‘Dayea, can you get me clean towels, please?’ asked Joe. She hurried off still talking to herself, clearly distressed.
‘Shall I call an ambulance?’ asked Lottie.
‘Yes,’ said Joe.
‘No!’ said Bernard forcefully, trying to right himself.
Joe rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘Steady, Bernard. It’s best if you lie still. I’ll try to stem the bleeding while we wait for an ambulance.’
‘Don’t you touch me!’ shouted Bernard uncharacteristically as he slapped Joe’s hand away.
‘He’s not a doctor but he’s the best we’ve got,’ said Lottie, trying to smooth the situation. A vet wasn’t going to be anyone’s first choice for human medical care, but he was better than nothing.
Dayea came rushing in, thrust the towels at Joe and knelt next to Bernard, brushing the hair off his forehead. ‘Don’t let him touch me,’ Bernard pleaded with Dayea.
‘He is helping you,’ she said.
Bernard challenged Joe with his gaze. ‘We all know what your father did, and I’m not ready to go yet.’ Joe looked shocked.
Lottie took a deep breath. ‘Bernard, this is Joe. Not his father. He’s trying to help you.’
Bernard mustered all his strength and stabbed a finger at Joe. ‘His father was a murderer!’
Emily gasped and Joe turned in her direction, then back to Lottie. He handed the towels to her. ‘Use that to put pressure on the wound,’ he said, guiding her as to where to place it.
‘Murderer?’ Dayea’s eyes were wide with alarm. Lottie’s heart went out to Joe.
Bernard was gasping for breath. His gaze was firmly on Joe. ‘Youmusthave known.’
Joe ignored Bernard and focused on Lottie. ‘More pressure, Lottie. Lean on it. Use your weight.’ Alarmingly quickly, Lottie could feel the dampness of the blood that had soaked through the towel. Joe passed her another.
‘Well did you?’ continued Bernard through a rasping breath.
‘You need to relax, Uncle Bernard,’ said Lottie. His agitation wasn’t helping.
‘Where’s the bloody ambulance?’ muttered Joe. On Christmas Day the Cotswolds wasn’t likely to be swarming with them. Bernard was looking pale and he began pulling pained expressions.
‘Bernard?’ said Joe. ‘Is it your chest?’
Lottie didn’t like to point out that it was quite obviously his leg that was the main problem, feeling the same damp sensation as the blood made it through another towel.
Bernard suddenly went rigid and then completely floppy. His face was an unhealthy colour.
‘Bernard!’ Joe raised his voice. ‘He’s not breathing.’ He put his fingers to Bernard’s neck. ‘His pulse is weak.’
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Lottie as Joe shunted her out of the way.
‘It could be a heart attack,’ said Joe. The words hit Lottie like a punch to her gut. Joe started mouth-to-mouth. The room fell silent as he worked. Bernard lay motionless. Lottie hugged Dayea to her as she sobbed silently.
Eyes flickered to the window at the sound of a distant siren, but everyone was glued to the horror in the room as Joe worked tirelessly on Bernard’s still and pale form.
Bernard seemed to move slightly and Joe paused to take his pulse again as the sound of the siren screamed into the driveway. ‘He’s back,’ said Joe. He sat back on his haunches. The door opened and two paramedics hurried in.
Joe filled them in and they got to work quickly. Within minutes Bernard was in a stretcher chair being wheeled to the ambulance with Dayea clutching his hand.
Lottie and Joe followed them out and stood on the steps. Everyone else was at the window. ‘Do you think he’ll make it?’ asked Lottie, feeling the chill through her dress. ‘Honestly,’ she added, in case he was planning on fobbing her off.
Joe shuffled his feet. ‘A heart attack at any age is never a good thing. He’s generally not in the best of health. But he’s with the professionals now, so he has the best possible chance.’
