“No.”
“Did you move because someone told you to?”
“Yes. Ambulance crew asked if I could keep her talking while they checked space and equipment. Then she wouldn’t let go.”
He looks down at his hand as if surprised to find it empty.
“She was scared,” he says.
“I saw.”
“I stayed out of the way.”
“I saw that too.”
He nods, but the movement is not quite steady.
The adrenaline is leaving him now. I recognise it. The delayed hit. The body catching up with what the mind has been holding back.
I step closer, lowering my voice. “AJ.”
His eyes come back to mine.
“Breathe.”
“I am.”
“You’re doing that thing where you say you are and aren’t.”
A faint, broken smile touches his mouth. “I thought I’d improved.”
“You have. Breathe anyway.”
He does.
Once.
Then again.
The second one goes deeper.
Behind us, the scene is already shifting into aftermath. Equipment to check. Debris to manage. Police talking to a witness. Kev and Dan moving around the car. Mish coilingsomething with sharp, efficient movements. Ambulance engines rumbling.
Brian’s ambulance pulls away first.
Margaret’s follows a minute later.
AJ watches until both vehicles disappear around the bend.
“She kept asking if he was out,” he says.
“I know.”
“I didn’t know what to say.”
“You said enough.”
He looks at me then, and there is something raw in his face that he would probably hate to know is visible.
