‘This odd baby story is doing the rounds, and now the BBC and the world’s media has got images of the baby with Roskov.’

  ‘Abandoned by its mother?’

  ‘Baby out of wedlock, the shame perhaps in Catholic Italy, but they say the baby was … mistreated, signs of torture, and then it was abandoned.’

  ‘Dear god.’

  The long road to recovery

  I woke to find a different nurse with me, the baby gone, and that I needed a pee. ‘You speak English?’

  ‘Yes, nurses for you must speak some English.’

  ‘Cardboard tube for urine, I need you to take the piss.’

  Without getting the joke, she fetched one from under the bed, the bed clothes pulled down, and I was mildly aroused as she handled my cock. I tried to relax and pee, and when I did I screamed.

  ‘You will feel some pain for a while,’ came as a redundant understatement.

  Cock cleaned up, and I was breathing heavily, the pain easing second by second.

  ‘You go to surgery in two hours, no food.’

  ‘I understand.’

  I was not overly worried by the pending surgery, it would be quite straight forwards as far as operations went.

  For that operation, I knew that I would be on my stomach, and that they would cut a slice into my skin where the hips were broken. Two screw-holes made in the bone, and a flat graphite pin half an inch wide would be placed across the bone break, special screws used to fit it to my hips.

  It would pull the two parts together and stop them moving apart in the short term and in the future. I would have two scars, but in an area that would be generally unseen unless I was getting a massage.

  An hour later, and the twins arrived with Ingrid.

  ‘How are you today?’ Rita asked.

  ‘Alive, which is better than the alternative. How’s Carter?’

  ‘We can ask now, he was asleep last night.’

  ‘Is Rolf awake?’

  ‘Yes, we just talk to him.’

  ‘Were his first words stop fussing?’

  ‘No, he need a pee first, then he told us to stop fussing, and he told mum where his will and legal documents were, so she told him to shut the fuck up and get well.’

  ‘Surgery today?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, their best teams they said, and there are reporters outside. We came in the back way, now a police escort for us.’

  ‘The news in Sweden..?’

  They lost their smiles.

  Rita began, ‘They list the dead passengers, crying families seen, one hundred and four dead. The families of the survivors fly here today, and the Swedish ambassador is here.

  ‘One dead passenger had an American passport, so they show him on the news in America. And the husband was interviewed here in Milan, of a woman with a teenage daughter that you took off the plane.’

  ‘Find out for me about the old Italian lady I helped.’

  ‘We ask later, yes. Your surgery is one hour only.’

  ‘Did they say where the breaks were in my hips?’

  ‘Top middle, left and right.’

  ‘Iliac Crest?’

  ‘Yes, that’s it, at the top, but small, not a big break.’

  ‘And Rolf?’

  ‘Same almost they said, but his ball socket something is damaged, and tendons hurt, and tendons in the spine, and his left knee is hurt.’

  ‘And my spine?’

  ‘Tendons hurt, maybe some disc damaged, but they scanned you with a big machine and they said and the spine is not broken.’

  ‘As soon as they can move me I’m heading to the hotel in Corsica,’ I threatened.

  ‘We get the best doctors,’ Rita assured me.

  A grey-haired doctor appeared with a team, but also with the baby in a nurse’s arms, the baby crying again. I lifted my arms to accept the baby, the nurse looking frustrated.

  Seeing me, the baby stopped crying, and once on my chest she closed her eyes.

  ‘Amazing,’ the doctor noted. ‘For you she stops crying, yet you did not raise her.’

  ‘The twins are the same,’ I told him. ‘Head on my chest and they go to sleep very quickly.’

  The twins looked embarrassed as they smiled, heads lowered.

  The doctor added, a glance at the twins, ‘We will take you to surgery in an hour, it is a simple operation, no complications, at least we hope no complications,’ he sighed out; a complaint. ‘We have a million reporters outside.’

  ‘Waste of time for them, all the passengers are in bed,’ I noted. ‘But it helps your hospital to look good, so … bring one in. Do you ask for charity money?’

  ‘Yes, of course, for our cancer wing especially and the children’s ward.’

  ‘Bring one in now then, I can help you.’

  Fifteen minutes later and two snappers were led in, the baby still asleep on me, the baby being photographed more than myself.

  One man asked, in broken English, ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’ll be OK. But while you’re here, I want to raise money for this hospital’s children’s ward, so please ask people to send money here.’

  The doctor clarified it, the snappers taking notes.

  With the snappers ushered out, the doctor noted, ‘This helps, yes, to have you ask for the money. One time, we have Sophia Loren ask for money for us.’

  ‘Does my travel insurance cover the surgery?’

  ‘You are EU, we are EU, we have no need of the aircraft insurance. But for injuries like this you will get a lot of money from the airline.’

  With a hand gently stroking the baby’s head, the twins about to explode and demand to be made pregnant, I told him, ‘I’ll donate it to your children’s ward, I have enough money.’

  When it was time to go to surgery I was a little nervous, and I was not sure why, probably because I had never been under the knife before like this. The needle went into my arm, and the lights went out.

  I woke face down, surrounded by special pillows and rubber supports, and I could not have moved if I wanted to. Lifting my head, Frieda was sat reading a paperback.

  ‘Hey, babes, got some water?’ I croaked out.

  She fetched the plastic water bottle and I sucked on the straw, small amounts swallowed each time, awkward in this position.

  ‘What time is it?’ I finally asked, feeling groggy.

  She checked her watch. ‘Twelve o’clock. Midday.’

  ‘Rolf?’

  ‘Out of surgery already, they said it all went OK.’

  ‘Has Ingrid stopped fussing yet?’

  ‘She is feeling a little better, hard to sleep last night.’

  ‘Who’s answering the phone in Sweden?’

  ‘Our friend from the other agency, and she talks to Trish in London. They delay our assignments.’ She saddened. ‘In Sweden today they hold a minute’s silence, flags at half-mast.’

  I considered the dead passengers, and the grieving families. ‘My parents?’

  ‘Arrive tomorrow they said, Trish is helping them, and a man from The Sun newspaper organises security for them. Oh, the girl you saved with her mother, she is in our old school; we spoke to the father here.’

  ‘A happy ending for some,’ I sighed out. ‘Not for most of them.’

  ‘The Italians are going crazy about the baby, the miracle baby.’

  ‘It was odd, to find her there.’

  ‘The Pope is talking about her.’

  My eyes widened. ‘The Pope?’

  ‘Yes, they will investigate they said, a modern miracle.’

  ‘Bollocks. If there was a god, I don’t think he would sacrifice a plane full of people for one fucking baby!’

  ‘Well … no,’ she agreed.

  Rita walked in with Ingrid.

  ‘How’s grumpy?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s awake and OK, they said it went OK.’

  ‘Best thing to do … is shove a finger up his bum and ask if he can feel that. Tell him the doctors said to do it.’

  Rita slapped my leg. ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘Touch my hips and legs,’ I requested.

  She did. ‘You feel that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She probed all around my arse and thighs, and I could feel the gentle touch, so there was no nerve damage.

  ‘My cock is OK as well, the nurse touched me up when I had a pee, so I can still have kids.’

  ‘This baby stops crying only for you,’ Rita complained. ‘I held her and she was not happy.’

  ‘When we have kids … they’ll cry when I lift them up, trust me.’

  ‘We will have kids some day?’ Rita nudged.

  ‘I hope so, but not yet, we need to make some money first; kids are expensive.’

  ‘You and father will get a million Euro each,’ Frieda put in.

  ‘A million? Good money.’

  ‘Your injuries … they say could affect the rest of your life,’ Rita pointed out.

  ‘No, I’ll get back to fitness, one way or another. I’m not lying in this bed for too long. What about Carter?’

  ‘There is a man here from the British Embassy.’

  ‘Fetch him please.’

  Ten minutes later the man appeared, a smartly dressed official with a cold professional smile. He stood where I could see him. ‘How are you, Mister Roskov?’

  ‘Fine. How’s Carter?’

  ‘Well, I’d be lying if I said he’d return to duty, would take a year to heal properly and to assess him fully, and I doubt he would want a desk job.’

  ‘No, not a desk job. How much of a pay-out will he get?’

  ‘The airline will pay a good sum, and he’ll get a government pension for life – injured in the line of duty, a small pay-out as well. So he’ll be taken care of, yet … his state of mind will be an issue, it always is in cases like this.’

  ‘I’ll help him, don’t worry, we’ll get him a shack on a beach with a nice girl. What about his injuries, will they operate?’

  ‘They have discussed with me the same operation as you, and I have to check with our British doctors today, but we will suggest that operation, yes.’

  ‘Any spinal problems?’

  ‘Some damage they said, a cracked disc or two, some tendon damage, in fact a great deal of tendon damage, so he may need secondary operations for the tendons.’

  ‘I’ll get him good private doctors.’

  ‘Harley Street will do the operations, he’s covered for things like that.’

  ‘They don’t cover his state of mind, and some old fart of a psychiatrist won’t help. I can help, if you release him.’

  ‘They won’t release him yet, we need the doctors to hand us a long-term prognosis first, after a few months of assessment.’

  ‘Any rules about him taking a holiday during that time?’ I asked.

  ‘No, not as such.’

  ‘Then we’ll take a holiday, and I’ll fix his state of mind.’

  ‘When you’re ready we’ll need a statement, but we can’t step on the toes of the Italians, and the air crash people are here already.’

  ‘Have the air crash people come take a statement from me later, one man with a tape recorder. You can have someone sit in on it to save time.’

  ‘Are you … well enough?’

  ‘Bollocks to my well-being, Mister Grey Suit Official, sort it for later. The air crash people need timely answers, so too the families of the dead.’

  ‘Right, I’ll … sort it with the doctors.’

  With the man gone, Ingrid told me, ‘You need to rest.’

  ‘The families need to know, and the air crash people need to move fast, or this happens to someone else next month,’ I insisted. ‘You have your family, others don’t.’

  She lowered her head.

  ‘I’ll rest now, do the interview later – from this odd position. Oh, and bring the baby in later, I’m missing her already.’

  No hospital jelly please

  I woke a few hours later, hungry as hell, but I was only allowed liquid supplements at the moment. Sucking slowly, I downed a small bottle of something red, not sure what it was, pains shooting up my back and down my legs.

  After a firm request, they let me suck the straw on a warm coffee with sugar, but not much, before my guests arrived, three chairs made ready so that I could see them side-on, Rita reporting that the hospital managers were not happy.

  But my appeal for funds for the children’s ward had gone on national TV, so they could not complain about me being a bad patient, not too much at least.

  In came a man in a utility waistcoat - I pegged him straight away as the air-crash investigator, and he was followed by an officious looking man in a suit, finally an Italian police officer in a suit but with a badge displayed.

  They all said hello and stated their names and occupations, tape machine made ready on a table next to the bed and aimed at me.

  ‘Thanks for seeing us,’ the air crash investigator began, an American accent to him. ‘I know you’re in pain, but time is critical. These investigations can take months, they’re slow and steady, but if we found a fault this week and reported it we might save lives next week.’

  ‘You’re preaching to the faithful, and there’s no need for that; I called for you, remember. I’ll make a statement, then you can ask questions, or ask for clarification as we go.’

  ‘Great, thanks.’

  ‘The problems started with the explosive decompression over the Alps; there were no issues before that, it was a smooth flight. My ear popped, started to bleed, there was a bang and a hiss, some white mist in the cabin, women screaming.

  ‘The masks came down very quickly, and we descended down to ten thousand I guess, I could feel us nose down. I got Rolf’s mask on for him then my own, and we could breathe OK, and the panic had gone.’

  ‘Was there an announcement?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No announcement.’

  ‘Following an explosive decompression the pilot should have been reassuring you all…’

  ‘Maybe he was busy with something.’

  They made notes.

  ‘That’s very odd, and … a good indicator that something was wrong in the cockpit, besides the decompression.’

  I continued, ‘At ten thousand we levelled off and flew in a stable manner, a straight line, no course change at all, but that only lasted a minute or two before it fell dead quiet, the engines off.

  ‘I figured I was deaf, my ears at fault, so I asked Rolf – the twins’ father, and he confirmed that it was dead quiet.’

  ‘How long, from levelling off?’ he asked.

  ‘A minute or two I guess.’

  ‘And the descent?’

  ‘Not long, a minute maybe.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘When the engines fell silent I knew that we were screwed, and … I discussed a few morbid topics with Rolf, and he sent a text message on his phone, suggesting that … just before we hit the ground the signal might get through.

  ‘As we dropped lower I could see the mountains coming up, and then we had an announcement, passengers and crew to get ready for an emergency landing.’

  ‘Did he sound calm?’

  ‘No. The aircraft then banked hard left, then hard right, passengers screaming. When we banked hard over again I could see the area of trees, and at least it looked flat, an oblong stretching away from us like a green pool table top, and it seemed that we were headed for it.

  ‘At first I thought it might have been grass, but could then see that it was trees, conifers, a plantation. We banked a few times, nosed down and then up, banked again, then came in to land on the trees, which I think was a brilliant move by the captain, and he’ll get my praise in the media.

  ‘I don’t know if there was a road or a field for him to land us on, but he used the trees to slow us right down, and I could see us being swallowed in the trees, and we did slow down nicely.

  ‘But when we hit the trees the vibration started, and everyone was thrown side to side, a huge roar and a very violent vibration side to side.’

  ‘Side to side, not up and down.’

  ‘Side to side shaking as we hit the trees. Up ahead, I could see an air hostess; she was strapped into her seat but was being thrown around like a rag doll, her head smashed against the wall, a huge pool of blood up the wall.’

  ‘She should have been strapped in properly…’

  ‘Obviously not. And she was dead before we came to a stop. What I can say … is that most everyone else was alive when we came to a stop. Some were moaning, some were moving and unclicking their seatbelts.

  ‘I saw people in a stupor, but none were unconscious or apparently dead. They … were all alive and could have got off the plane.’

  ‘Was there an announcement?’

  ‘No, just silence, all quiet, a few quiet moans. I was in agony - my hips, but I had lifted my arm rest to stop it hurting me. I lifted the second arm rest to get to Rolf, but the pain stopped me from doing anything.

  ‘I then hit on the idea of tightening my trouser belt, and that worked, the pain eased, and I helped Rolf get to the exit. I read the instructions and opened the exit easily enough, and I pushed it through and out.

  ‘I helped Rolf get outside and I told him to help me with the passengers as I passed them through, but he was in a great deal of pain.

  ‘I grabbed the old lady first, since she was right there in the row of exit seats, and I passed her to Rolf, but they just collapsed in a heap so I had to help them along the wing.

  ‘I could hardly see the wing, it was covered in green leaves, soft to land on and easy to walk on, the leading edge all embedded with trees, the engine fifty yards back.’

  ‘The starboard engine was detached?’

  ‘Yes, back fifty yards and smoking. We did dump fuel, I saw that, and I hoped with Rolf that the engine would be cold on crash-landing.

  ‘But as soon as I opened the exit we could smell the fuel, it was choking us; I could hardly breathe. I helped Rolf and the old lady along the wing and then left them, returning to the aircraft.

  ‘Inside, a man was crawling on hands and knees to the exit, so I helped him out and along the wing a few yards, but he could crawl on his hands and knees so I left him and went back inside.