“Oh, God.” Abi looked round. The heat was awful, the sun relentless, and the air close and stifling. There was an odd smell, at once sickly and sour; they might not have been outside at all, and indeed the air itself was thick, hazy, cloudy with traffic fumes. This wouldn’t be helping. She saw Jonathan walking towards them, waved at him to come over.
“You haven’t got an inhaler with you, have you? For asthma?”
“No, of course not,” he said tersely. “I’m not a walking pharmacy.”
“No. No, I realise that. But Shaun here’s getting an asthma attack, and I wondered… I just thought you might-”
“Well, you thought wrong, and I have more serious concerns than a bloody asthma attack. The driver’s bleeding to death in that truck, and the bloody medics-Oh, here they are, thank Christ-this way, please, quickly.”
“I can’t help it, miss,” said Shaun. “Why was he cross?”
“He’s just very… very worried,” said Abi, looking after Jonathan as he directed the ambulance men towards the truck. “He’s not cross.”
“My mum always says that about my dad, when he gets cross,” said another of the little boys. “Says he’s upset, not to take no notice.”
There was a general chorus of recognition at this scenario; Abi looked at them and smiled for the first time. Distracting them was clearly the best thing she could do.
“Why don’t you all tell me your names?” she said. “Just first names. I’m called Abi, short for Abigail.”
“That’s a nice name,” said Shaun carefully. His breathing was very quick and shallow, and speaking was clearly difficult.
They all told her their names, then where they lived, what they liked doing, what their mums were called. Almost cheerful. And then-
“I’m so thirsty, miss. I got to have a drink; can you get us one, miss?”
The others all joined in. A couple were crying, saying they’d never felt so thirsty, not ever. Abi looked round desperately. She felt like crying herself. Had any of this been Jonathan’s fault? He’d been on the phone; had he lost control? Had she distracted him? Abi, don’t, don’t go down there. It had been an accident, that was all, a terrible, awful accident. Concentrate on water, water… How on earth was she going to find some water?
***
William was working his way down the field, skirting round a small spinney of young trees, carrying his containers, when he saw her: a young girl, very pretty, very dark, with wild black hair, stumbling along just above the ditch. She was crying silently.
“Hello, can I help? Are you involved in the crash; is someone with you hurt?”
She stared at him, her dark eyes filled with panic; then she shook her head and moved on, trying to run away from him through the long, uneven grass.
William shrugged and continued on his journey. She seemed all right-not hurt, anyway. He could see more pressing claims on his attention. Odd, though; but then, this was a very odd day.
***
The little boys’ distress and thirst were growing. Abi began to feel panicky. She mustn’t panic; it would be fatal-it would spread. She saw a woman walking towards her with a golden retriever, and pointed him out to the boys by way of distraction; they crowded round, stroking him, asking the woman what his name was.
“Jasper.”
“That’s me brother’s name,” said Shaun. “My mum’s boyfriend says it’s a poof’s name.”
“Oh, really?” said Abi, smiling at the woman. She didn’t smile back; indeed, she glared at Shaun. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any water?” Abi said. “By any amazing chance?”
“If I had any I’d give it to this poor fellow,” the woman said firmly. “He’s beside himself. We’re going to try in the woods.”
“OK,” said Abi carefully, “fine.”
“But I need a drink!” One of the biggest boys was getting angry now. “I really, really need one. I’ll die if I don’t. We all will.”
“No, you won’t,” said Abi. “People can live for quite a long time without water; you’d be surprised. However thirsty you are.”
“But, miss-”
How on earth could she get them a drink? How could normal life have disappeared so swiftly?
And then: “Need any help?” said a voice. And like some kind of divine visitation came a man, very tanned, with brown, rather shaggy hair, wearing baggy-and filthy-jeans, a checked shirt that had clearly left the shop many years earlier, and some very heavy dusty boots. And he was carrying-yes, he was actually carrying two very large plastic containers. Containing-
“Oh, my God!” said Abi. “Water! How amazing. Can’t be true.”
“It certainly is. Was last time I looked, anyway.” He grinned at her; he had the widest, sweetest grin she had ever seen. She smiled back.
“And I’ve even got some paper cups. Here, kids. Careful, one at a time-you’ll knock it over if you’re not careful. That’s better.” He held out a cup to Abi. “You want some?”
“No, no,” she said, “they really need it.”
“So do you, by the look of you. That’s a horrible cut on your head. How did you do that?”
“Oh, I hit it as we stopped. It was pretty sudden.”
“Yeah? It looks nasty. Here, take a cup. Let me-”
“Could I have some of that? For the dog; he’s desperate. I’ve got a container-here, look.”
It was the woman Abi had approached earlier.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said the young man. “There’re a lot of people here in terrible need. Sorry about the dog, but he’ll be OK. Get him into the shade; I would-Hello, young chap,” he said to a toddler clinging to his father’s hand. “Need some water? Here we are.”
He stood there on the roadside doling out his precious water, cup by cup, firmly refusing second comers.
“Just for now it’s got to be one cup per person Not fair otherwise. Only person who can have two is Shaun here, because he’s not very well.”
“Where did you come from, then?” said Abi, looking at him in a kind of wonder.
“I live in a farm, just behind the hill there. The chopper’s on our land. I saw it happen, actually.” His voice was very quiet, rather slow, surprisingly posh. You didn’t expect farmers to be posh. “I was standing up there with the cows, just moved them, and there it was, everything breaking up. Or seeming to be.”
“Yes? So what… what happened exactly? Do you think?”
“Well, the lorry just swerved, really hard, and went through the barrier. No apparent reason. And then the load just… well, it was as if it had burst, came out of the doors at the back, the sides, out the top even-did you see any of it?”
“Not-not really. I… We were just ahead of the… of it all.”
“Scary, isn’t it? Terrible things, accidents. One minute everything’s perfectly fine, under control, the next… well, it’s not. Lives ruined, all these people hurt through no fault of their own. Through nobody’s fault, really.”
“Yes. Terrible.” She smiled at him and sipped the water, the cool, wonderful water. She ought to get some to Jonathan, really.
***
Mary looked across at Colin; he was sitting on the bonnet of the car, lighting yet another cigarette. That was his sixth since the accident. Not that it mattered, and it was probably helping him, but she wished she could do something so simple that would make her feel better. She felt terrible, sick and exhausted, her neck and her head very painful. Colin had found her some painkillers, but they hadn’t really taken the edge off the pain.
The people in the car behind, Janet and John Brown, which had rammed into her, were being very kind too. The driver, a man, had hurt his wrist very badly, but apart from that they were fine.
They had produced a rug from the car, some picnic chairs and a thermos, sat Mary down, given her a cup of tea. Which had been very welcome, but if she’d thought a bit longer, she would have refused it. It had gone straight through her…
She looked at her watch: nearly fiv
e. Just an hour until Russell’s plane landed. Obviously now she couldn’t possibly get there. What would he think; what could she do…? Keep calm, Mary, keep calm.
***
She was desperate now to go to the lavatory. She wondered if she could enlist Janet Brown’s help, ask her to hold up the blanket, perhaps, but decided she didn’t know her well enough.
Her bladder stabbed at her; it was agony. And something else stabbed at her: the horribly familiar sense of squeezing pressure on her chest that signalled an attack of angina.
She felt absolutely terrified suddenly. For her nitrate spray was in the crumpled boot of the car…
Mary began to cry.
CHAPTER 12
Gradually order was being restored: two fire crews were still working on their grim tasks, but most of the casualties had been driven away in ambulances. Robbie followed Greg as he strode amongst the wreckage on the motorway alternately talking into his radio, informing the AA and the RAC and local radio stations, taking witnesses’ names and addresses, waving their cars over for inspection, and talking to the people who were stranded.
Mostly they wanted to know when they might get away; whether they could move their cars, whether the police could help with water and, as the time wore on, food.
One woman started shouting at them, demanding water; but on the whole they were pretty calm and cooperative. Greg was calm too, reassuring them that it shouldn’t be too much longer now before they could start clearing the cars, directing them to the police car that had arrived with a huge supply of water, offering the use of his and Robbie’s mobiles where essential.
Their task now that the worst was over-although the poor sod in the lorry was still being cut free-was to keep the scene as far as possible intact until the investigation unit arrived. Measurements and photographs had to be taken, a plan of the scene, complete with details of the debris, the exact location and direction of skid marks. Only when that was completed would they begin to get the cars out. Fortunately, the road into London was more or less clear now, but two lanes were still being used for the emergency services. There were a few cars on the hard shoulder, the doctor’s-great bloke he was, fantastic help-and a rather nice middle-aged couple who’d walked back about two hundred yards: the only ones who had stopped-incredible it was, really-to see if they could do anything.
There’d been a drama with some girl who’d gone into labour. Robbie had been told to stay with her and the husband until they were safely on their way. He hadn’t liked that too much. She’d been in considerable pain, alternately moaning and panting like a dog.
“I don’t want to have it here,” she said, gripping her husband’s hand. “I’m so scared.”
“No need for that,” Robbie said, hoping it was true. “And listen-I think… yes, I can hear it now, an ambulance, here it comes now… I’ll just flag it down, make sure it stops… yes. Good. Right. Over here, quickly, please,” he called to the two paramedics, one a girl. “The lady’s here, in this car.”
As he said afterwards to his girlfriend, he’d never been quite so terrified in his entire life, not even when that young thug came at him with his knife.
“Thought she was going to have it then and there.”
The girlfriend said briskly that policemen were always delivering babies. There’d been a story in the Daily Mail only last week, and she was sure he’d have been perfectly all right. Robbie was sure he wouldn’t.
***
“Jonathan? Jonathan, thank God, at last-wherever are you; where have you been?”
Laura’s voice was unusually harsh; he winced at the thought of how much harsher it would become.
“I’m on the M4, darling. Sorry not to have got in touch before.”
“The M4? What on earth are you doing on the M4? Everyone’s been so worried. I rang the clinic, but they hadn’t heard from you since early afternoon, and then when I did ring you this afternoon I heard your voice, and then it was just-just an awful noise and then nothing-are you saying that wasn’t you?”
“Laura, there’s been a very bad crash on the motorway,” said Jonathan, struggling to keep his voice level, finding it-illogically-hard to believe that she didn’t know. “Really bad-I got caught up in it; lorry driver went through the barrier. At least three people killed, I’m afraid-”
“Oh, my God, Jonathan, how ghastly. Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. But I’ve been doing what I could. Obviously.”
“Yes, of course. I understand. But… well, I wish you’d phoned, darling, I’ve been so worried.”
“I’m sorry. Somehow, with all that’s going on, didn’t think of it. Lot of badly injured people, one chap practically bleeding to death, old lady having a suspected heart attack; I really didn’t have time to chat.”
“No. No, of course not. How horrible for you, darling. I’m so sorry. You must be exhausted. When do you think you might get away?”
“I… don’t know. Fairly soon now, I think. Most of the casualties are on their way to the hospital, although the poor bugger in the lorry is being cut out by the fire brigade… Look-sorry, darling, got to go. The police are waiting to speak to me…”
***
“Come with me! Please! You gotta come with me.”
Shaun gripped Abi’s hand. He was still wheezing, fighting for breath.
She looked at the ambulance driver.
“Can I?”
“Yeah, s’pose so. Might be a long wait at the other end, though. Come on, now, mate,” he said to Shaun, “you’re not trying. Use that inhaler properly, deep breaths, that’s right.”
The man in charge of the boys was already gone to St. Marks; he’d remained very shocked, staring silently ahead of him, shaking violently from time to time. He had a suspected concussion. Abi and William had liaised over the welfare of the children; he would wait with them until they had all been taken safely away.
“OK,” she said now. “Well, William, this looks like good-bye. Thanks for everything. You’ve been great.”
“It was nothing. Wish I could have done more. Bye, Shaun.”
***
William watched her as she climbed into the back of the ambulance.
Right,” he said, sitting down on the grass again, next to the other boys. “We’ve just got to wait now. Shouldn’t be too long. Anyone know any good songs?”
It wasn’t until all the boys had been driven safely off by the Highways Agency that he found Abi’s mobile in the pocket of his jeans, and remembered her asking him to take it while she led the boys one by one down the bank to pee.
CHAPTER 13
Time had become irrelevant. Emma supposed she felt tired, supposed she felt upset, even; but she was not actually aware of it. She worked like an automaton, conscious only of the superb organisation that was directing everyone’s efforts. If Alex had told her to clean all the toilets she would have done it without question.
Ambulances arrived; people were brought in, were assessed and directed to the relevant station, and then on to theatre and, where necessary, intensive care. For much of the time she moved from station to station, seeing patients, trying to reassure them, administering painkillers, putting in cannulas and then intravenous drips and blood, taking blood tests, listening to chests, organising X-rays. The X-rays were portable, brought up to the beds, the machines moving round the patients, Dalek like; many people had fractures, and the simpler ones she set herself, having checked with the orthopaedic registrar-wonderful, calm, even funny Mark Collins-and she sewed up lacerations too, and butterfly-clipped minor head wounds.
Many of the cases were fairly mundane: broken ribs, fractured wrists; some more serious, mostly head injuries. There was a girl in premature labour-Emma held her hand, timing her contractions as they waited for a midwife to collect her, checking that there was someone still free to set up an epidural, soothing the wild-eyed husband. Emma was spared almost entirely her greatest dread: badly injured children; for the most part they had survived in the
astonishing security of their seat belts. One small boy had a concussion, another a broken leg; a very young baby was badly dehydrated, but for the most part, they grinned at her cheerfully as she checked bumps and bruises, enjoying the excitement and drama, intrigued by her stethoscope, asking her endless questions.
A middle-aged man in considerable pain was frantic that his wife should not be contacted: “She has a heart condition; I don’t want her panicking.”
He proved to have several fractured ribs, one of which had punctured his lung. “Nothing we can’t fix pretty quickly. You can go home tomorrow; tell your wife you’ve got in a fight,” said Emma cheerfully, setting up a chest drain.
“Oh, bless you,” he said, patting her hand, and then, “You don’t look like a doctor, you know.”
“I do know,” she said.
One case was particularly poignant: a young man was stretchered in, covered in blood, his equally blood-soaked friend walking beside him.
“They were on their way to the injured guy’s wedding,” Mark told her when she met him outside the theatre. “How cruel is that?”
“Bad as he looks?”
“Not sure. Head injury fairly superficial, but horrible mess, that leg-we’re not sure yet if we can fix it. Going to try to pin it, but it’s extremely complex…”
***
Russell looked at his watch; he kept looking at it, willing it to stay still, stop making it later, stop Mary failing him. But it was moving relentlessly on, ignoring his bewilderment and his unhappiness: Seven forty-five, it said now. A whole sixty minutes late. An hour. Surely, surely she’d have got a message to him if she’d been held up somewhere. Surely it couldn’t be that difficult…
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