Chapter 8
It was one of those rare nights when I had gone to bed early. My parents were attending a wedding, and I had drifted off to sleep reading.
Andrew was watching a tennis match, the French Open, in which I had little interest. The trill of the phone woke me up.
‘Nana, Noelene… collapsed.’ Andrew was at the other end. He was shouting.
I wondered if I was awake. I was, and I was shaking.
I washed my face before locking the flat and heading out. It was only when I exited the lift in the basement that I realized I was in pyjamas and chappals. I was carrying money, but I wasn’t in a fit state to call a cab. I decided to run the two kilometres to Andrew’s place.
The air was wet. To distract myself from the weather, the catcalls and the bikes that kindly stopped to ask if I wanted to hop on, I thought I might actually like running.
One foot in front of the other, listening to the wind hiss, feeling the droplets, tasting them.
Wet feet, muddy bottoms. Weather-beaten.
This wouldn’t rank among the smartest things I had done. I knew that even as I started running, but Andrew needed me.
The ambulance reached just as I arrived. I climbed into it with Andrew. He hugged me so tight, I thought he had squeezed the living breath out of me.
‘Are you carrying some water?’ I asked out of habit.
‘She won’t need water,’ he said, crying silently.