‘You see,’ Philip says to the cop. ‘She’s in shock, hardly recognised me. I have to go to her.’
The kid looks conflicted, dithering. He looks over towards the patrol cars but there’s no sign of his colleagues.
The boy’s out of his depth, thinks Philip. He almost feels sorry for him. Almost but not quite.
When they both turn back towards the ambulance Moira’s disappeared but even though he can’t see her, Philip can hear her well enough. The voices coming from inside the ambulance – one male and American, one female and British – are loud and rising in volume.
‘You hear that, officer?’ Philip says, in his most earnest voice. ‘I can help.’
The youngster rubs his brow, glances once more back towards the patrol cars, then says, ‘Okay then, but don’t go into the park. Stay with your friend, okay?’
‘Will do,’ says Philip. He feels like punching the air in triumph as he strides away from the cop towards the ambulance. He’s back in the thick of things, and rightfully so. He never should have had to retire.
3
MOIRA
She hates everything about hospitals – the smell, the over-starched sheets, and the intrusion. But most of all, she hates the lack of control being a patient brings, and so she’ll be damned if she’s letting these paramedics take her to Lake County General. Moira looks around for her water bottle. She wants out of the ambulance now, but doesn’t want to leave the bottle behind.
The paramedic in charge has barely drawn breath he’s arguing his case so hard, and his taller, sturdier colleague keeps nodding along in agreement. Both are refusing to take no for an answer, which leaves the three of them at loggerheads because she sure as hell isn’t going to change her mind.
The lead paramedic, red-haired and red-faced, gestures towards a trolley made up as a bed. ‘Please, take a seat.’
‘I’m fine.’ Moira stays standing. She reaches out, putting her hand on the wall of the ambulance to steady herself, waiting for the spinning in her head to stop. When it does, she glances around for her water bottle again and spots it over on one of the bench seats.
As she moves towards it, the red-haired paramedic steps into her path. ‘As I explained, ma’am, we need to do a more thorough exploration of—’
‘No.’ Moira hugs the silver space blanket closer and folds her arms. ‘You can’t take me against my will and I’ve told you I’m not going.’
The sturdier paramedic clears his throat. ‘Your blood pressure is elevated and you should really be—’
‘Everything all right here?’ asks a male voice with a British accent.
Moira turns towards the back of the ambulance and sees Lizzie Sweetman’s balding, portly husband peering in through the open doors. Damn. He’s the last thing she needs. All that waving and shouting a few minutes ago was totally unnecessary. She’d hoped feigning confusion about who he was would put him off, but it seems not. She gives him a curt nod. Doesn’t want to engage. Hopes he’ll get the message this time. ‘It will be.’
She sees the paramedics look at Philip. The sturdier one raises an eyebrow. They’re probably trying to work out if he’s an ally or foe. Moira decides not to give him the chance to be either.
Pulling the space blanket from around her shoulders, she pushes past the paramedic and throws the blanket on to the bench seat. Grabbing her water bottle she turns towards the doors.
The sturdier paramedic blocks her exit. ‘Ma’am, I really need you to—’
‘Look, I appreciate you’re just doing your job, but like I said, I’m fine.’ She pushes past him and climbs down from the ambulance. Once on the ground she turns back to face the pair. ‘There’s no point you taking me to hospital.’