‘Let me help you inside,’ says the blonde paramedic. ‘It’s a bit of a step.’
Moira shakes her head. Then immediately regrets it as the nausea threatens to overwhelm her. ‘No, I’m okay, I don’t need to—’
‘With all due respect, you’re not okay, ma’am. I need to treat that head wound, and I can’t do it standing out here.’
Unlike yesterday, Moira doesn’t have the strength to argue. With the paramedic’s help, she climbs up into the ambulance. Her vision swirls from the movement and she reaches out to the trolley bed to steady herself.
‘They need your help.’ It’s Philip’s voice, outside the ambulance.
Moira turns as he appears at the door. He’s red-faced and his breath is coming in gasps. He looks at the blonde paramedic and her muscular assistant. Gestures back in the direction of the building. ‘Hank . . . your colleagues say he’s crashing.’
The female paramedic grabs some kit from a side locker and gestures at a metal box, which her assistant picks up. The writing, in capitals, on the box reads ‘DEFIBRILLATOR’。
‘Stay here and don’t touch anything, okay,’ says the blonde paramedic to Moira, as her assistant jumps out of the ambulance. She follows him, then turns, pointing at Philip. ‘You too.’
Moira clenches her fists. She doesn’t want to stay here. She wants to go and help. She tries to push herself up to standing, but her vision blurs and the world seems to tilt. Sitting back down, she slows her breathing. Knows she has to let the medics do their job, she’d just be in the way. She hates it though, this feeling of being so useless.
‘Well, here we are again,’ says Philip, having got his breath back.
Idiotic man, thinks Moira. ‘Where’s Rick?’
‘Still inside with Hank.’ Philip glances back towards the building. ‘It doesn’t look good. Poor chap.’
If only I’d got here earlier, thinks Moira. If only I’d listened to myself more last night and checked out if we were being watched. If only. If only.
Philip runs his hand over his bald pate. ‘You know—’
‘Can you give me a minute,’ says Moira. ‘I can’t talk right now.’
He looks crestfallen, and she knows that she’s hurt his feelings, but she can’t deal with him banging on about whatever it is he was about to say. She closes her eyes, and a long moment later hears footsteps as he moves away from the ambulance. She takes a deep breath in and blows out in a long exhale. It helps. Makes her feel a little calmer.
It doesn’t last long. She hears the squeal of tyre rubber on tarmac as a car pulls into the lot, then the squeal of brakes as it stops close to the ambulance. A car door opens and slams shut.
An American voice that she kind of recognises growls, ‘What in hell’s name are you doing here, Sweetman?’
Moira’s eyes snap open. It sounds like Detective Golding.
Philip’s voice is different when he answers the detective – like he’s putting on a posher accent and a more pompous tone. ‘I was attending the scene of—’
‘Don’t tell me, I know the reason. It’s cos you’re a goddamn busybody meddler.’ Golding’s voice is getting louder. ‘I told you to stay the hell away from my investigation, Sweetman. I warned you that you’d not want to force my hand to—’
‘You warned me?’ Philip sounds angry. ‘Are you trying to threaten me? Why would you—’
‘Take it however you want.’ Golding’s shouting now, his fury clear in every word. ‘Just stay the hell away!’ There’s a loud bang on the wall of the ambulance.