I tried to save my girlfriend from terrorists - and ended up crippled - now she's my saviour every day

 

By Tessa Cunningham

Last updated at 9:18 AM on 07th January 2010

Will Pike and girlfriend Kelly Doyle were dressing for dinner at the famous Taj Hotel in Mumbai in November 2008 when terrorists stormed the building. Will, 30 and Kelly, 33, hid in their room as the Pakistan-trained gunmen set about slaughtering guests and staff - in all 172 people died. Fearing for their lives, the couple, both freelance film-makers from London, decided to flee - with devastating consequences.

WILL SAYS: I hit the big 30 on December 30th. It's a milestone. And as friends gathered around to toast me, there were so many reasons to feel happy.

I've got a fantastic girlfriend I'll be with for ever, wonderful friends, a terrific family and a great career.

But, while I'm determined to make the most of my 30s, my life is totally different to what I expected. And some days it's hard not to feel angry and bitter.

Battle: Kelly Doyle and Will Pike were caught up in the Mumbai hotel massacre last year and he had to leap from a third floor window to save their lives

There are mornings when I look in the mirror and see myself grappling with all the rituals that used to be so simple and the shock hits me anew. How did I end up like this - paralysed from the waist down, unable to do all the things I once took for granted like getting into the shower?

Confined to a wheelchair, I will never walk again. I can never even enjoy a full sex life nor father children normally.

My life wasn't supposed to be like this. But suddenly everything went into freefall.

It was November 2008 and we had decided to take a break in Goa. After two fantastic weeks there, we made the fateful decision to spend our last day in Mumbai.

And so, early in the afternoon of Wednesday November 26, we booked into the Taj Hotel. A magnificent Edwardian throwback to the colonial era, it's one of the world's most famous hotels.

After a spot of sightseeing in Mumbai, we were back in our room changing for dinner when I heard the first gunshot. I'd only ever heard shots on TV but I knew instantly this wasn't a car backfiring.

'All that mattered was protecting Kelly. I grabbed her hand and we ran back to our room'

I rushed to the window and saw a guy ducking behind a car as a second and then a third shot rang out. Something terrible was happening but I didn't know what - or how much danger we were in.

In fact, terrorists were already in the hotel shooting staff and guests at random while their fellow conspirators were attacking other Mumbai landmarks.

I told Kelly what I'd heard and we raced along the corridor to the top of the stairwell to peer down to the foyer three storeys below. It was full of smoke from the gunfire which seemed incessant.

My mind was racing. The hotel was six storeys high. We were trapped on the third floor with no escape route.

All that mattered was protecting Kelly. I grabbed her hand and we ran back to our room.

We locked the door and barricaded ourselves in with furniture. By now the gunshots were getting closer. We knew it must either be terrorists or a crazed gunman who would eventually run out of ammunition.

I rang my dad in London and asked him to find out what he could, though I tried to keep the panic out of my voice.

By now the hotel lights had gone out and we were in total darkness. We crept around the room, desperately looking for a hiding place. We even tried to prise up the floorboards.

Finally we hid in the bath. There wasn't any real logic. We just remembered seeing films where people caught up in bomb attacks take shelter in the bath. The most bizarre thing was that, although we were both petrified, neither of us panicked.

Carefree: Kelly and Will on holiday before the terrorists struck

We were together and that gave us the most enormous comfort. At least we stood a fighting chance of getting out safely and - if the very worst happened - we would die together.

We'd been in the room for two hours when Dad rang back. 'They're looking for anyone with a British or American passport,' he said. Fear hit like a body blow.

How could we disguise ourselves? We started practising our rusty French. Then we tried out South African accents. It was hopeless. We'd been barricaded in the room for almost three hours, listening to intermittent gunfire, when the internal phone rang.

We both froze in panic. Then I picked it up. I still don't know why. It was a woman's voice. 'Mr Doyle?' she said, using Kelly's surname. 'I'm ringing from hotel reception to tell you not to leave your room. The police are here but it's still very dangerous.'

I tried to ask her more questions but she hung up. Putting down the receiver, I was filled with a sense of doom. How could I have been so stupid? If this wasn't an innocent call, the terrorists now knew we were in our room and could pick us off at any moment.

'Terrorists were prowling the corridors with AK- 47s, picking off tourists'

Kelly was wonderful. She tried to reassure me, but I felt sick with dread.

And now the gunshots were getting closer. Terrorists were prowling the corridors with AK- 47s, picking off tourists.

I was convinced they were coming for us and grabbed the only weapons I could find - a hotel knife and fork - and took guard behind the door. Suddenly there was a series of massive explosions.

Smoke started seeping under our door. The terrorists had started a fire two floors above us. It was now sweeping through the hotel. We couldn't use the stairs.

The only way to safety was through the window - with a 50ft drop to the road below.

We'd been under siege for six hours and were convinced no one was coming to rescue us. We didn't know police were finally in the hotel, tracking down the gunmen.

Kelly found a pair of sewing scissors and started cutting up the curtains and towels. I knotted them together to make a primitive rope. By now thick black smoke was billowing under the door.

We could be engulfed in flames at any moment. I knew I had to go first. We tied one end of the 'rope' to a heavy wrought iron bedside table then smashed the double glazed window and threw the rest out.

We hugged and kissed. I whispered: 'I love you.' Then I crawled onto the balcony and launched myself off the ledge. Seconds later, I felt the rope unravel. I didn't have time to panic. I felt myself falling, then I blacked out as I crashed to the ground.

I came to briefly in an ambulance, then again on a hospital bed, and finally in a scanner. Every time I was shouting Kelly's name. I wanted to know that she was alive.

Ablaze: The Taj Hotel under attack

Suddenly she appeared - safe and uninjured having been rescued from our room by the fire brigade.

Finally, I fell asleep. Surgeons spent eight hours repairing my spine. But it would be at least three months before they'd know whether I would walk again, so I put any fears to the back of my mind.

They also operated on my shattered pelvis, my right elbow and my left wrist. I was in such a haze of pain and anaesthetic I couldn't really take in what had happened. I just felt glad we were both alive.

After ten days my insurance company arranged to fly me home. I'd expected the Foreign Office to help. After all, we'd been targeted largely because we were British. But we got no practical assistance, just a couple of courtesy visits from officials.

Everything fell to Kelly, who was deeply traumatised.

I flew home on a stretcher in the economy class section of an Air India passenger plane, surrounded by stunned holidaymakers. But it was just the beginning of my problems.

Surgeons at London's University College Hospital had to start painstakingly rebuilding my shattered body. My left wrist was so badly damaged, they feared I might never be able to move it again. I was so weak I suffered a collapsed lung and caught endless infections.

'We're both alive - when so many others were killed - and that's the most important thing'

The only thing keeping me going was Kelly. She moved into the hospital, sleeping beside me in a makeshift bed every single night. There were so many operations - eight on my arms alone - that I never allowed myself to worry about the future.

I had some feeling in my right leg and was convinced feeling would return to my left leg, too. It was only when I was transferred, two months later, to the Spinal Injuries Unit at The National Orthopaedic Hospital at Stanmore, that the truth dawned.

I'd been there a week when the consultant called us into her room. Her demeanour was sombre. Gently she explained that I was paralysed from the waist down. I would never walk again.

I hit ground zero. I broke down and sobbed. Kelly tried to comfort me, but what could she say?

I was raging with anger. I didn't blame the terrorists, just fate that had put us in the wrong place a the wrong time.

The next few weeks were the worst of my life. I felt angry for Kelly. Why should my injuries ruin her life, too?

I knew she'd feel it her duty to stick by me, so I begged her to leave and get on with her life.

'I'm not going anywhere without you,' she said. It was a turning point. How could I wallow in self-pity when I had Kelly to think of? 

Terror: Unidentified guests at The Taj Hotel try to keep calm as the attack takes place around them. Will and Kelly hid in their room for hours

Every day brings new challenges which we deal with together. I finally left hospital in July - almost eight months after the attack. But coming to terms with our new life is hard.

Being confined to a wheelchair and unable to walk are just the tip of the ice berg. I'll never make love again normally. We can never have our own children naturally. Losing so much is like a constant physical ache.

But the worst part has been fighting bureaucracy. I assumed the government would compensate us because we'd been caught up in an outrage triggered largely by government policy.

Not a bit of it. I am not eligible for any compensation; not from my travel insurance, not from the Indian Government and not from the British Government. The Criminal Injuries Compensation Scheme doesn't cover injuries abroad; and standard travel insurance does not cover acts of terrorism.

Tessa Jowell, the minister in charge of helping terrorist victims, has told us she'd like to change things. But so far nothing has happened despite all our lobbying.

On top of all that we've suffered, it's the final insult. Money is being poured into the war against terror but innocent people like me who end up on the front line are forgotten.

It's totally wrong. We have set up an appeal to help cover all the necessary costs of living with a spinal injury, from home adaptations to physiotherapy. We will also be campaigning for change, because this could happen to anybody who is a victim of terrorism abroad.

There are still very dark moments - like when I wake in pain at 3am. But I refuse to be bitter or to dwell on the past.

There's no point wondering about 'what ifs'. I jumped out of that window because I was convinced it gave us the best chance of survival.

We're both alive - when so many others were killed - and that's the most important thing.

Heartbroken: Kelly grieves every day for the relationship she and Will lost

KELLY SAYS: It broke my heart when Will asked if I wanted to leave him. How could he possibly imagine I'd love him any less because he can't walk? I simply don't want a life without Will. If anything, I love him even more.

Although our lives are now on a totally different track, I don't have the slightest doubt that we'll be together for ever.

To me he's the same Will - good humoured, charming and fun loving. He even managed to keep the other patients laughing through all those grim months in hospital.

But there's one thing I didn't realise about him until now - how extraordinarily brave he is. He did everything in his power to protect me. He's battled through endless operations and even now, he will never admit he's in pain although I know he is.

We originally met at work and had been living together for just ten months when we went to India. After dating for almost two years we knew each other well but not inside out.

Within minutes of that first gunshot, Will worked out what was happening and what we should do. He was incredibly practical and protective.

I was petrified and I knew he must be, too, but somehow he maintained this incredible air of calm which kept me going.

As the hours dragged on we became more and more frightened. The worst part was hearing systematic gunfire along our corridor. I honestly thought we were going to die. My only comfort was that at least we were together.

When smoke started billowing under our door we knew we had to act. We heard explosions and realised fire was ripping through the building. We looked through the peephole in the door and saw orange flames. We were trapped.

Will insisted on going out of the window first. Watching him teetering on the edge, I was petrified for him. We hadn't had a chance to test our rope. Then seconds later I saw it unfurl and Will was crashing to the ground. I didn't know what to do.

Suddenly I heard a girl's voice. She was leaning out from the balcony above. 'I can see your boyfriend. He's dead,' she called.

I was hysterical. I still couldn't see Will and I didn't know whether I should jump, too.

WHO KNEW?

The Prince of Wales, Mick Jagger, Jackie Kennedy and Elvis Presley have all stayed at the Taj Hotel in Mumbai

Then I heard Will's voice from a long way away. 'What's happening?' he was yelling. At least he was alive. Everything happened so fast after that.

A passerby called an ambulance and I saw Will taken away on a stretcher. His body was horribly tangled up so I knew he was terribly injured. Then the fire brigade arrived with a cherry picker machine.

I got in and they lowered me down. All I wanted was to find Will. I fought my way through the crowds to the hospital. Inside it was like a war zone. There were bodies everywhere - some clearly dead.

I wandered from room to room, calling Will's name. Finally I found him in a room, surrounded by doctors and nurses. He was bright yellow from the shock of his injuries, covered in blood and completely delirious.

I paced the floor for eight hours as the surgeons operated on him. They were the longest hours of my life. I knew his condition was perilous. During the operation they ran out of blood. I had to take a taxi across town to another hospital and plead for blood, which I carried back in a plastic pouch.

I've never felt so alone or desperate. My mother and Will's father flew out to support me and, finally, after almost two weeks, Will was well enough to be flown home.

But it was just the beginning of his long path to recovery. He had 13 operations to repair his shattered arms and pelvis. I couldn't bear to leave him alone. Besides, with both arms strapped in the air, he was helpless.

So I moved into his room for two-and- a-half months. We got such joy from each tiny milestone - like the first time he sat up unaided.

I brought in food for him every day. Watching him eat his first Big Mac was so trivial but utterly magical.

I didn't dare think about the future. I just hoped he would totally recover, although as the weeks passed I began to worry.

Discovering he would never walk again was a killer blow. I watched his face drop and I just wanted to hug him and make it alright. We went out into the snow-covered car park and bawled our eyes out.

For the next few weeks all we seemed to do was cry. But I admire Will so much because, once he'd got over the terrible shock, he refused to wallow in self-pity.

He was moved into a room with other spinal patients, mostly young men like him who'd been injured in car accidents. 

I returned to work in March, four months after the attack. Driving an hour each way to see Will after work was exhausting, so it was wonderful when he finally came home in June.

Waking up in the same bed for the first time was amazing. But it has heralded new problems. Will can't do anything around the house - even hanging out the washing is impossible. And, until we are able to afford an adapted car, I have to drive us everywhere.

Luckily, we are both very positive people. I don't want the fact that Will is in a wheelchair to stop us doing anything.

He plans to return to work as a film maker. In the meantime we have bought a puppy, a miniature Dachshund, Hans, so we have something to focus on. We still go out regularly to restaurants and the theatre. People stare. I guess it's unusual to see a young fit-looking couple like us with one in a wheelchair.

If anyone asks, we explain that Will was caught up in a terrorist incident abroad. Our lives changed for ever that night. We try not to talk about it, although I have very vivid dreams some nights when I wake up petrified.

Will can comfort me instantly. He knows exactly what I'm going through. I grieve every day for the relationship we've lost. I know Will does, too.

Life is a constant struggle, particularly as we now have only my income. I don't hate the terrorists. I feel sorry that they were brainwashed into killing and maiming so many people.

But I feel very angry that Will has been forgotten. He suffers every single day for something that was not his fault. Money wouldn't give him back his life. But it would help us both rebuild a new one.

To support Will and Kelly's campaign for compensation or to find out more, go to www.willpikemumbaiappeal.co.uk

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1241181/I-tried-save-girlfriend-terrorists--ended-crippled--shes-saviour-day.html#ixzz0bwije4Qb

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