Chapter 45
The two figures – a man and a woman – reach them on the beach. They immediately take charge, asking questions, assessing Drew, clearing space. The male paramedic, who introduces himself as Jim, cuts through Drew’s T-shirt and straps electrodes to his chest, working swiftly, efficiently.
‘I tried to help,’ Tobias says. ‘I did my best.’
‘Don’t worry, sir. You did great. We’ll take it from here.’
Tobias sits back, his hands, his arms suddenly idle.
There is no activity to employ his limbs anymore so they take up a rhythmic shivering as he watches the paramedics deploy what he now sees is a defibrillator.
Why hadn’t he thought of that? He could have sent Bella off in search of one by the roadside. It could have made all the difference.
The woman, called Sarah, is administering a blanket to Bella who has started sobbing again now that help is at hand.
Tobias realises it is he who should be comforting his daughter; his favourite, after all.
The one who has always been his secret pride and joy.
But he can’t look at her right now. Doesn’t want to.
There is another emotion rising up in him; anger, resentment.
She’s supposed to be the grown-up one, the sensible child.
Maybe not the bookish, brainy one but always street-smart, savvy.
How could she let this happen? Bella is older, in loco parentis, effectively.
She should have been looking out for her younger sibling.
He shakes his head. There must be someone to blame for this situation. It can’t just be dumb luck, misfortune, a bad hand dealt by fate. The Woolfs make their own luck. This sort of thing doesn’t happen to them. Yes, perhaps to one of these local yobs who don’t know any better. Not to his son.
But then he is aware that the paramedic is shouting Drew’s name in a clear, authoritative way.
‘Can you hear me, Drew?’ says the man.
This Jim looks far too old to be doing such a job.
Surely he must be nearing retirement, muses Tobias, his brain running along the most random trains of thought now.
But then not everyone can choose to retire at forty with a massive pension.
He, himself, could have, in fact did at one point, but then he grew bored and returned to work.
‘Drew,’ repeats the paramedic. ‘Drew, can you hear me? You’re okay, you’re safe.’
Then Tobias hears the most miraculous sound.
Few things have stopped him in his tracks, have solidified in his memory, as he knows this will.
The first time he heard the bubbling chuckle of his child’s laughter.
The first time he heard the word ‘daddy’.
The sound of his son’s screams as he carried him into A moving him into the recovery position, warming him up in a blanket, monitoring his heart rate.
Preparing him for transfer to a stretcher and then to the waiting ambulance and onwards to a hospital.
He doesn’t even know where the nearest one is, he realises.
Whether it is any good. And suddenly he is homesick.
For London, for the city, for the reassuringly constant thrum and life of it all; his house, his job, civilisation.
He wants to be back there, to safety, familiarity.
He is sick of this place, the renovation, the constant worry.
Then a thought finally occurs to him. He turns to his daughter, who has shuffled closer, under her blanket, weeping happy tears now, staring at her brother with palpable joy and relief.
‘Where the hell is your bloody mother?’