Chapter 37
SARAH
It isn’t like the movies.
If this had been the movies, I’d have rushed to Hal, who would have been helpfully thrown out of the car and would be lying on a grass verge, perhaps with an arm or leg at an awkward angle.
He’d have opened his eyes and let me cradle his head while we waited for help to come.
But it would have been clear that, despite his injuries, he was going to be just fine.
But this isn’t the movies.
The driver and I both exit the car and rush towards the steaming camper-van.
It’s lying on its crumpled side halfway down the bank.
The windscreen has shattered and Hal is lying half in and half out of the van.
He’s unconscious and there’s blood on his arm, on his head.
‘Hal!’ I cry, touching him. But he doesn’t respond.
I put my hand close to his mouth and am relieved to feel the warmth of his breath.
‘Help is coming,’ I say. ‘Hang on. Please.’
The driver is still standing a small distance away, watching us in horror. ‘Call 911, or 999, or whatever it is in France!’ I say, feeling a bit shitty that I don’t know the emergency number here.
He nods and pulls out a phone, speaking rapidly into the receiver. When he ends the call, I look at him expectantly. ‘They are on their way,’ he says.
‘Come and help me!’ I say desperately. ‘You must know some first aid or something?’ I mean, he probably usually carts around overweight, elderly millionaires, he must have at least done a bit of CPR.
But he makes a face. ‘Non. I cannot. It is too dangerous.’ He gestures Betty’s rear end, which is still expelling a quantity of steam and smoke.
‘You think it’s going to blow up?’ I ask, trying desperately to stop myself from bursting into tears or puking.
He shrugs. ‘I don’t know. But perhaps. Yes. Perhaps she is going to blow. You should come away.’
‘I can’t leave Hal here! He’s my… Hal is my friend. Help me, please. We can move him out of danger.’
‘But the paramedics said not to move him. We might make his injuries worse.’
‘I’m sure,’ I say, trying to keep my voice even and only just managing, ‘that if they thought he was going to get blown to pieces they’d think it was worth the risk.’
He’s about to say something else, when there’s a terrible hissing sound from Betty. A jet of pressurised steam begins to escape from around her engine hatch. The driver takes a step back. ‘Come, madame,’ he says. ‘It’s not safe.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I say. I look at Hal, still completely out of it, lying half on car and half on grass.
And I know instinctively that I can’t move him by myself.
Betty rattles and I feel a sickening wave of fear rush through me.
But I can’t leave him. I lean over, half covering him with my body, as if my 5’4” frame is really going to do anything to protect him if the worst should happen.
The next thing I know, there’s a hand on my shoulder. ‘Madame?’
There’s a woman in a blue outfit, a man standing behind her with a plastic stretcher. Above, at the road, there’s a red vehicle, its lights still flashing.
And this time I’m glad we’re not in the movies. Because nothing has exploded and help has arrived swiftly.
I stand, step back and watch as the pompiers gently move Hal onto the stretcher, strap him in and begin to move him towards the waiting ambulance.