‘The ambulance is here,’ Philip says to Moira.
Moira glances round. Her cheeks are flushed. Her hair is stuck against her damp forehead. Moira turns back to Rick. ‘The medics are here. A couple more minutes and they’ll be with us.’
Philip watches the ambulance crew unload a gurney from the back and jog towards them. He starts waving. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they know we’re here.’
Moira doesn’t respond. She keeps pressing on Rick’s wound and talking to him, telling him he’ll be okay. Philip hopes it’s true. Rick’s face is looking more ashen than even just a few minutes ago and his skin has a strange waxy look. His eyes are closed now, and his breathing looks shallow and rapid. Philip waves harder at the ambulance crew, and wishes they’d hurry up.
They watch as the paramedics load the gurney carrying Rick into the ambulance. Moira turns to Philip. ‘Rick might need surgery. I’m going to the hospital.’ She glances over at the cops who are putting Donald Ettwood into a marked police car. ‘Tell them I’ll give a full statement later.’
‘Of course. Good idea,’ says Philip. ‘I’ll handle Golding.’
‘Thanks,’ says Moira.
Philip watches her climb into the back of the ambulance and take a seat on the jump seat beside Rick’s gurney. The ambulance crew slam the doors shut and run round to the cab. A few moments later, the lights and siren fire up and the ambulance speeds away.
He turns to Lizzie. ‘Let’s hope he’s okay.’
Lizzie says nothing.
‘Good work calling the ambulance,’ says Philip. ‘And the cops.’
‘Yes.’ Lizzie doesn’t look at him.
Philip’s not sure what to say to make it better. She’s obviously still cross with him and wants him to talk about what happened back when he retired. She doesn’t understand he can’t do that. He doesn’t want to relive what happened: doesn’t want to admit that he couldn’t face telling her that his health was failing and he wasn’t fit to do the job any more – that he’d been so scared that without his rank and status she’d think less of him. And that since he had the heart attack it feels like she does think less of him; that she feels he’s not the man he once was. That she doesn’t even want to share his bed.
He blows out hard. There’s no point raking it all up. The past is the past – you can’t change it – all you can do is move on and try not to repeat your mistakes. ‘Lizzie, look, I’m . . .’
She turns away from him, so now he’s looking at her back. He wants to reach out to her and tell her he’s sorry, but he doesn’t because he knows that’ll lead to more questions. So he says nothing. Not knowing what to do or say next.
He’s almost relieved when he sees Detective Golding and another suit striding towards them.
Golding points at Philip and then Lizzie. ‘We’re going to need y’all to give a statement.’
‘Of course,’ says Philip.
Golding looks at Lizzie. ‘This is Detective Johnstone, he’s ready to take your statement now, ma’am.’
‘No problem,’ says Lizzie. ‘Do you want to do it here?’
‘If you’d come this way, ma’am,’ says the younger detective.
Philip watches Lizzie walk back along the alley towards the police-liveried trailer that arrived a few minutes after the ambulance and seems to be serving as a mobile incident room. It’s just him and Golding now. ‘So are you taking my statement?’
Detective Golding’s expression is grim. ‘I warned you to stay away from this case, Sweetman, yet here we are again.’