Governors (eBook)

Timothy Jephson (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2024 | 1. Auflage
396 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-4393-1 (ISBN)

Infos

Rioting rocks Bermuda and the Police Commissioner is murdered. The very fabric of 1970's Island society is being dismantled. Governor Sharples, a highly decorated veteran from World War II arrives to restore peace, but the democratic process to eradicate racial inequality is taking too long for the Black Beret Cadre.

Timothy lives in England. He spent several incredibly happy years living and working in Bermuda with his family. He often returns to visit the wonderful people, crystal-clear warm waters and beautiful pink sandy beaches of the island.

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They seek change by any means. Declaring their Death List, they launch a decade of terror. A cloud of fear smothers the Island. By the end of the storm, five murders have been committed, young love has been decimated, and countless families destroyed. Two of the guilty face the death penalty. The last executions to ever be carried out on British Territory. A sentence that sent shock waves through the British Establishment.

Textauszug

Chapter 1

Bermuda

March 1973

Tom spotted Susan Cooper limping up to the entrance of his pharmacy and hurried over to assist her with the door. Her face was grimaced to conceal the undoubted pain she was in. She took his arm, and he guided her to a seat in the consultation room, ascertaining that she’d slid off her scooter the previous evening. Her leg was grazed and pitted with grey gravel. He placed a towel under the leg and then doused the wound with chlorhexidine, cleansing and washing out the dirt before gently dabbing it dry. Amazingly she hardly winced despite him needing to scrub the inflamed skin. He couldn’t see or smell any sign of infection, so he smothered a thick coating of a silver paste over the area before applying a dressing.

‘There you are, Mrs Cooper. All done and will soon be good as new.’

‘I’m very grateful, Tom, but unless you are a magician, nothing at my age can be as good as new.’

As he assisted her back to the waiting area, Tom was thinking to himself how to respond when a loud voice interrupted them.

‘Haemorrhoids, govers! What potions have you got to ease my suffering from the blasted things?’

Tom smiled awkwardly to Mrs Cooper and, excusing himself briefly, turned to see one of his favourite but most embarrassing patients. The other patients in the pharmacy were suddenly captivated by the leaflets scattered about on joining the Bermudian Diabetes Awareness charity walk this weekend and hid their blushes at the thought of such a subject.

Not the slightest whiff of confidentiality required here, thought Tom. ‘Ahh, Mr Wilson. Always a pleasure to see you. I’m just with another patient, if you’ll give me two ticks. Sit tight and we’ll get you sorted’, Tom said delicately, trying to alleviate the awkwardness in the patient waiting area.

‘Can’t possible sit’, boomed Mr Wilson humorously. ‘Too bloody painful. Christ, I think a tangerine has popped out of my bottom.

‘Morning, Susan’, he roared at Mrs Cooper. ‘Smells like a dentist surgery in here. Has Tom been at the rubbing alcohol already? Bit early, Tom!’

‘Morning, John’, she replied. ‘Don’t be so mean to Tom please. He has been an absolute lifesaver.’ Although as conservative and polite as all Bermudian folk, she had known John since their school days and was well used to his unedited, unaffected vocabulary. Normally any Bermudian lady, let alone one of her standing and class, would have severely rebuked and frowned upon such language. Bermudians, black and white, prided themselves on their friendly but impeccable manners. But John just couldn’t help himself. He was who he was.

Tom had loved the fact that all the islanders were so friendly. You couldn’t board a bus without every passenger wishing you a good morning or walk along Hamilton High Street without the locals wishing you a nice day. The contrast from London was amazing. He wasn’t sure his neighbour there had ever wished him a good morning. Certainly boarding the underground was an exercise in ‘eyes down and look busy.’ No greeting there. But here, when Tom had taken a seat in the waiting room for his driving test, he was astounded when the next gentleman in, without a pause, cheerfully announced, ‘Good morning, everybody.’

To which everyone replied, ‘Good morning’, or a few said, ‘Good morning, Samuel’, if they knew him, including the driving officials sitting behind the counters. Tom almost fell out of his seat. He knew he was going to love it here.

‘So, Mrs Cooper, may I suggest leaving the dressing I’ve put over the road rash in place for two or three days. It will give the wound a little time to seal over. The silver paste will keep it disinfected, and the dressing is absorbent to keep the wound dry. It’s not waterproof, so I’m afraid swimming and bathing is best avoided. Sorry, you’ll need to keep out of the sea for a bit.’

‘Tom Governor, I think you and your wife are the only people swimming in March. It’s far too cold for any self-respecting Bermudian. Has no one told you yet? We don’t go in until 1 May. Now, Tom, when can I get back on my scooter?’

‘Are you sure you want to just yet? Wouldn’t your car be safer?’ asked Tom.

‘Of course not. I only came off as I was caught in that downpour last night. Quite the norm. You’ll see.’

Tom had seen. Everyday someone came in with road rash. They all whizzed around, weaving in and out of the traffic, so it was little wonder so many took a slide. Mrs Cooper was in her fifties, but he doubted this slowed her down. The speed limit was only twenty miles per hour, but few took any notice, no one wore a helmet and everyone enjoyed rum.

‘In that case, there isn’t really a medical reason not to ride, but you might want to wear trousers rather than your dress or skirt to give a bit more protection to the wound in case you slip off again.’

‘No fear of that, young Tom. One fall a year is enough for me’, said Mrs Cooper, pulling her keys out of her purse. ‘Thank you once again. We’re so lucky to have you. What do I owe you?’

‘Just the cost of the ointment and dressings, so six dollars if I may.’

‘Nothing for actually dressing the wound yourself?’

‘No, that was my pleasure. Very happy to help out.’

‘Oh Tom, you are good to us. Listen—are you and Mrs G still coming over a week Saturday? Drinks from seven thirty. Patrick has a few from his New York office coming, but other than that the usual crowd. If it wasn’t for you two, we’d all talk reinsurance all night.’

‘We’ll be there. Looking forward to a fun evening as always. Anything we can bring?’ ventured Tom.

‘Just yourselves, and your swimmers although the pool’s freezing, so might just be an evening for drinks around the fire pit.’

‘We’d swim anyway, particularly after a few of your Dark ’n Stormys. See you next Saturday. Oh, and don’t hesitate to come back if you want me to check or change the dressing before the weekend.’

Mrs Cooper scooted away one handed as she waved to Tom. It was another stunning day. The bright sunshine enhanced the immaculately pastel painted houses. Colours that would have dulled under the grey London sky came alive, complementing the plush green lawns and azure pools. A gentle breeze washed the island in the smell of the ocean. Other than an occasional engine, the only sounds were the whistles of the Longtails that circled above, flirting in the clear spring skies. Reluctantly, he closed the door behind her. Only three hours ’til beach o’clock.

‘Mr Wilson, I believe you are next. Now what’s this about your sore bottom? Shall we go through to the private consultation room?’

 Loud enough for everyone waiting for their prescription to hear, Mr Wilson deftly blurted, ‘Only if you’ve got those rubber gloves ready’, as he clapped Tom on the back, putting a friendly bear-hug arm around his shoulder and laughing out loud.

Even with the door now shut, the volume didn’t decrease.

‘So you said it is sore, and you feel like there is something poking out of your bottom?’

‘Yes, perhaps not a tangerine in size, but like a solid bead.’

‘Has there been any blood in the loo or on the paper when you wipe?’

‘A bit of blood yes. Is that bad?’

‘Is it red blood or more mainly like coffee granules?’

‘No coffee, just red blood.’

‘That’s good, because it means that’s fresh blood rather than a bleed coming from an internal injury. Is it very sore or itchy, and can you push the bead back into your anus?’ asked Tom.

‘Yes, it does itch, and hurts after I go to the loo, you know, for a number two.’

‘Yes, I get that, and can it be pushed back in? Has this happened before?’

‘Yes, it goes back in, and I had this once before a while back, after I’d done some pretty hefty garden redesigning and had to squat a lot. It just went away, and I forgot about it.’

‘Well,’ said Tom, ‘it definitely sounds like a haemorrhoid. Good news that it’s not there all the time, but I still want you to make an appointment to see Dr Jack. With your family history, he’ll want to give you a look-over and may even want you to have a scan. In the meantime, there’s a brand-new ointment and suppository called Preparation H.’

‘Sounds like something the Black Berets might use to blow up Government House.’

‘I suppose it does. Contains oil and petroleum mainly, with something to constrict. At the end of the day, your haemorrhoid is just an inflamed blood vessel, so we need to shrink and soothe it.’

‘Will I need surgery?’

‘Possibly, but that’s a call for Dr Jack. Most times we can shrink them back in, but if it keeps recurring, then sometimes they get too painful and surgery is the best option. Rest assured they are far more common than you think. Just no one likes to talk about them, except you of course. Now the whole island is aware you’ve got them.

‘The other product is Anusol’, Tom added.

‘Anus hole! Seriously? That’s something rude I’d come up with.’

Tom chuckled. ‘Not anus hole, Anusol. Contains a steroid which helps with the inflammation.’

‘Christ, can you imagine me on steroids? I have got the Non-Mariners Race coming up. Normally filling the boat full of bikini-clad oarswomen wins the day, but with my...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 25.4.2024
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3509-4393-1 / 9798350943931