Above me I heard the roar of a plane ascending from the airport. The sky was too cloudy to see it but I could hear it climbing. Full of passengers bound for sunny holidays. Up for hours already, they’d have been. Stomachs sour with lack of sleep and food at funny times, wondering whether to risk the curdled eggs and the strange sausages on the in-flight meal.
I leant over the road and retched. Thin, foamy bile.
Don’t let him die.
Agnes was still beside him, pressing my sweatshirt to his head. He was still breathing, just. I sat beside her, told her help was on its way. I closed my eyes and waited.
A second ambulance was summoned by the first. Goulden was given immediate emergency treatment before being moved. The police took initial statements from us. The bare bones of the story that had brought us here, leaving us shocked and bloodied. We were wrapped in blankets and led blinking into the bright daylight to the ambulance.
At the casualty department people came and went checking pulse and temperature. They let me ring home. Ray answered, relief catching at his voice. I told him where I was and that I’d be home as soon as they’d checked me out. I didn’t tell him what had happened. I wasn’t sure. Had I killed a man? Brain-damaged him?
I couldn’t get warm. They took my clothes and left me a paper gown which was open at the back and one cellular blanket. I asked for more blankets. They never came. There weren’t even any rolls of paper sheeting I could make use of. We were waiting again, for an X-ray, for a doctor, for a diagnosis, for ever. Shock dulled my comprehension but I didn’t dare sleep.
At last someone offered us tea. Oh, yes, yes! When it arrived, pale grey in Styrofoam cups, I nearly wept with disappointment. It didn’t even seem to help my raging thirst. More police came. They spoke to Agnes and me together.
They managed to note down the main points of our story and our conspiracy theory without too many incredulous looks. I asked about Goulden. He’d been taken to another hospital; there were no intensive care beds free at this one. They didn’t know how he was.
The doctor checked us over, pronounced our X-rays clear and agreed we could be discharged. They cleaned us up first. They decorated my nose with seri-strips, which looked stupid, and strapped up my wrist. Agnes had badly bruised legs from the kicking she’d received. They dressed them for her. We were both given some painkillers to take with us, a poorly photocopied leaflet on hypothermia, shock and concussion and what to look out for, and our choice of old clothes from the Hospital Friends Box. I was going to ask about my own clothes until I realised with a rush of fear that they might constitute evidence of my assault on Goulden. Did they need evidence when I’d told them all about it?