Chapter 7 #2
He climbed out of bed, then reached for her hand, before leading the way.
There hadn’t been time to properly tidy the ensuite, so she kept her fingers crossed that he wouldn’t spot her greying bra on the top of the laundry basket, or the two bottles of bubbles left over from when the boys used her shower the other day.
The main bathroom in this house only had a bath with a hose, so they much preferred to shower in Mummy’s bathroom.
It was cheaper than taking them to a soft play, much more fun, and it ticked the box of getting them clean, so she was all for it.
Ray reached in and turned on the water, then stepped first into the long, narrow shower cubicle before turning to face her and holding out his hand. ‘Coming?’
Too late to back out now. She stepped forward, and he pulled her into his body, kissing her again as he stepped backwards so that they were both going towards the large square rain shower and…
Amber wasn’t quite sure what happened next.
It was all so fast. One minute they were kissing as they moved, and the next minute, he began to drop.
At first, she got the wrong impression and thought her adventurous voice had got her into something that she and her woefully ungroomed legs definitely weren’t ready for, but then she realised that he’d slipped, and the sound he was making was a yelp of surprise, as he continued to fall, almost taking her down with him.
She tried to hold him, save him, but lost her grip on his wet arm, and that’s when he banged his head against the tile wall and slumped like he’d been shot by a sniper.
She wailed, reached over him, slammed the water off, then flew down to his level.
‘Ray. Ray!’ Panic was rising. Thankfully there was no blood, but he was out cold and she had absolutely no medical experience other than a first-aid course when she was captain of the netball team in the last year of high school.
It was enough to know how to check his pulse.
Still breathing. Okay. At least she hadn’t killed him.
Oh bugger, this was such a mistake. What had possessed her to do this?
She’d had sex one time since the divorce – or technically twice – and she was now close to being the subject of a true crime podcast.
Still frantic, she sprinted out of the shower, grabbed her phone, dialled 999, begged for an ambulance, then raced back to him as soon as they said it was on the way.
She checked his breathing again – still fine.
Tried to rouse him, but no response. She held his hand for a few moments, then realised that not only was it pointless, but she was still butt naked and there were probably rules against flashing a paramedic, so she really had to throw on some clothes.
‘Ray? Ray? I’ll be right there in the bedroom so just… I don’t know… groan if you need me.’ She felt the need to reassure him because she’d heard unconscious people could still hear what was being said to them. Or was that people in a coma? Damn, why hadn’t she paid more attention to Chicago Med?
Unsurprisingly, there was no response, since he was still out cold, so she rushed into the bedroom, grabbed the first clothes that came to hand then threw his stuff into a bag: wallet, watch, phone, and clothes which she saw now had all been carefully folded and placed on the chair beside the bed.
She made a note to question the slightly worrying pre-sex folded neatness, if they made it out of this without serious injury or a suspected murder charge.
Back in the bathroom, she kept talking to him while jumping on the spot as she tried to pull jeans onto her wet legs, then clipped on a twisted bra and dragged a sweater over her damp hair. ‘Ray, Ray. Please wake up. Ray, please. Wake up. I’m so sorry.’
For years, she’d been reading about the long wait times for ambulances, but by some absolute miracle, only a few minutes had passed when she heard banging on her door.
She rushed downstairs to let them in. ‘He’s up here,’ she blurted, then led the two paramedics with kitbags, one male, one female, upstairs, taking two at a time again.
In the bathroom, they quickly assessed the damage, and Amber almost cried with relief when Ray left out a low moan.
He wasn’t going to die in her shower. Or at all, hopefully.
There hadn’t been a time in her life when she’d ever contemplated that thought would be in her head.
Or that her bathroom would be host to two paramedics, one naked man and, she saw now, a definite erection that the medics were too professional to mention.
That probably answered the Viagra question she’d pondered earlier.
Her face flushed to the colour of the sexy red knickers she’d worn for the occasion.
She stepped back to let them work, then watched as they slipped a yellow collar around his neck, then gently manoeuvred a drowsy Ray out of the shower and onto the bathroom floor.
She grabbed her dressing gown from the door and covered his still-erect dignity with it as they tried to communicate with him, while he was drifting in and out of consciousness.
One of them went back out to the ambulance and returned with a stretcher.
Gently, carefully, they eased him onto it, then carried him out of the door.
As Amber followed behind them, fear gripping every nerve in her body, she glanced back at the shower and immediately saw the culprit.
He was ten inches tall. Bright yellow. Squirted water from his mouth.
Answered to the name SpongeBob Square Pants.
He was also Sid’s very favourite bath toy.
‘Are you coming with us?’ the paramedic asked, and Amber realised she hadn’t thought about it, but there was only one answer.
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’
At the bottom of the stairs, they paused to let Amber go ahead and open the door for them, then steered the stretcher outside. It must have been the snap of cold air, or perhaps the motion of the stretcher on the gravel path, but he suddenly came round again and began to mumble.
More relief. And thanks. And gratitude to the heavens. Until…
The words he was murmuring caused her to pause. Had she heard that? No. She must have got it wrong.
He said the same words again.
And Amber’s soul left her body.
Because she was entirely positive that he’d just mumbled something about calling his wife.