‘Yes, I did.’
‘Luckier than you imagine. We took a blood test. Actually, we took two blood tests. The first one for alcohol. With practically negative results. Now this interested us, because who except a drunk would stop a car on a level crossing and get out and lean against it? The casualty doctor told us you swore you hadn’t been drinking and that anyway you seemed sober enough to him... but that you’d had a bad headache which was now better... We gave you a bit of thought, and we looked at those very bright scarlet stains on your shirt... and tested your blood again... and there it was!’ He paused triumphantly.
‘What?’
‘Carboxyhaemoglobin.’
‘What?
‘Carbon monoxide, my dear chap. Carbon monoxide poisoning. Explains everything, don’t you see?’
‘Oh... but I thought... with carbon monoxide... one simply blacked out.’
‘It depends. If you got a large dose all at once that would happen, like it does to people who get stuck in snow drifts and leave their engines running. But a trickle, that would affect you more slowly. But it would all be the same in the end, of course. The haemoglobin in the red corpuscles has a greater affinity for carbon monoxide than for oxygen, so it mops up any carbon monoxide you breath in, and oxygen is disregarded. If the level of carbon monoxide in your blood builds up gradually... you get gradual symptoms. Very insidious they are too. The trouble is that it seems that when people feel sleepy they light a cigarette to keep themselves awake, and tobacco smoke itself introduces significant quantities of carbon monoxide into the body, so the cigarette may be the final knock out. Er... do you smoke?’
‘No.’ And to think I’d regretted it.
‘Just as well. You obviously had quite a dangerous concentration of C.O. in any case.’
‘I must have been driving for half an hour... maybe forty minutes. I don’t really know.’
‘It’s a wonder you stopped safely at all. Much more likely to have crashed into something.’
‘I nearly did... on a corner.’
He nodded. ‘Didn’t you smell exhaust fumes?’
‘I didn’t notice. I had too much on my mind. And the heater burps out exhaust smells sometimes. So I wouldn’t take much heed, if it wasn’t strong.’ I looked down at myself under the sheets. ‘What’s the damage?’
‘Not much now,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You were lucky there too. You had multiple dislocations... hip, knee and ankle. Never seen all three before. Very interesting. We reduced them all successfully. No crushing or fractures, no severed tendons. We don’t even think there will be a recurring tendency to dislocate. One or two frayed ligaments round your knee, that’s all.’
‘It’s a miracle.’
‘Interesting case, yes. Unique sort of accident, of course. No direct force involved. We think it might have been air impact... that it sort of blew or stretched you apart. Like being on the rack, eh?’ He chuckled. ‘We put plaster on your knee and ankle, to give them a chance to settle, but it can come off in three or four weeks. We don’t want you to put weight on your hip yet, either. You can have some physiotherapy. But take it easy for a while when you leave here. There was a lot of spasm in the muscles, and all your ligaments and so on were badly stretched. Give everything time to subside properly before you run a mile.’ He smiled, which turned half way through into a yawn. He smothered it apologetically. ‘It’s been a long night...’
‘Yes,’ I said.
I went home on Tuesday afternoon in an ambulance with a pair of crutches and instructions to spend most of my time horizontal.
Poppy was still sick. Tony followed my slow progress up the stairs apologising that she couldn’t manage to have me stay, the kids were exhausting her to distraction.
‘I’m fine on my own.’
He saw me into the bedroom, where I lay down in my clothes on top of the bedspread, as per instructions. Then he made for the whisky and refreshed himself after my labours.
‘Do you want anything? I’ll fetch you some food, later.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Could you bring the telephone in here?’
He brought it in and plugged the lead into the socket beside my bed.
‘O.K.?’
‘Fine,’ I said.
‘That’s it, then.’ He tossed off his drink quickly and made for the door, showing far more haste than usual and edging away from me as though embarrassed.
‘Is anything wrong?’ I said.
He jumped. ‘No. Absolutely nothing. Got to get the kids their tea before evening stables. See you later, pal. With the odd crust’ He smiled sketchily and disappeared.
I shrugged. Whatever it was that was wrong, he would tell me in time, if he wanted to.
I picked up the telephone and dialled the number of the local garage. Its best mechanic answered.
‘Mr Hughes... I heard... Your beautiful car.’ He commiserated genuinely for half a minute.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Look, Derek, is there any way that exhaust gas could get into the car through the heater?’
He was affronted. ‘Not the way I looked after it. Certainly not.’
‘I apparently breathed in great dollops of carbon monoxide,’ I said.
‘Not through the heater... I can’t understand it.’ He paused, thinking. ‘They take special care not to let that happen, see? At the design stage. You could only get exhaust gas through the heater if there was a loose or worn gasket on the exhaust manifold and a crack or break in the heater tubing and a tube connecting the two together, and you can take it from me, Mr Hughes, there was nothing at all like that on your car. Maintained perfect, it is.’
‘The heater does sometimes smell of exhaust. If you remember, I did mention it, some time ago.’
‘I give the whole system a thorough check then, too. There wasn’t a thing wrong. Only thing I could think of was the exhaust might have eddied forward from the back of the car when you slowed down, sort of, and got whirled in through the fresh air intake, the one down beside the heater.’
‘Could you possibly go and look at my car? At what’s left of it...?’
‘There’s a good bit to do here,’ he said dubiously.
‘The police have given me the name of the garage where it is now. Apparently all the bits have to stay there until the insurance people have seen them. But you know the car... it would be easier for you to spot anything different with it from when you last serviced it. Could you go?’
‘D’you mean,’ he paused. ‘You don’t mean... there might be something... well...wrong with it?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘But I’d like to find out.’
‘It would cost you,’ he said warningly. ‘It would be working hours.’
‘Never mind. If you can go, it will be worth it.’
‘Hang on, then.’ He departed to consult. Came back. ‘Yes, all right. The Guvnor says I can go first thing in the morning.
‘That’s great,’ I said. ‘Call me when you get back.’
‘It couldn’t have been a gasket,’ he said suddenly.
‘Why not?’
‘You’d have heard it. Very noisy. Unless you had the radio on?’
‘No.’
‘You’d have heard a blown gasket,’ he said positively. ‘But there again, if the exhaust was being somehow fed straight into the heater... perhaps not. The heater would damp the noise, same as a silencer... but I don’t see how it could have happened. Well... all I can do is take a look.’
I would have liked to have gone with him. I put down the receiver and looked gloomily at my right leg. The neat plaster casing stretched from well up my thigh down to the base of my toes, which were currently invisible inside a white hospital theatre sock. A pair of Tony’s slacks, though too long by six inches, had slid up easily enough over the plaster, decently hiding it, and as far as looks went, things were passable.