Doyle arrived at Cowley's office after a gruelling day that had ended with a trip to Casualty to have his cuts and bruises attended to. He wanted nothing more than to go home, but the summons came as he was getting his leg stitched that Cowley wanted him and would wait for him to arrive. It was getting on for 9 in the evening when 4.5 turned up at the office looking weary and bloodied
"I think you need a few sessions with Macklin to sharpen you up a bit," Cowley commented as his agent sat down carefully. It didn't improve Doyle's mood.
"Five to two was pushing it a bit, sir," was all Doyle allowed himself to say. You bloody try it, was what he was thinking.
Cowley heard the tone however and made his agent a placatory cup of tea. "I know you want to go home, lad," he began, handing over a cup, "but Bodie has been making a nuisance of himself."
Bodie had broken his leg badly. He'd been in hospital for several weeks and had now been transferred to a rehabilitation centre in the countryside, the dreaded plaster cast replaced by a light brace, for physiotherapy.
"He never gives up, does he? Can't they roster in male nurses instead?"
Cowley smiled and saw his agent looking a little more relaxed. The tea was doing its work. "It's worse than that."
"He's not bothering the doctors as well is he?!" Doyle joked, trying to sound shocked.
Cowley grinned, glad that his agent was easing into a better mood; it would make his next order a little easier to deliver. "Now then," he rebuked mildly, "The doctors say that he's not following orders …"
"No change there then."
"… and is trying to push himself too hard. They've told him that if he puts too much weight on the leg too early he could shatter the bone irreparably."
"So sheer common sense isn't working then?"
"When did it?"
"True," Doyle murmured, wondering where this was leading.
"So I want you to get over there tonight and stay with him until you think he's safe to be left alone. Pack a few things. If it's any consolation, I'm not happy about this either – and you can tell Bodie that from me."
Doyle groaned. All he wanted was food, a hot shower and bed. Nurse-maiding Bodie had certainly not been on his agenda. True, he had felt guilty that he hadn't had much time for hospital visits and, now that his mate was out in the country, Doyle couldn't see a gap in his diary for some time to go out there with the grapes and sympathy.
"Does it have to be tonight, sir?"
"I'm afraid so. Most of his wanderings are nocturnal."
"Can't they just strap him down?"
Cowley's silence told Doyle that he was flogging a dead horse. Cowley had made up his mind and orders were to be followed.
"On my way, sir," Doyle said without enthusiasm.
It was after midnight before Doyle, showered and shaved at least, turned up at Henley Manor. The staff had been expecting him, and Dr Tenant led the way to a consulting room.
"Major Cowley will have explained to you that Mr Bodie has been trying to put more weight on his leg than is possible at the moment." Doyle nodded and, before he could get in a facetious comment, the doctor continued, "He seems to think that because he's now free of the plaster cast, that he's home and dry. We stopped the physiotherapy today – yesterday," he corrected, checking his fob watch, "because he's been doing too much."
Doyle was too tired to find a diplomatic way of asking what the staff were doing to restrain their wayward patient, so asked, "What do you want me to do?"
"Well most of his wanderings are at night when there are fewer staff on duty. After all, we're not a medical facility, we're a rehabilitation centre, so our clients don't need – or shouldn't need – 24 hour monitoring. We have tried sedatives, of course, but they can be addictive, so we backed off those pretty quickly. Quite frankly, we're running out of ideas."
"How long is he out of bed?"
"Well he is allowed to sit in a wheelchair. We don't want him bed-bound."
He won't like that, Doyle thought.
"But the cleaning staff most often find him asleep on the floor of the gym when they come on duty at 6. Lord knows how long he lies there. He's not helping himself, Mr Doyle."
Doyle could hear the frustration washing across the desk. "So you want me to knock some sense into him?"
The doctor looked guilty, but stuck to his resolution. "That too, but what we'd like is if you could do guard duty through the night." Dr Tenant saw that this wasn't going down well. "Perhaps tomorrow night after you've had a rest? You do look very tired, Mr Doyle, and are those bruises I can see?" He was looking at his visitor more closely now.
"Just a few knocks. You get them in our job. Before you ask, I've seen a doctor and nothing to worry about. I'll clock on tonight."
Tenant looked very relieved.
"Could you give me a tour of the place, just so that I've got a rough lay of the land?"
"Of course," Tenant said enthusiastically, fairly jumping out of his chair. Doyle noted the man's eagerness and hoped he could live up to his expectations
The tour included three fully equipped gyms and two hydrotherapy pools. There were also saunas and massage facilities. Not a bad billet at all. He also noticed handrails and ramps for those who would never leave a wheelchair and would need an altogether different kind if rehabilitation regime. Various wings and corridors were pointed out containing offices or sleeping quarters for their patients, or 'clients' as the doctor insisted on calling them. The tour finished off at a large, airy restaurant (no 'canteen' here) where Doyle was offered sandwiches from the fridge, which he gratefully accepted, and another cup of tea while Tenant went on to explain how the place ran and the type of clients they had here. The doctor was looking as tired as Doyle felt and neither side was listening much to the other at that point. Finally they went over to the room where Bodie was camped. He was sleeping the deep sleep of the innocent.
"He's either feigning, or gathering his energy for later," Tenant noted.
Doyle smiled. The man had got Bodie's number all right.
"I'll watch over from here. You get some rest."
The doctor was more than willing to get a few hours in before his 'real' job began at 9.
When the door closed, Doyle said more loudly to the prone form, "We're alone now, Bodie, so you can knock off the Sleeping Beauty act."
He got no response and he listened to his mate's breathing. The soft sibilance did sound genuine. Snubbed, he drew up a chair and was asleep after ten minutes' guard duty.
Some inbuilt alarm clock woke Bodie at his usual time of 4a.m. For the first time, he realised that he wasn't alone. He turned his head and saw his partner hunched awkwardly in a chair near his bed, his head resting on his chest, snoring gently. Bodie smiled as he slowly turned back the covers and swung his legs off the bed. Suppressing a groan, he carefully shuffled past his guard and silently made it out into the corridor. The coast was clear. He dragged himself into the next bedroom where he knew the patient, Collins, possessed a wheelchair. He wheeled himself with confidence to the gym for his exercise regime to begin.
Something woke Doyle; perhaps it was the draught from the open door. He immediately saw that his charge had given him the slip. He swore roundly to himself and headed in great haste to the nearest gym. That had to be his mate's destination. Sure enough, there was Bodie at the parallel bars, dragging himself along, grunting with pain, effort and frustration. Doyle watched for a while, the struggling patient bathed in sweat and moonlight. There was a crunch as Bodie's sweaty hand slipped off the railing and he crashed to the ground to great swearing.
That should teach him, Doyle thought to himself, but knew that it wouldn't. Even as that counter-thought crossed his brain, he saw Bodie try to get up again. Enough is enough. Doyle went over to him and crouched down.
"Like it here, do you?" he asked sarcastically.
Bodie glared angrily. "I don't need a bloody bodyguard," he snarled.
He tried to get up again and Doyle didn't help him. Bodie stayed on the floor, gathering his strength – and he didn't need Doyle's assistance.
"Cowley's not pleased at having his best man taken off the field to nursemaid you."
"Best man?!"
Doyle kept to the point. "You're doing yourself no favours you know. I also know that the doctors have warned you to keep off that leg, so I won't waste my breath."
"Know a lot don't you, professor?" Bodie countered angrily. "What the hell would you do Saint Bloody Doyle if you had a gammy leg?" There was desperation in Bodie's anger, as if he really did want an answer.
"Well, if I'd broken my leg as bad as yours, I'd thank my lucky stars that I hadn't ended up with pins or plates and that the leg brace is only temporary. Then," he added thoughtfully, settling himself more comfortably on the floor, "I'd rage at my body not healing itself as quickly as I'd want. And, yeah, I'd probably try to do some gymnastics while the staff weren't looking."
Bodie looked at him suspiciously. Doyle wasn't giving him any ammunition to hit back with.
"Then," he continued, "I'd hope that someone would come round and knock some sense into me. And, again hopefully, that I'd listen." He looked challengingly at his mate, who'd settled himself on the floor and seemed to be taking it in while trying not to look in pain.
"Think you're so clever, don't you?" The anger and the fight seemed to have left him.
Doyle ignored the jibe. "You've got a choice, Bodie," he said after a moment's reflection. "You stay here while I get that wheelchair over there and I take you back like a good boy, or I put you over my shoulder, haul you to bed and strap you down."
It was Bodie's turn to look challengingly. He saw that Doyle meant it, but he needed a way to back down with at least a scrap of dignity.
"Kinky," he said, a leer beginning to spread over his face. "I've never been strapped down before!"
If bawdiness was going to be the weapon of choice, so be it. Doyle matched Bodie's grin. "You want to try it then?" he dared, "Or will you go for the wheelchair option?"
To Doyle's relief, Bodie went for the latter.
Doyle didn't think for a moment that this was the end of Bodie bucking orders. Once he had him back to bed and they'd had a few games of cards and a long talk, a nurse came in with breakfast for two. Bodie grinned at her lewdly. She smiled and blushed before leaving hastily.
Doyle shook his head. "You don't give up do you, sunshine?"
"You either have it or you don't, Ray. By the way," he added, his bed getting increasingly crumby, "what happened to you?" The growing daylight had shown up Doyle's bruises.
"It's hairy out there, mate. You may have forgotten, but I do have work to do, and since I don't have back up …"
"Cowley hasn't let you out alone, has he?!" The question was a serious one; the anxiety genuine.
"No, I did have Murph, but there were just too many of them. Bloody Cowley suggested I have a session or two with Macklin. I'd like the two of them to take on what me and Murph had to take on yesterday – or was it the day before?" Doyle was already losing track of time.
"Just go to bed, Ray. I'll be a good boy, I promise," Bodie wheedled, at last seeing how exhausted his partner was.
Doyle finished his tea, looking at his mate suspiciously over the rim. At least the day staff were coming on duty now. They could take over guard duty.
"If I have one bad report about you, William Bodie, you'll have me AND Cowley to deal with."
Bodie smiled, crossed his heart as a silent promise, and held up his hand while mentally crossing his fingers, his mind turning over possible weaknesses in Doyle's defences.