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23
Rebecca
I’d taken a different route this morning, finishing up my run at the pond near Jack Straw’s Castle. The water shimmered ominously behind the reeds which were beginning to grow around the perimeter of it now spring was coming. With a layer of mist hanging on the surface of it, you could almost imagine it hundreds of years ago, when there would have been just the grassland of the heath around it: no roads, no gridlocked lines of cars making their way into central London.
As I walked along the driveway of Marlowe Court, my body cooling down, my breathing returning to normal, I saw the front door to our block open and a tall man, stooped, with a black scarf wrapped tightly around his face and neck, coming out.
‘Clive?’ I said as I got closer.
He pulled the scarf down off his face, his breath fogging in the cold air.
‘Hello, my dear,’ he replied, stamping his feet to keep warm.
‘This is an early walk for you,’ I noted, taking out my earbuds so I could hear him properly.
‘It is,’ he said, very enthusiastically, given the time. ‘I’m out of milk, so it’s a good excuse to get me out and about at a decent hour. I have to walk every day, otherwise everything will seize up. That’s what happens when you get old!’
I smiled at him. ‘Well, enjoy,’ I said. ‘I reckon it’s about to rain, though, so don’t stay out too long.’ I pointed up at the sky. It was only just getting light and there was no sign that it was going to be anything other than grey and wet all day.
‘Ah, don’t worry about me,’ he replied. ‘I’m stronger than I look, young lady.’
I laughed. ‘I don’t doubt it,’ I said, letting myself through the door.
I’d just started up the stairs and was thinking about whether to have a yoghurt or a couple of slices of toast for breakfast when I heard shouting, followed by the elongated beeping of a horn. I looked out of the window on the first floor, forever nosy about what was going on with the neighbours. Pressing my nose against the glass, I tried to work out what was happening. Had somebody blocked somebody else in? I was glad I didn’t drive, actually, because I couldn’t imagine anything more frustrating than being in a hurry to get somewhere and not being able to get your car out because some idiot had parked badly.
I could see a black BMW in the driveway, the young guy from the Turkish family on the ground floor was pacing around at the back of it with his hands over his mouth. When I looked on the ground, I could see the sleeve of a coat and what I thought was a hand. My stomach lurched, adrenaline surging through me. It was Clive, I knew it was.
I flew back down the stairs, flinging open the front door, running outside.
‘What’s going on?’ I shouted as I approached the car.
The young guy, whose name I didn’t know, was wide-eyed and completely mute and his phone was hanging limply in his hand.
I looked down.
‘Clive!’ I said, throwing myself to the ground next to him. His eyes were closed and his limbs were twisted in different directions, so that his body was shaped like a zigzag. ‘What happened?’ I screamed, looking up at the guy.
‘I didn’t see him,’ he said. ‘I was reversing out of the drive and I didn’t see him. Is he dead?’
‘It’s all right, Clive,’ I said, ignoring the question. He couldn’t be. He wasn’t. ‘You’ll be all right, stay with me, OK?’ I soothed, stroking Clive’s arm.
My heart was thumping in my chest and I thought I might be about to throw up. My brain wasn’t working properly, just when I needed to think more clearly than ever – what should I do? Every second I didn’t take action could cost Clive his life.
‘Call an ambulance!’ I said to the guy, who was now crouching down next to me, whimpering.
I pulled off my tracksuit top with shaking hands, laying it over Clive’s chest.
‘Clive? Clive, can you hear me?’ I asked, bending to talk into his ear.
The BMWs hazard lights were flashing on and off, and when they illuminated Clive’s face, his lips looked very pale and I didn’t think that was good. I had to act quickly.
‘Call a fucking ambulance,’ I said to the driver, who was still staring at me blankly.
If neither of us was going to be able to help, we’d have to find somebody who could.
‘Help!’ I shouted, in the hope that somebody would hear me and look out of the window. Surely somebody must have noticed what was going on. ‘There’s an emergency, help!’
I put my cheek next to Clive’s face, to feel whether or not I could detect even the slightest breath. I couldn’t. Tears filmed over my eyes. Not again; this couldn’t happen to me again.
