paramedics called instructions to another.

Richard was effectively trapped, pinned in place. Pain was shining in his eyes - bright with unshed tears - clear in his taut expression.

There was no way to reach him from the driver's side, but Jeremy followed James' approach and joined him on the passenger side.

As he yanked open the passenger door open, he asked James again if he was okay.

James nodded, still trembling. "Yeah. I think his brakes failed."

"You're sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. Oh, Jesus...." Jeremy leaned into the car, saw the bloody compress that James had seen; quickly looked up to meet Richard's eyes, wide with fear and shock.

Sitting awkwardly in the seat, he reached out and Richard's fingers immediately clawed into his shirt.

"Fuck!" Richard spat the bright word, blinking the moisture from his eyes.

Jeremy caught hold of his arm and supported it, ignoring the scrape of short fingernails through the thin material.

"You're okay."

"That fucking hurts...."

"Yes, it will do." What else could he say?

"Richard?" One of the paramedics was trying to get his attention. "Does anything else hurt?"

Richard pulled in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm himself. "I've got a headache."

"Can you move your fingers for me?" Jeremy could attest to that. "What about your right leg?" Although he couldn't see Richard's right foot in the darkness under the dash, Jeremy could see his knee bounce once.

A third member of the ambulance crew was already preparing a neck brace for him and as soon as it was in place it forced Richard to rest his head back instead of trying to see what was going on with his leg. Jeremy covered the hand clawing his arm with his own and squeezed it gently, glancing behind him when James sank to the ground, first into a crouch, then turned to lean his back against the car, ass hitting the grass verge.

"James?"

"I'm fine."

On the other side of the car an IV was being gently stabbed into the back of Richard's hand, an injection of what Jeremy supposed was a pain killing drug quickly shot into it.

Almost immediately Richard's grip slackened on his arm.

"We're going to cut away from the dash and get you out. We've given you a shot of morphine so you shouldn't feel a thing, okay?"

Richard didn't nod. His mouth was open and he was taking in deep breaths as if the air wasn't doing much for him anymore.

"Oxygen!" The paramedic was handed an oxygen mask, which he carefully hooked over Richard's nose and mouth, and a small canister which he attached and handed to Jeremy to hold. "Just breathe normally, Richard. You're going into shock but you're fine. Just keep breathing and keep your eyes on Jeremy."

Jeremy watched him take a couple of breaths and saw the change in him, saw everything relax as the oxygen and the morphine did their respective jobs.

And now he was calmer, he tried to speak. The noise he made under the mask sounded enough like 'James' for Jeremy to easily translate his concern.

"He's fine, he's down here." Jeremy indicated the ground with a nod of his head and James' hand rose to wave. "He's mourning his Scooby."

That got a smile which turned into a twist discomfort more than pain when the metal cutters made light work of whatever was holding Richard's leg in place and he was released with a jolt.

Jeremy glanced down and wished he hadn't, especially when he looked back to see the horror and upset on Richard's face.

What might have been a metal sheet about two inches long and a quarter inch wide was sticking about an inch out of his leg, sheered across the top by the cutters. The paramedics had packed compresses around the wound before, and now they worked to dress it completely, leaving the metal in place, presumably until they got him to hospital.

"We're going to move you onto the trolley now, Richard, and we'll get you to hospital as fast as we can, okay?"

The canister of oxygen was taken back and they lifted Richard as gently and as quickly as they could out of the car to lie him flat on the waiting trolley.

Jeremy heard one of them say, "Stay awake for us, Richard. Just until we get there."

He turned in the passenger seat and dropped a hand to James' shoulder. "Can you go with him? I need to sort things out here."

The film crew were hovering and Jeremy realised it had only taken a couple of minutes to get Richard out, despite it feeling like hours.

James nodded and pushed himself to stand up. He was white, and for a second Jeremy thought he was going to throw up. But after a couple of deep breaths he joined the ambulance crew.

Jeremy watched through the back windscreen of the car as they headed off the wrong way towards the paddock and the exit, sirens screaming, lights flashing, spraying blue all over the track. He could still feel the warmth of Richard's hand under his own.

Dragging himself out of the wrecked Evo, he went to sort out the mess.

~

By the time he arrived at Swindon Great Western Hospital, Jeremy was directed towards a small private room off a general male ward on the third floor.

It was depressingly beige and plastic, despite the shiny new building, dirty sunlight streaming in through the small pane of glass that at least looked out onto the motorway in the distance. Motorways tended to relax him.

Even with the door closed, the crashes and shouts from the corridor and the main ward were crystal clear, a constant buzz of background noise enough to drive the sanest person mad.

On the narrow bed, dressed in the usual blue hospital awning and pinned up to his waist by a tight white sheet, Richard was apparently fast asleep, oblivious to it all.

James was sitting in an uncomfortable-looking, hard plastic chair, legs apart, leaning forward slightly, his right hand wrapped over Richard's where they lay on the mattress. He looked up with a tired smile at Jeremy as he leaned back against the door.

"What have they done?"

"Removed a chuck of dashboard from his leg and stitched him back up again." He sounded as though he'd been the one to put it there. "He's got twelve stitches. He apparently lost a lot of blood." He pointed up at the IV transfusion, the grim, empty bag hanging from the hook behind the bed, pinkish tube snaking into the back of Richard's left hand. "It tore the muscle, apparently, so he's going to be limping for a couple of weeks. Apart from that, they say he's fine - in shock. They're keeping him in overnight just in case but they're planning on letting him out in the morning."

"In case of what?"

James shrugged. "Concussion, skull fracture, brain damage. I don't know."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I hit him."

"His brakes failed, he was on your line, there was no way you could have missed him." Jeremy pulled up a second plastic chair from the corner and sat at the end of the bed, arms crossed on the light blue rough blanket folded over Richard's feet.

"The brakes did fail then?"

"Yes. The engineer confirmed it."

"How did the safety checks miss that?"

"I have no idea. Carol's looking into it, I promised I'd phone her, let her know how he's doing."

He reached for Richard's left, blanketed foot, rubbing gently, needing just to touch. He caught James' understanding smile.

"One of the nurses didn't recognise us. When she saw me she assumed I was his partner, started in with all the reassuring banter."

"Is it that far from the truth?" James shook his head. "So what are we?"

"We're friends...."

Jeremy sighed. "He and I have so much to lose."

And James' eyes widened. "And I don't?"

"You're not in the same position...."

"Well, thank you." Pushing his chair back, he let go of Richard's hand. "May I remind you that you two started this in the first place?" He opened the door. "Once you've decided if it's worth it, let me know."

"James...."

At least he didn't slam the door. Whatever they'd given the patient kept him fast asleep through the unexpected outburst.

Sighing softly to himself, Jeremy shook his head and squeezed Richard's toes gently through the blanket. "What are we like?"

~

The previously unopened bottle of Glenlevit, the last one in the hotel according to the excitable barman, was three-quarters empty by the time the narrow bar cleared and left James and Jeremy on their own.

The place had a whiff of of country and smoke about it. It was a small but expensive hotel just outside of Swindon, not too far from the hospital.

They'd shared a meal in a quiet corner of the restaurant and although the food had been good, the company was unusually withdrawn.

After the blow-out in Richard's little room, Jeremy had eventually gone to find James - sulking or maybe just skulking next to the pathetic attempt at a fountain in the newly landscaped grounds.

James had apologised immediately, so Jeremy hadn't bothered. He hadn't been sure what he'd said wrong in the first place. But although they were back on speaking terms, it was hard-going.

Filling his glass, waving the whiskey bottle around until James drowned the last dregs of his drink and raised it for a refill, Jeremy asked, "What's wrong?"

There was a pause that might have lasted a second, might have lasted an hour - the whiskey was making time dilate in weird and wonderful ways. But eventually he replied, "I think... I think I'm falling in love with him."

Jeremy sighed and shook his head. "Don't."

"Why not?" His raised voice was indignant. "You're not the only one in this. You don't get some monol... monopoly on him."

"It isn't that." Rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, Jeremy sank half the glass of whiskey in one swallow.

"You can't tell me you don't love him."

"I do." He smiled, almost laughed. "I love him with all my heart. But it's not the same. Loving him, being in love... they're two disferent things."

James reached for the bottle and Jeremy was impressed to see that his glass was already empty. "Why's it dis... different?"

He had to think about that one, while James topped up his glass. It was going to hurt very badly in the morning. "It's like... the Porsche and the Zonda."

"What?"

"He loved his Porsches. Still loves them. But then, along came the Zonda and it's bigger and faster and now he raves over that."

"So what are you saying? That he'll trade us in for faster models one day?"

"Yes. No. No.... For him this is just another thrill ride. He has no emotional involvement. We're the ones emotionally involved. He's just in it for the fun."

James shook his head, stating emphatically, "I don't believe you."

"James...."

"You're wrong! How can he... we... do what we do without emotional invol - investment?"

"It's just him. It's who he is. I'm not saying he doesn't... like us or even care about us. He just won't be... feeling for us the way we feel about him."

James slumped in the battered leather armchair. Jeremy watched him try to find some sense in the amber liquid he was swirling around in his glass, and when he obviously didn't get the revelation he was wanting, he drank it.

"I'm going to bed," he muttered, putting the empty glass down onto the table with more care than he probably wanted to.

Jeremy had the urge to smash his in the dark fire grate. He watched James get out of the chair and walk, rather than stumble, out of the bar, wishing he could think of something to say. But his mind was a blank.

~

"You made the front pages!"

Jeremy dropped the heavy selection of tabloid papers onto the bed with a grin, perching on the edge of the mattress and trying not to drink in the sight of Richard sitting up, smiling and crunching his way through two slices of cold, burnt toast.

The IV was still taped in place at the back of his hand but other than that outwardly he looked fine. Jeremy wondered how fine he actually was.

Richard picked up the top paper. "Excellent!"

The Mirror's headline read, 'Braking News', had a long-distance shot of the Evo wreck on the back of a Castle Coombe low-loader and an inserted stock photograph of Richard's beaming face. The majority of the "facts" were wrong, the only correct thing being the cause of the accident, which Jeremy thought was probably someone taking a lucky guess.

"Is James okay?"

"Yeah." But it wasn't all that convincing.

Richard frowned at him. "Jez?"

"He wasn't hurt. He is feeling guilty about crashing into you." Richard rolled his eyes. "And I didn't handle things very well yesterday. But I did spend most of last night sitting in the hotel bar with him getting slowly out of our skulls on whiskey so he's feeling fragile this morning." He smiled widely. "Just not as fragile as you're probably feeling."

"He's a big girl."

Jeremy couldn't help but laugh at that. He was feeling smug - somehow he seemed to have escaped the hangover from hell he deserved.

"How's the leg?"

"I can't feel it - the pain killers they give you around here are incredible."

"It'll... heal though?"

Richard's turn to smirk. "Yes, Jeremy, I will drive again. It'll be a couple of months though apparently - the muscles have got to knit back together and I'm going to need a bit of physio. So you might need to find a temporary replacement...."

"I think we'd get lynched by a few hundred thousand of our female viewers if we tried that. The last thing we need is a 'Bring Back Hammond' campaign!" He smiled wryly. "Don't worry about it. You can do the interviews, I'll go and get dropped from a plane in a mini or race down Ben Nevis in a MacLaren, or whatever else you had in mind for the new series."

"I like the sound of those."

"You would." He looked around the dismal room. "So when are they letting you out?"

"I just need to see a doctor, get dressed, and you can drive me home."

"Lucky me." But he was smiling nonetheless.