William notices three gowned men striding through the gates onto the forecourt; the clerk, Phillip and Mr Atkinson. Once they see William, they all come to a halt. And behind them, in the entrance, three more figures appear: Martin and his parents.
57
‘That’ll do me,’ Colin says softly once the choir has processed out. ‘That was heaven, that was.’ His Scottish accent, often barely discernible is pronounced. ‘Who wouldn’t want to come and hear that? Tell me, William, cos I can’t understand how anyone in their right mind could not want to hear that.’
‘It’s a long story.’ William stands, light-headed, desperate to get out.
‘All right?’ says Martin on William’s other side, and for a moment, William is completely disorientated at the sight of him.
‘Let’s go to the Copper Kettle, Colin,’ he says, ignoring Martin. ‘I need some fresh air, they can meet us there.’
Walking through the quad and out into the spring-fresh air, Colin still reeks of alcohol, though he seems to have sobered up and matches William’s fast pace.
‘Incredible really,’ Colin says, as they pass the stately Senate House, over the cobbles and onto King’s Parade. ‘They’re just kids, but I swear they pull heaven down when they sing like that.’ William looks up from the pavement at Colin. He doesn’t normally talk like this. Their eyes meet. ‘Yep, that’ll do me, thank you very much.’
A Ford Capri roars down the parade towards them. They stand and watch the car, polka-dotted with rust, shoot by with a gravelly roar. It screeches to a halt at Great St Mary’s.
‘Daft bugger’s going to have to go back exactly the same way he came,’ Colin says.
‘I’ll buy you dinner, Colin, what do you fancy?’ William is ready to walk on, but Colin doesn’t move.
‘Thanks for making me a packed lunch.’ Colin pulls William into a clumsy hug. The skin of his neck is soft and acrid. ‘And for singing with me. You’re a good man.’ He lets go and looks back at the car as it jerks through a three-point turn. Abruptly, he starts walking. William has to run to catch him up.
‘What’s the hurry?’
The sound of the car accelerating, snorting and hiccoughing through the gears irritates William. He deliberately doesn’t look round, but as the roar intensifies, he can’t help but glance to his left as the car approaches.
‘Bye, William,’ Colin says softly, stepping into the road.
The impact knocks his body onto the long blue bonnet, across the windscreen and off onto the other side of the road, before William even cries out.
The blue light pulsates across King’s Parade. A vivid ribbon spools from Colin’s mouth and over his left cheek. His grip on William’s hand is firm, though his open eyes are unseeing. Jenny kneels on the other side of Colin, stroking his head and talking to him. Then they stand and watch as the ambulance men manoeuvre him onto a stretcher. The other Midnighters clump together on the pavement with Martin.
Once the stretcher has been secured in the ambulance, the driver beckons William away from the open door, out of Colin’s earshot.
‘Has he got family?’ he mutters. ‘They need to come to the hospital. As soon as possible.’
‘OK.’ William nods, reaching into his pocket for the photo Colin dropped in the cemetery. ‘I’ll get someone to call them, but can I come with him in the ambulance?’
‘All right. Get a move on though.’
William runs over to Martin. ‘Can you call his wife?’ He puts the grubby photo in Martin’s hand, face down so the writing is visible. ‘Tell her to get to Addenbrooke’s. Quickly.’
‘OK.’ Martin glances round. ‘Damn, where’s the nearest phone box?’
‘No. Go home to do it. I need you to bring some things to the hospital. You might want to write them down.’
‘No problem.’ Martin produces a tiny black diary from his jacket pocket and pulls out the pencil from the spine. ‘What do you need?’
‘Two towels, scissors – the sharpest you’ve got – a flannel, a bar of soap, razor, shaving cream, toothbrush, nail clippers, a flask of hot water, mouthwash and a newspaper.’
Martin nods, still scribbling as William climbs into the ambulance.
58
‘Colin,’ William whispers in his ear, ‘I’m going to tidy you up. Your family are coming.’ In a private room in Addenbrooke’s hospital, there’s no longer any grip to Colin’s fingers and his breathing is shallow. ‘The doctors think I’m bonkers, but who cares?’