Father & Son: Book two of the Jensen Family Series (16 page)

“Yeah, I’ve had trouble starting it a few
times but the new engine you had put in is sweet as a nut, once you get it
started.”

“I had the same trouble the other night;
I’ll look into getting a new battery.” Paul answered but his brother had
wondered away to talk to the group of girls now making their way back towards
them. With his hip against the wing and his right hand resting in the sill of
the bonnet, fingers dangling into the engine compartment, Paul watched his
brother turn up the charm, choosing not to get involved as girls would often
overlook Matt in his presence.

Taking the number one of the girls handed
him, Matt was promising to call as he turned away from the departing females.
He held up the piece of paper, grinning at his brother.

“Nicely done!” Paul retuned the smile.
“You should bring them to the club.”

“Yeah, I was going to ask you about the
benefits I should get with you working at the club.” He quipped.

“I think I can get you and three other
people in.” Paul told him. “I’ll ask Jez on Friday.”

“If you can get me in free, I’ll be able
to contribute a bit more towards the car…..” Matt paused when Michael appeared,
not sure what to make of his father’s intentions when he unclipped the bonnet
stay. He realised too late that Michael was preparing to take the opportunity
presented to him and shouted “No.” As he tried in vain to reach him before he
could carry out his actions.

Paul had begun to turn in Matt’s direction
when he heard the bonnet slam shut. A moment of stunned silence followed before
the pain hit as he tried to remove his hand from the engine compartment. His
brain’s pain receptors finally caught on and Paul dropped to his knees,
screaming in agony, his hand still trapped from the knuckles between the wing
and the bonnet, “Get it off, get it off.” He shouted at his brother.

The commotion had bought Monica out of the
house as Matt fervently groped for the bonnet clip and finally located it.
Snatching up the bonnet and securing it, he then made his way to Paul’s side
and hauled him to his feet.

With his hand now free, Paul chanced a
look at it, sure that his fingers must be broken. Blood was pouring from all
four fingers, his thumb having escaped any damage, the skin was peeled back and
he wasn’t sure if that was bone or ligament he could see glaring through the
blood.

“What happened?” Monica asked, stepping
around her husband to get to her son.

“Just teaching the boy a lesson.” Michael
answered.

Not quite believing what she was hearing,
Monica swung around to confront Michael, “What?” She shrieked.

Both of them jumped as a feral roar
sounded behind them and Monica stepped back as Paul, quite literally dragging
Matt, surged past her towards Michael. “Paul don’t!” She shouted but he didn’t
hear her.

As the initial shock dissipated and the
overwhelming pain subsiding to sharp throb, Paul, quite frankly, lost it. He
rarely allowed his temper full reign but he had now reached the limit of his
restraint and for the first time in his life he retaliated.

He felt immense pleasure at Michael’s
stunned face as he approached but the feeling of his elbow connecting with his
fathers’ face and the crunch of bone beneath it was almost orgasmic. His
adrenalin rush faded quickly as his fathers’ hands covered his face, his own
screams of pain muffled by them and the blood springing forth.

“Mum, we need to call an ambulance.”
Matt’s voice shook her out of her trace and she took stock of the situation,
her son and her husband were bleeding, in pain and in need of help. Reason took
over and she sprang into action.

After steadfastly refusing to get into the
same ambulance as his father, Paul arrived at the hospital with his Mother, his
hand wrapped in a towel as it continued to drip.

Monica had tried to get him to talk on the
way but Paul remained silent, brooding and clearly still angry. They were
ushered through to see the triage nurse where Paul gave the basic details of
the accident, was given a painkiller and sent for an x-ray.

When she rose from her seat to accompany
him to the x-ray department, he told her to go and check on Michael and asked
Matt to come with him.

“Paul? You ok?” Matt tentatively broached
the question.

“I’ll be fine.”

“I can’t believe you went for Dad like
that.”

“Me either. God it felt good.” Paul
admitted.

By the time he’d had his bones
photographed, Monica was waiting for him. Michael had been taken to surgery to
have his nose re-set and to see if the teeth that had been dislodged by Paul’s
elbow could be re-seated. She stayed by his side while the doctors examined
both his x-rays and his fingers and she heaved a sigh of relief when they were
told that the fingers were not broken but that he would need surgery to
properly allow the skin to be cleaned and re-attached.

“There’s a slight chip to the bone of your
index finger but it’s miniscule and will heal on its own. The skin is a bit of
a worry, it’s quite literally peeled back and I’m not sure we will be able to
save it all, you may require a skin graft.

“Ok.” Paul answered, his pain levels were
beginning to ratchet up again and he really didn’t want to talk anymore.

“When will you do the surgery?” Monica
asked.

“As soon as your husband is out and
settled, we’ll take Paul in.” The doctor assured her, “The sooner we get this
done the better. In the meantime, I’ll ask a nurse to go through the admission
and consent forms with you and get you into a robe.”

Paul succumbed quickly to the anaesthetic
and before he knew it, he was waking in a quiet room, just the murmur of a soft
voice close by. Although still drowsy, he remembered quite clearly where he was
and what had happened. He shuffled into a semi sitting position, feeling a pull
on his left arm, he looked down to see a dressing on the inside of his left bicep
and correctly guessed the surgeon had taken some skin from there to properly
close the wounds on his hand. He looked to his right where his hand was heavily
bandaged, a plastic splint under his fingers to prevent their movement.

“Hello darling.” Monica’s voice now had
him turning away from the bandage to look into her concerned face.

“Mum.” He croaked and smiled gratefully
when she held a glass of water complete with a straw up to him. “Thanks.”

“You weren’t out very long, how do you
feel?”

“Tired but I’m ok.” He sat up further and
that was when he noticed his father laying in the bed opposite him. “When can I
leave?” He asked.

Puzzled by the way in which he’d asked the
question, Monica followed his gaze before answering “Probably tomorrow.”

“Good, in the meantime, can I be moved to
another room? It might stop me smothering him in his sleep.” He growled.

“Paul! You mustn’t speak like that.”
Monica gasped.

“He slammed the bonnet shut on my hand
Mum, if Matt hadn’t pulled me off I doubt very much I would’ve stopped hitting
him.” He paused, “I can’t come home, you know that don’t you?”

“It’ll all blow over and I’m sure now that
you’ve stood up to him, there won’t be any further retaliation.”

“I’m not worried about that, I’m more
concerned with how I’ll handle being around him. I lost it Mum, I completely
let go of all that hate that’s been building and I wouldn’t have cared less if
I’d killed him. I promised myself I would never do that, that I wouldn’t become
like him but it turns out I’m just as bad.”

“No, you are nothing like him; don’t ever
beat yourself up over that. I love your father, you know I do but even I have
to admit that he had this coming. I’ll take you home tomorrow and we can hash
it out and decide what to do.”

“I’m not coming home.” He stated. “If you
want to help me, then pack up my things and bring them with you tomorrow.”

“You don’t have anywhere to go.”

“There’s always someone who will put me
up. I can start off at Grandmas’ and take it from there.” He drew silent as a
nurse entered and first checked on Michael before turning to him and checking
his charts. She smiled when he said he wasn’t in pain but he was starving and
could he have some food. She left the room with an “Of course.” leaving him to
continue his conversation. “I need you to make some calls for me to Phil and
Jez, explain what’s happened and that I’ll call them in a few days.”

“Alright.” She took a pad and pen out of
her bag and noted the numbers as he recited them. “I’m going to call John. I
think it would be better if you stayed with him for a while until you are ready
to come home. I think Grandma and Grandpa are a little old to deal with all
this now.”

“Thanks Mum. Don’t get your hopes up about
me ever coming home, at least not all the time he’s there.”

John had his spare bedroom ready for
Paul’s arrival along with new towels and he even had dinner on the go when his
sister and nephew arrived.

Paul chuckled at the preparations his
Uncle had made, certain that he’d only done it to show his mother how well he
would be taken care of.

Monica helped her son unpack all the while
telling Paul that she was by no means happy about this and asking him several
times to reconsider. She stayed for dinner which was a muted affair with the
mood she was in and the subsequent one she had put Paul in.

Predominately right handed Paul struggled
with cutting his food and sat in silence while Monica cut it into bite sized
pieces, souring his mood further. Both he and John heaved a sigh of relief when
she left for home.

“Ok, glad that’s over.” John breathed and
gestured for Paul to join him in the living room. “I wanted to go over some
house rules with you.” He reached for his cigarettes. “Don’t look so worried.
First things first. No mud in the flat ok? You get changed in the bathroom if
you come home muddy.”

“Ok.”

“Next, I have a lady that comes in three
times a week to keep this place spick and span, I’ve already let her know that
you are going to be living here and given her the pay rise that goes along with
the burden of caring for two bachelors however, there are things I don’t expect
her to do. One of them is pick up after either of us so with that in mind; any
dirty laundry you have gets put in the wicker basket in the bathroom. If it’s
not in there, it won’t get washed. If you take food into your room, make sure
you bring whatever you used out again, I don’t expect her to have to pick up
mouldy plates. Other than that, this place is as much your home as it is mine.”
He leaned back and fished a key out of his pocket and handed it to Paul, “Any
questions?”

“Yeah, do you expect me to be home at a
certain time? Can I have friends over, you know stuff like that.”

“Well, your work at the club doesn’t allow
for me to set a curfew now does it? All I ask is you respect the fact that I
have to work Monday to Friday and to be quiet when you come home, the same
applies to your friends and any girls you want to bring back.” He grinned when
Paul gave him a slightly shocked look, “I’m a realist Paul, I know you are
going to bring girls back here and I don’t have a problem with it, I do expect
you to use a little discretion though.”

“Yeah, of course I’ll be discrete. How
much do you want me to give you for rent?”

“I don’t want your money.”

“I paid rent at home,” Paul shrugged,
“It’s no big deal.”

“You paid rent?”

Paul nodded, “Uhuh, I started giving Mum
money when I began working full time. She never asked for it but it just seemed
right and it meant she has her own money you know because Dad didn’t want her
to work so she didn’t have to ask him for some and have to justify what she
spent it on. So it makes sense to me to pay rent here. You’ve already said
you’ve given the cleaning lady more money because I’m here, I’m happy to pay
her wages in place of rent if you prefer.”

“You’re a good kid, my little sister did a
great job on you. Ok, you pay the cleaner and we’ll call it quits.” He finally
got around to lighting the cigarette in his hand. “So, you whacked the old man
huh?”

“I don’t want to talk about that tonight
if you don’t mind. Maybe tomorrow ok?”

“Whenever you’re ready kid.”  John nodded.
“I’m here when you’re ready.”

Paul returned to work the following day.
He arrived on site late as usual having asked John to drop him off on his way
to the factory. Settling his backside on the rear lip of the van, he reached
back for his work boots with his right hand before remembering that he couldn’t
pick them up. Grabbing them with his left hand, he dropped them to the floor
and proceeded to pry his trainers from his feet. Once he had the boots on, he
bent at the waist to thread the laces through the eyelets and quickly became
frustrated that he couldn’t even do that, he was completely useless with his
left hand.

The youngest member of the crew, Justin
came over and knelt to tie his boots for him. He didn’t say a word, picking up
on Paul’s embarrassment. He just tied the boots and went back to work. Paul
stood, grabbed a spade and headed to a flower bed and a waiting rose bush.
Setting the handle of the spade against the heel of his hand, pressing it
against the splint, he grabbed the shaft of it with his left hand and began to
dig.

It was hard going even though the ground
was soft. With the splint concealed in the bandages, he had no movement in his
fingers, the thing didn’t even give a little and the handle of the spade kept
slipping out of his hand. He was sweating profusely by the time Phil called tea
break.

Slumping into one of the old foldable
garden chairs they used on site, Paul gratefully accepted a cup of stewed tea
from the flask and hunkered down for a nice session of self-pity and brooding.

“What are you doing here Paul?” Phil asked
softly, leaning close so the others wouldn’t hear as they good naturedly ribbed
each other.

“I thought I was planting a rose bush.” He
answered. “It’s harder than I figured it would be.” He pulled a face, his hand
was stinging now from the built up sweat beneath the bandage.

“Why don’t you let me take you home?” Phil
offered.

“That would mean he’s won.” Paul murmured.

“No it wouldn’t, you came to work and got
stuck in, if what I read in the papers is true, he’s still wallowing in a
hospital bed, you did that, you stopped him in his tracks, you win.” Even
though Paul had never admitted that the bruises he’d turned up on site with
were caused by his Father’s hands, Phil had guessed and therefore, Paul had
never denied the fact either.

“Alright, let me just finish what I think
is tea,” he grinned at the older man, “then you can take me home which, by the
way, is my Uncle’s flat now. I moved out of home.”

“That was probably a wise decision.” Phil
nodded in agreement. “If you want to help, the phone company is coming tomorrow
to set up the lines to the Portacabin and it would save me having to sit there
if you could cover it.” Phil took the cup from him and threw out the last of
the tea as he stood.

“Yeah ok, I can do that.” He agreed. “Once
the phones are in, I’ll order a couple of desks and stuff, I can at least do
that with one hand.”

They’d made it to Phil’s van and he’d
managed to fasten his seatbelt one handed.

“Sounds like a plan. When does the
dressing come off?”

“Not sure but I have an appointment with
the surgeon the day after tomorrow, I’ll know more then.”

The following day, Paul spent doing what
he did best, spending vast amounts of money. Although the local council had
denied planning permission for a nest of small offices, they had allowed the
Portacabin and Paul set about furnishing it lavishly, just because it was
basically a hut, didn’t mean it had to be shabby inside. Several calls and a
healthy bribe to the council meant he was allowed another two Portacabins and
an old shipping container in the yard too. The container would be used for
storing the tools, one of the cabins would be turned into a mess come changing
room for his work force, complete with heating and showers, the extra cabin
would eventually be used for the administration staff he intended to hire in a
few months once he had finished building up his company further with the
addition of several tradesmen which meant everyone would be able to work year
round and not be governed by the seasons when it came to outside and gardening
work.

His splint was removed and the doctor made
positive sounds about the skin graft taking. He was given a series of exercises
to do to aid the recovery of his tendons. He was absolutely forbidden to work
once he explained what he did. That meant no bar tending or gardening until his
wounds were properly healed and the stitches removed. The only thing he was
allowed to do was office work, the doctor told him that holding a pen again would
be good for his hand and although he wasn’t relishing the thought of returning
to the office, he knew he’d have to do it sooner or later and that Michael was
easily avoided there. In the meantime, he had his own paperwork to complete and
after a call to Jez, he also had a pile of requisitions from the club to do
too.