But on the other hand, there is a sickening feeling of horror she recognises. The fact that there is always a consequence to someone’s actions, no matter how well-meant or noble. Factors that can never be predicted or controlled. Collateral damage. Like a woman trampled by a horse. An ambulance delayed on a closed motorway. Two victims of a fire. An old lady named Muriel Hadlow.
She is brought back to the moment by the crackle and rasp of a radio to which the female paramedic responds. Her face is stern as she listens intently.
‘Copy that, on our way,’ she says. ‘We need to go,’ she calls to her colleague, moving around the side of the ambulance and climbing into the driver’s seat. Josh’s eyes follow the woman greedily. Thankfully, now that things are calming down and he has been given a drink and a snack, her son seems to be enjoying the novelty and adventure of all this. Jim gives them all one last smile.
‘I’ll hand you over to the family liaison officer,’ he says, nodding towards one of the police officers. ‘Look after those feet,’ he adds before scrambling towards the other side of the ambulance. The engine starts and after a moment’s delay, flashing lights are streaming along the vehicle, adding their own colours to the broadening sunrise. Josh gives a small gasp and they all stand back and watch as the ambulance disappears away in the direction of the coast road.
‘Mr and Mrs Jenkins?’ comes a voice further along the pavement. ‘Please can we have a word down at the station? We just need to get some information from you. Take a statement, if that’s okay?’
Lottie swallows and catches Tim’s eye as he takes her hand in his and they move towards the uniformed duo.
‘We going in police car, Mama?’ lisps Josh expectantly, his small mouth hanging open.
‘Yes, sweet pea. I think we might be going for a ride,’ she says, trying to keep her voice steady and light. ‘I’m a bit nervous,’ she adds, her words wavering with the strain of the evening’s events. ‘Will you look after me?’
Josh nods solemnly and takes her other hand, leading her towards the patrol car.
44
Tobias is only vaguely conscious of his surroundings; the continual pull and push of the tide, the distant call of a gull, the sweet yet stale tang of alcohol and cannabis mixed with brine. The embers of the small beach fire are almost out and he can tell, somehow, that the sky is slowly lightening. Beside him, Bella has stopped crying and now only makes the occasional muted whimper. She still sways backwards and forwards and it is all he can do not to shout at her to ‘bloody sit still and shut up’.
He has been trying chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth for what seems like forever; time spinning out like an unravelling ribbon, the end of which he has long since lost. The smell of Drew’s skin, his hair, even his clothes is so achingly familiar he has to focus all his attention on ignoring the fact that this is his son, lying here in front of him. The idea that his boy’s life is in his own hands. He can’t think this way or he will be overcome, useless. All he wants to do is gather Drew into his arms like the infant he was, the young toddler. All those ages, those years, which he took for granted but would claw back now and live over and over, if only he could.
In the background, through the speaker of his phone, the female emergency services operative keeps up her calm, reassuring instructions but he has stopped listening. She is just following routine, reading from a script, he thinks. The idea that this call will all become just another filed recording, a trainingexample, a failure rather than a success story. He can’t bear it and a muffled cry of desperation escapes his throat.
‘Leave it, Dad,’ says Bella in a small voice. ‘Stop it now, please,’ she whispers, her face streaked with tears.
‘No,’ he roars at her and she physically recoils, hugging her arms to herself, her eyes wide and staring.
Tobias moves to Drew’s face and leans over him, blowing into his mouth again with force but he can’t seem to find enough air for him. His own breath is coming in short, shallow pants, his lungs emptied out seemingly, like the rest of him. He briefly thinks of a memory, long ago, of a camping holiday when they were all much younger and did such things. Of collapsing in a heap of exhausted laughter as they all tried and failed to blow up an air mattress without the aid of an electric pump.
Pushing the thought away, as he must, Tobias continues. Willing himself to breathe life into his son’s lifeless body. It crosses his mind that this is the most intimate he has been with Drew since his son was a small boy, when they would still hug or even cuddle on the sofa watching films or when he would kiss him goodnight after a bedtime story. That clumsy, sticky kiss on the lips had slowly reduced to a cheek, a forehead, a ruffle of the hair, a pat on the back, even just a formal handshake on occasion these days. They have been gradually losing contact with each other in every sense over the years, like a tide receding that has never returned. Not until now, in these most appalling of circumstances.
‘Dad, listen,’ says Bella. But he ignores her, his blood churning in his ears, like the imagined sound of the sea within a shell. His breath still heaving, his hands pushing up and down on Drew’s slim, under-developed chest. ‘Please, Dad. You’re not listening.’
‘Be quiet,’ he demands. ‘I’m trying to concentrate.’
‘The woman,’ pleads Bella. ‘On the phone. She’s trying to tell us something.’
Tobias tunes in to the speaker phone while maintaining the rhythm of CPR but there is something else happening in his peripheral vision; two people running towards them out of the shadows, the sound of their voices calling out through the morning air.
45
The two figures – a man and a woman – reach them on the beach. They immediately take charge, asking questions, assessing Drew, clearing space. The male paramedic, who introduces himself as Jim, cuts through Drew’s T-shirt and straps electrodes to his chest, working swiftly, efficiently.
‘I tried to help,’ Tobias says. ‘I did my best.’
‘Don’t worry, sir. You did great. We’ll take it from here.’
Tobias sits back, his hands, his arms suddenly idle. There is no activity to employ his limbs anymore so they take up a rhythmic shivering as he watches the paramedics deploy what he now sees is a defibrillator. Why hadn’t he thought of that? He could have sent Bella off in search of one by the roadside. It could have made all the difference.
The woman, called Sarah, is administering a blanket to Bella who has started sobbing again now that help is at hand. Tobias realises it is he who should be comforting his daughter; his favourite, after all. The one who has always been his secret pride and joy. But he can’t look at her right now. Doesn’t want to. There is another emotion rising up in him; anger, resentment. She’s supposed to be the grown-up one, the sensible child. Maybe not the bookish, brainy one but always street-smart, savvy. How could she let this happen? Bella is older, in loco parentis, effectively. She should have been looking out for her younger sibling.
He shakes his head. There must be someone to blame for this situation. It can’t just be dumb luck, misfortune, a bad handdealt by fate. The Woolfs make their own luck. This sort of thing doesn’t happen to them. Yes, perhaps to one of these local yobs who don’t know any better. Not to his son.
But then he is aware that the paramedic is shouting Drew’s name in a clear, authoritative way.
‘Can you hear me, Drew?’ says the man.
