Losing You (19 page)

Praying there were no psychos out on the prowl, she started – hobbled really, given how much her shoes were hurting – back across the road to fetch her bag and flute from the car. Heavy though it was, she’d have to take her
flute, because it had cost way too much money for her to risk leaving it behind.

She was almost halfway there when she heard the sound of a car approaching. Her heart immediately leapt to her throat. Should she flag the driver down or run and hide? It could be a psycho, or it could be rescue. Two huge cones of light flared up over the trees and reached the top of the hill. She started to run, but was suddenly torn about which way to go. She looked at her car, then the one that was approaching. It was so close ... She had to make herself
run
...

Oliver’s hands were clenched so tightly to the wheel that his knuckles felt close to cracking. His anger and dread were so fierce it was like thunder in his brain.

He’d stopped a few minutes ago to do what he should have the instant his mother had rung him – call his father, his brother, the police, anyone, but he hadn’t been able to get a reception. He didn’t even know if he was going the right way. This wasn’t his part of town; he’d hardly ever been here before. A sign half a mile back had directed him to the airport, which was better than nothing. At least he knew his way from there.

The music was doing his head in. He leaned over to turn it off and his eyes returned to the road as he flew over the brink of the hill ...

Jesus Christ Almighty
.

He jammed on the brakes, jammed and jammed, but he couldn’t come to a stop. It was all happening too fast, yet he was in slow motion. He slammed right into her. She flew up over the bonnet. Her head hit the windscreen so hard that the glass shattered into a web of a million pieces. He couldn’t see where he was going. He was still braking like mad. The car hit something else, swerved and finally came to a stop.

His hands were still gripping the wheel, his head was reeling and hanging forward as he tried to catch his breath.

What the hell had just happened? He was having a nightmare, right?

His heart felt like it was having an attack.

He forced his head up. He could see nothing ahead of him – the windscreen was a net of smithereens. He turned to the side and saw only bushes, gnarled and thistly in the glow of his headlights. The only sound was the dull click of the cooling engine.

His breath stopped coming. Then it was there again in harsh, ragged bursts.

He’d hit someone, he was sure of it.

Jesus Christ, he’d just hit someone
.

Pushing open the door, he stepped out into the frosty night air and his legs started to buckle beneath him. He took a deep breath and made himself look back along the road. He couldn’t see anyone, but there was a car ... Then he saw something lying next to it.

He started to heave, huge, dry, retching sobs, with nothing coming out.

When it was over he looked down the road again.

It was still there.

He could tell it was a person. Were they all right?

No, you stupid fucking bastard, of course they’re not all right
.

He started towards them, broke into a run, then stopped suddenly and took a step back.

He didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t a doctor. He knew nothing about first aid, or emergencies, or anything like that. And he’d been drinking.

But he had to try and help.

Running to the figure crumpled on its side, one arm outstretched, face hidden by a mane of bloodied hair, he threw himself down next to her and tried to make himself think. ‘Are you all right?’ he urged. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t see you. Oh God, please be all right, please, please. Can you hear me? Say something. Anything.’

Through the tangle of her hair he could see that her eyes were closed and her mouth was hanging open.

Terrified, he looked around. Everything was hauntingly still.

He had to get help. 999. An ambulance.

Galvanised, he dashed back to his car and snatched the
phone from the passenger seat, but when he dialled he saw there was still no reception.

This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t. Someone had to come along
now
and give them some help.

Hardly connecting with his own movements, he ran back to her. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ he cried, holding up his phone. ‘I can’t call for help.’

What the hell do you think she’s going to do, you fucking idiot
?

‘I won’t be long,’ he told her hurriedly. ‘I swear I’m not leaving you.’

He started to run, faster than he ever had in his life. Some way past his own car he came to an abrupt stop. When the ambulance turned up the police would be bound to come too. They’d breathalyse him and there was no way he’d pass. He’d lose his licence, maybe even go to prison for hitting her.

What if he’d killed her
?

No, no, no, no
. Everything was happening too fast. He was out of control. He had to calm down.

What if he got back in his car and drove away? They might never know it was him. Someone was bound to come along in a minute, they’d find her and call the emergency services. She’d be all right.

He turned around and looked back down the road. She was still lying there, not moving. If she was dead there was nothing anyone could do anyway.

But what if she wasn’t?

He’d hit her so hard she had to be.

Feeling his knees turning weak again, he bent double as he started to retch. He had to get out of here before someone came and saw him.

Staggering back to his car, instead of getting in he found himself going straight past it, back to her. He picked up her hand. He had to find a pulse, but his heart was hammering so hard that he had no idea what he was feeling. He put his face down to hers to try and hear her breath.

There was nothing.

He started to cry. If she wasn’t breathing, she had to be dead.

‘Oh God, oh God,’ he sobbed. What should he do?

He stood up, stumbled a few steps and stumbled back again. He was shaking so fiercely he couldn’t even hear the silence. He could only feel it, smothering him with its terrible stillness.

He dropped his phone, picked it up and started to walk again. He was going to get out of here, pretend it had never happened. It hadn’t been his fault. She’d been in the middle of the road. He hadn’t stood a chance.

Remembering his mother, he clenched his hands to his head.

What was he supposed to do?

Get out of here
, a voice inside him urged.
Go now before anyone comes
.

He turned back to the girl. ‘I don’t even know you,’ he sobbed. ‘It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know you were there.’

The terrible echo of his voice retreated like a frightened animal over the empty, frosted fields.

‘I have to go, OK?’ he said. ‘I’m really sorry, but I can’t use the phone here, and I don’t know how to help you. I promise I’ll call someone as soon as I can.’

He ran back to his car, started to get in, but suddenly he was slamming the door and running on down the road. He kept going until his phone showed some bars of connection.

It took three seconds to dial 999. It took forever to explain what had happened and who he was.

‘It doesn’t matter who I am,’ he raged. ‘I’m trying to tell you, she needs help. You have to send an ambulance.’

‘We will, sir, but you have to tell us where you are.’

He didn’t know.

‘It’s OK,’ the operator said soothingly, ‘we’re going to work it out. I just need you to stay on the line.’

‘Why?’ he shouted. ‘It doesn’t have anything to do with me. I just saw what happened ...’

‘But we need a location, and your phone can give it to us, so please don’t ring off.’

He couldn’t decide what to do. How the hell could he get out of this and still help her? He had to make himself think. They had his number now, so they’d find him anyway. And could he really, seriously, just leave her there?

Chapter Ten

OLIVER HAD NO
idea how much time had gone by. It might have been minutes, hours, even days. He only knew that it felt as though he’d been sitting here, on the side of the road, for most of his life. Nothing seemed to exist beyond the girl lying next to him and the night that belonged to a terrible dream.

A while ago he’d turned her head to make sure she could breathe. Maybe it was already too late for that, but he wasn’t going to allow himself to think it, he just couldn’t. Every now and again he spoke to her, saying, ‘I’m sorry,’ or ‘I didn’t see you,’ or ‘They’re coming. You’re going to be all right.’ His words grated the stillness, and were shredded with the kind of fear he’d never known in his life.

Was his jacket, wrapped around her leg, doing anything to help? The bone was sticking through the skin, he’d had to do something to try and protect it.

Where the hell was everyone?

A few minutes ago he’d noticed some car headlights approaching in the distance, but then they’d turned off in another direction and disappeared from view.

It was as though they’d been abandoned, him and this girl. They were the only two people in the world.

He wanted to leave her, but he couldn’t make himself do it. He kept trying, but it just wouldn’t happen. It was as though he was tied to her now, and there would never be any letting go. Their lives had collided, crossed, become enmeshed in a way that couldn’t be escaped; even if she didn’t make it, she would always be a part of him.

If she came round she’d be afraid, in pain, probably unable to move. He wished he knew what to do.

Yet why should he care? He didn’t know her. He’d never even seen her before. She shouldn’t have been standing in the road.

Still there was no sound apart from the rustle and cry of night creatures, and the unstoppable voices in his head.

What was happening to his mother?

Fear contracted him again. He should have called her while he could, but he’d forgotten, and now he was back here and unable to leave this girl in spite of the cold and the fear that was gripping him so cruelly.

Ca serait mieux si je partais
, she’d said. It would be better if I left.

His eyes closed as more terror sliced through him. She couldn’t have meant what he’d thought. She wouldn’t do that, she just wouldn’t.

If she did it would be his fault for not stopping her.

He couldn’t call her now, and he couldn’t drive away to get to her.

Maybe she’d meant she was going to be with Aunt Olivia in Cape Town.

He wished he was in Cape Town. Or still at the party, or at his mother’s – or
at home with his father
...

He started to cry, helplessly, self-pityingly.

‘They won’t be long now,’ he told her, dashing away his tears. He had to hold it together for her. ‘They’ll take care of you, make sure you’re all right.’

He was holding her hand, squeezing it hard as though trying to push his own life into her. She was cold, but so was he.

He tensed at the distant wail of an animal screeching into the night. He looked around, terrified, frozen, hardly able to move. Then he recognised the sound, and as relief and fear pumped more adrenalin into his veins he dropped her hand and shot to his feet.

‘They’re here,’ he told her, his voice mangled by a sob. ‘They’re coming. Can you hear them? You’re going to be OK.’

*

Bob Tillman was at the wheel of the response vehicle; Clive Andrews was next to him, keeping his eyes peeled for some sign of what they were looking for. They should be close now, he thought, and after they rounded a bend, tore along a straight stretch, lights flashing, siren screaming, he finally spotted a car up ahead slewed into a ditch. ‘OK, what’s this?’ he said.

Hitting the brakes, Bob Tillman slowed as they approached a VW Polo with a shattered windscreen; then, seeing a young lad frantically waving, Clive Andrews started to get out of the car.

‘It’s all right, son,’ he shouted, running towards him. ‘Where’s the victim?’

‘She’s here,’ the boy shouted back, pointing.

‘Is she still alive?’

‘I – I think so.’

Seeing the girl lying crumpled next to a second car, Andrews immediately instructed Tillman to call out a chopper and go to seal off the road. The girl had to be got to hospital faster than fast, and the last thing they needed was some poor unsuspecting sod ploughing into the scene and making things worse than they already were.

‘Are you a relative?’ Andrews was asking as he brushed past the lad to get to the girl. ‘What happened here?’

‘She was in the middle of the road,’ Oliver cried. ‘I didn’t even see her.’

‘It’s OK,’ Andrews said, putting a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder. That was all he could give him for now – the girl was his priority. ‘Oh Jesus Christ,’ he murmured to himself, as he knelt down beside her. He hated it when it was kids the same age as his own. One day, it might turn out to be one of his.

‘I turned her head so she could breathe,’ Oliver told him.

‘Good, you did good,’ Andrews assured him, without knowing if it was true. It would be if she was still with them, and Andrews was hoping with all his heart that she was.

Hearing more sirens in the distance, he softened his voice as he laid a hand gently on her head, and said, ‘Hello
beautiful. Are you going to have a bit of a chat with me now? Can you hear me? I think you can. Open your eyes, there’s a love. Let me see how pretty they are.’

Receiving no response, he squeezed her earlobe for a pain reaction.

Nothing.

Stooping closer, he listened for breathing.

If it was there, it was too faint to hear.

Internal bleeding could be affecting her pulses, so no guarantees there.

‘We’re going to have you nice and safe very soon now,’ he told her gently. ‘The ambulance is on its way. Can you hear the siren?’

Nineteen minutes was the maximum response time, they’d already used up sixteen and he wasn’t sure this girl had many more minutes left in her, if she had any at all.

‘Is she alive?’ Oliver blurted.