“The wards are fine. Whoever did this did not want to hurt the kids. What happened?”
I look around, ignoring Micky’s question. “Isaac Everleigh – is he out yet?”
“No.”
“I’m going back in.”
I feel a hand on my shoulder. Micky. “No you’re fucking not. There are about twenty firefighters on site. You go in there, you get in their way. You stay here. You’re not a soldier now and it’s not your job.” He points at where Blair is on a stretcher, Franklyn by her side, answering questions for the paramedics. “She’s your job. Go be with her. Leave Isaac to me.”
“Micky…”
“Do it.”
I walk further away from the smouldering building towards the ambulance which they’re now lifting Blair into.
“Are you going with her?” Franklyn looks at me with fear etched into his face.
“Yes. Micky’s orders.”
Frankly looks back in the ambulance. “She’s asking for you. Please keep her safe.”
Because I didn’t before.
“You need to be checked out too.”
There’s a loud, large bang behind me. Screams and calls punctuate it.
A secondary explosion, planned or unplanned I don’t know.
“I will.”
I step into the ambulance and hold Blair’s hand, reassuring her when she mumbles into the oxygen mask, feel her slim fingers grip mine.
“It’s going to be fine. Isaac’s probably digging out his hip flask right now.” I only hope he is, hope that he’s sitting down watching the blue lights and the uniforms, composing a statement for Goldsmith.
My phone’s dead, the battery drained or something’s down. I keep on holding Blair’s hand, trying not to look at her leg that looks painful and bloody because it incenses me.
We’re greeted by a team of doctors when we arrive at the hospital, the second in a day. A nurse guides me with her, asking me questions about how I feel, if I’m injured. I shrug off any suggestions of treatment – it’s smoke inhalation and I’ll live, just as I’ve lived before.
Blair’s taken down for surgery to remove the shrapnel that’s pierced the skin of the backs of her legs. A statement to the press is issued. Franklyn goes into organising overload.
I sit in a chair and wait.
Nurses pass.
A doctor walks by on his phone, shouting at someone.
Images of dead bodies that I've seen flit through my head like a bedtime book full of nightmares.
Micky appears.
“Isaac’s been found.”
I sit up, my jaw too tight to speak.
“He’s alive. Unconscious but alive. Got hit on the head it seems. Firefighters found him. You want to see him?”
I nod.
