“In the kitchen.”
“Get it for me.” He races off immediately. “Gideon, ring for an ambulance. Tell them suspected heart attack and possibly cardiac arrest.”
“Okay,” he says, obeying instantly, pulling out his phone and tapping one hand on my shoulder in support.
The woman starts to cry, but to my relief her friend comes round and pulls her back.
“Okay, Jack,” I say calmly as Oz falls down next to me with the red box containing the defibrillator. “I think you might be having a heart attack. I know it hurts, but try to breathe. I’m going to attach some pads to you, but try not to worry. You just concentrate on breathing.”
He groans pitifully, and I look around for something to clean the sweat off him. Not spying anything obvious, I grab the tablecloth and give it a sharp tug. Crockery falls to the floor on the other side of the table, but the cloth does the job of cleaning his chest so I can attach the pads. I place them on him quickly with the long ease of practice, continuing to talk soothingly as I take his wrist and count his pulse. It’s thready and uneven, and as I reach over and switch the machine on and attach the wires, his eyes roll back and he stops breathing.
“Shit,” I mutter, bending over him.
“What’s happened?” Oz mutters.
“He’s stopped breathing.” I lean over him and start chest compressions. “Count them, please.” He obediently starts to count.
Gideon slides back next to me. “Ambulance is on the way. Estimated time is five minutes.”
“Shit.” I keep the chest compressions even, feeling the sweat starting under my arms. “Take over,” I snap at Gideon. “While I start manual breathing.”
He comes down next to me and, like the well-trained actor he is, he immediately starts the movements which are perfectly timed.
“Okay, stand back,” I say to him, pushing him free as the machine next to me announces that it’s ready. As soon as everyone is clear of the man, I press the red button, and a few people gasp audibly as his body flails on the ground. The machine announces I can work again, so I start chest compressions and breathing again, breaking off to shock the man.
Then it’s back to more chest compressions and breathing before shocking him again, but this time, to my relief, he moans and his eyes flutter. “Welcome back, Jack,” I say, smiling while I feel the muscles in my arms burn. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
The next second the thunder of footsteps announce the arrival of the paramedics, and I sit back. They crowd around, and Oz moves the onlookers back while I give the paramedics a brief summary of my qualifications and the treatment I administered as the man receives oxygen.
A few minutes later they strap him onto a stretcher and start to move off. His wife comes round to me, exclaiming and muttering thanks, and I smile and accept them before they whip after the paramedics and silence falls, broken only by the mutters of the crowd as they leave.
I move to rise from the crouch but my muscles lock and tremble after kneeling on the hard floor. I falter but then Gideon is there, grabbing hold of my arms and pulling me up so I lean against him. I stay there for a second before realising that he’s hugging me in full view of an entire tea room. I go to pull back, but he says, “No,” sharply, so I subside, secretly glad to feel him touching me.
“Fuck me,” Oz says as he comes back, his eyes bright. “That was fucking scary. Will he be okay, do you think?”
“He’s got a good fighting chance,” I say, feeling the sweat on me and longing suddenly for a cold shower. “We kept him breathing during the critical point when there wasn’t anything moving the oxygen around.”
“You were so impressive,” he says. “Thank you so much.”
“It was nothing.” I sigh, feeling weary, but Gideon murmurs and, to my amazement, he presses a kiss to my temple.
“It was everything,” he says softly. “Well done, you.” I can hear the praise in his voice and the pride, and it warms me.
“Thank you, but I have to say anyone could have done it.”
“Not me, not Oz, and I didn’t see anyone else queuing up to help. You’re wrong,” he says quietly. “You’re not your mum and dad. You’refarbetter.” The conviction in his voice stills me, and I stare at him. He smiles. “You may not be conducting surgery, but at the end of the day that man would have died without you. That may not rank in numbers against your mum and dad, but it certainly ranks in fucking importance to his wife and family. He can’t be replaced and neither can you. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you,” I say softly. It feels like he’s reached inside me and soothed a bruise that’s always lain there, that every conversation with my mother and father makes worse and more painful. I doubt it’ll ever go, but his words have soothed the sting.
“What was that cracking noise?” Oz asks, leaning against the table, his eyes as bright and curious as a sparrow.
“A couple of his ribs,” I say casually.
“You broke hisribs?”Gideon says incredulously.
I shrug. “Better ribs than death.”
“I’m sure there must be other options in life than those two things,” he says. “You must be terrible at birthday parties. I’m certainly never letting you give me the bumps.”
