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‘What’s happened?’ said a breathy voice.
When I looked up, Jack was there and I didn’t think I’d ever been more relieved to see someone in my life.
‘He’s been knocked over,’ I said. ‘I don’t think he’s breathing.’
Jack knelt down next to me.
‘Do you know CPR?’ I asked him, panicked now.
With every second that passed, the more unlikely it was that we had any chance of saving Clive.
‘I was taught it for a scene I did on Holby,’ replied Jack, pushing my top aside, ripping open Clive’s coat and then his shirt. ‘It was a while ago. I need to remember what they said.’
‘I’ll call an ambulance,’ I said, pulling out my phone, dialling 999 with fingers that suddenly felt too big and clumsy for the keypad.
I watched Jack laying his hands on the centre of Clive’s chest, feeling around for the bottom of his breastbone, concentrating hard. I reeled off the details of the accident to the operator on the other end of the phone, watching Clive’s face for the tiniest sign of life, for a glimmer of hope. Jack had locked his hands together and was pushing down hard on Clive’s chest, counting under his breath. I gave the operator our postcode.
‘Tell them to hurry,’ shouted Jack, putting his mouth over Clive’s and blowing air into it, once and then once more.
Blood was pumping so hard in my temples that I thought I might keel over myself.
‘It’s on its way,’ I said, kneeling back down next to Jack, taking Clive’s cold hand and clutching it in mine.
