Forcing his feet, one in front of another, he clung close to the remaining huts, narrowly escaping another which shot off onto the beach. Once the wind got underneath the join of flimsy wall and base they lifted up and took off. Thunder and lightning crashed over him. The storm must be right over them. It wasn’t moving off. Inching along, he reached the tallest part of the wall and three huts still miraculously remaining. He just hoped the wall would stay in place a little longer.
What had that bloke said? He thought he’d seen Frida near the hut with the white stripes. And where Frida was, Callie must be too. As he approached the striped hut, the door blew open slamming into his face and chest, winding him. He felt the hot trickle of blood run down his chin. Clinging onto what was left of the door frame, he staggered past.
‘Johnny!’
He wheeled round. It was Callie. Where had her voice come from? In all the chaos of the storm and rain, his senses were confused.
‘Johnny. Come back. We’re in here!’
Falling into the hut, now missing its door, he tripped over her, landing against the wooden wall. In a snag of lightning he took in that Callie was crouched against a cupboard in its far corner, clutching onto Frida. The girl was ashen and a dark stain of blood ran freely from her thigh.
‘You’ve found us!’ Callie said. Her voice held the edge of panic, but she was holding it together for her daughter. ‘Frida’s hurt her leg. I didn’t want to move her. Was waiting for the ambulance.’ She waved her phone. ‘I rang 999 but I think they were coming anyway.’
He crouched beside her. Resisting the urge to fling his arms around her in relief, he went with putting a hand on her arm. ‘Think something’s on the way. I heard sirens a minute ago. But, Callie–’
‘What?’
‘I need to get you both out of here.’
‘I don’t think we should move Frida. It looks as if she’s already lost a lot of blood.’
Johnny glanced at Frida and then back to Callie. Shuffling nearer he said urgently, ‘There’s a chance the wall behind these huts will come down.’
‘No time to wait for the ambulance?’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll lift Frida from the right; you put her arm around your shoulder and grab her around the waist.’ Was it his imagination or could he hear a sludgy slipperiness. A slipping of earth? The image of the broken child flashed back. ‘We need to get out now.’
Callie nodded and stood up. ‘Frida, darling girl, we’re going to get you moving now.’
Frida’s head lolled loosely to one side, but her eyes focused on her mother. ‘Okay,’ she slurred.
Johnny went to the other side of Frida, lifting her under the shoulders and taking most of her weight. ‘Come on, Frida. Just a few steps if you can manage it. I know it’s wet and horrible outside–’
‘It hurts.’
‘I know, my lovely but we’ll get you into a nice warm ambulance and you’ll feel all better.’
Frida flinched violently as she tried to bear weight.
‘Lean on me and try to hop if you can. That’s a girl.’
As Frida leaned all her weight on him, he slipped on the sopping wooden floor. An ominous creaking sounded. ‘Now or never!’
Together they levered Frida out into weeping gale. A blast of rain hit them square in the face, stinging the skin and Callie gave an involuntary cry. Johnny saw she’d given her waterproof to Frida and so was exposed to the elements in her silky vest and thin trousers. In an agony of indecision he didn’t know whether to keep them near the shelter of the huts or force them back along the prom to where, hopefully, there would be help.
In a great sliding, splintering roar, the decision was made for him. Just beyond where they were standing a section of the wall came down. Half picking Frida up he grabbed Callie with his other arm and threw them over the low wall and onto the sand below. The last thing he remembered was something large and hard hitting the back of his head.
Thirty-Three
THURSDAY MORNING 22ND AUGUST
Vincent van Gogh 1853–1890
Dutch Post-Impressionist. Hugely talented and influential artist, wracked with self-doubt. Discussion point: how does a lack of confidence affect our potential?
(Taken from Calliope Thorne’s teaching notes.)
‘You saved our lives.’ Callie reached for Johnny’s hand. Against the hospital bedding he looked alarmingly white-faced but she’d never been more grateful to see anyone in her life.
