53. Freddie
Freddie
“Do you know the guy that hit you was delivering pizza?” I say, as the paramedics close up the ambulance behind us. I’m rambling because it’s how I cope with stress, and I know she’d find it funny on a normal day.
She looks at me in confusion, as if she doesn’t recognise me.
I stroke her knuckles on repeat anyway, refusing to react to the fact that the paramedics have thrown the words ‘head injury’ around a lot.
“It’s funny, though, because you were running to the other side of the road. Like, you know what side we drive on here. You could see the cars. You just forgot to check the fucking bike lane. They’re so bloody quick now, cyclists. The e-bikes are almost as fast as cars.”
The paramedic gives me a sympathetic look as I continue my verbal avalanche.
“We’ll be at St Thomas’ in less than ten minutes,” she says, patting my shoulder.
“That’s lucky, princess, because it’s the best hospital in London.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out.
MUM
Cole told me what happened. Darling, I’m so sorry. I’m on shift at the hospital – I’ll be waiting for you in the ambulance bay. No need to reply. See you shortly.
God love Cole for having the mental wherewithal to message my mother.
“Hey, your new bestie, Carol, is going to be waiting for us when we get there. How’s that for red carpet treatment?” I say, squeezing her hand. It feels limp in my own, and I choke back another sob.
“I’m sorry for all the tears, babe. It’s stupid.
You’re the strongest person I know. You’re going to be fine .
I think I’m just a bit overwhelmed. You know like twenty minutes ago when I told you I love you for the first time in the middle of a stupid row with your dad?
I’m kind of hoping the head bump means I might get a do-over so I can tell you properly. ”
I laugh, but it sounds thin.
The radio crackles in the front, and I can tell we’re approaching the hospital.
“I’m not going anywhere, ok? You’re not on your own. I’m here, baby. You’re in the best hands.”
We pull up with a sudden stop and the doors at the back are flung open. I climb out and spot Mum immediately. I throw my arms around her and completely fall apart. She just holds me, stroking my hair, as they unload the stretcher.
Seconds later, Cole appears, hair sticking up all over the place.
In silence, we follow her into A&E.
“No family members beyond this point for now,” says one of the A&E doctors, as I cast a desperate look at Mum.
“I’ll stay with her,” she promises, taking Sloane’s hand as she falls into step with the paramedics. “I won’t leave her side.”
And then Cole and I are left standing in the middle of A&E as our girl is wheeled away.