JONATHON - Book 1 [Watty Awards 2012]

Chapter 1

When Beatrice Elizabeth Roberts started out on that late afternoon walk, little did she know that it would change her life forever.

It had been one of those rare February days, cold but with bright sunshine which showed the promise of spring and better days to come. Bea had been restless all day, longing to go for the brisk walk she was sure would invigorate her. But she'd needed to wait in for the insurance man. He hadn't come until after lunch and it was a little late now to be going for a walk and get back home before dark. She told herself she would be sensible and not go too far. She put on her dark green body warmer and matching Husky jacket, collected her keys and a small bottle of water. At the last moment she popped her mobile phone into her pocket. It was a Christmas present from her brother and she wasn’t even sure she knew how to use it properly. Graham, worried about her living on her own, insisted she not leave home without it.

Bea locked her door and stood for a moment breathing in the cold, fresh air before setting off at a brisk pace. The patchworked fields, bordered by hedgerows, washed in golden sunshine lifted her spirits. It wasn’t long before she reached the woodland trail. At every turn there was an abundance of snowdrops, appearing as a white foam on the floor of the forest, with aconites sprinkled amongst them  resembling tiny drips from the sun.  Later in the year there would be an azure mist of bluebells carpeting the ground.

She slowed her pace, slightly out of breath; she really should do something about her weight and try to exercise more too. At her age skin was no longer so elastic and she didn't want the flabby, plucked-chicken skin seen exposed on some womens' upper arms and necks when sporting their summer dresses. A course of keep-fit classes was starting soon at the village hall, she ought to join. She brought herself up short, stop being such a silly woman and look at the lovely woodlands, she chided herself. And then she became aware that something else had broken into her thoughts. Was it a movement? A noise?

She stopped, looked and listened. She wasn't alarmed, just curious. Bea waited a few moments but there was nothing. She glanced at her watch and was surprised to see how late it was growing. She hadn’t realised she'd walked that far. She really would have to step it out now to be back before dark. Bea turned to retrace her footsteps when she heard it again, surely the sound that had first caused her to pause. Her heart quickened with the first stirrings of alarm. Something. . . Someone moaning in obvious pain. Dear God, what was it? Where was it? Without thought for her safety Bea found herself calling out.

‘Hello! Hello? Anybody there?’ There was only silence. ‘Hello. What’s the matter?’ Nothing stirred. But she was sure. . . She started forward to where she thought the sound first emanated from. The moan came again, not so loud but more distressed than ever. Bea rushed towards it, undergrowth and brambles catching at her trousers, slowing her progress.

‘Hold on.’ she panted. ‘Can you hear me?’ Only another fainter moan answered her. And then, there he was, lying face down in a small clearing, dressed only in white shirt, jeans and trainers on this cold and growing colder, February day.

‘Oh my goodness!’ Bea ran to him.

She knelt and placed her hand on his neck. There was a pulse, but he was so cold. And drunk! She could smell the alcohol on him. She took off her jacket, wrapped it round him and began chafing his hands. Even without injuries she knew he could die of the cold. He didn't stir, he'd lapsed into unconsciousness. The phone! She retrieved it from her jacket pocket, rang 999 and asked for the ambulance service.

‘Hello! Yes, a young man, drunk and unconscious. He’s extremely cold, he's only wearing a thin shirt and jeans. I can’t see any blood or bruises. I don’t know how long he’s been like this. What shall I do?’