We went to lunch in Tom’s old landrover. It was such a heap these days, but not so long ago, I was more than happy to ride in it. Maybe this time he was making sure he didn’t have to walk back to work, I had abandoned him last time after my row with Mumblestiltskin. Despite the noise of the engine I fell asleep before we got to the restaurant.

“Come on, Cathy, time to go back to work.”

“What? What time is it?”

“It’s after two.”

“Two,” I repeated to myself trying to work out what it meant. Eventually, my slow brain decided it must be something to do with the time. “Did I have lunch?”

“No, you slept through it.”

“Gee thanks,”

“I decided you must be more tired than hungry, besides you were snoring fit to scare crows.”

“I don’t snore,” I said indignantly.

“I thought you’d say that, so I sent a copy of this to your website.” He switched on his mobile phone and played the video. I was snoring and it was quite audible. I blushed to my roots.

“I didn’t know I did that.” I said in disbelief.

“Of course you don’t, you’re asleep when you’re doing it.”

“Oh, that makes some sense, did you get me a sandwich?”

“Here,” he said and passed it to me. I snatched it and tucked in, I was ravenous.

“Trouble with youngsters is they have no stamina.”

“Hmm,” I mumbled, my mouth full of tuna sandwich.

“When I was your age, we used to work all day and party all night.”

“Was that during the prohibition?”

“Prohibition? That was America.”

“Was it? I wondered if you’d got Al Capone’s autograph?”

“You cheeky bugger, I’m not that old.”

“Sorry, I thought you were,” I hoped my eyes were twinkling, because my mouth was still full of bread.

He gave me a Paddington hard stare, shook his head and started the car. Of course we got stuck at a jam caused by an accident. People were flapping around and one in particular, I thought I recognised. I did, my goodness! I jumped out of the car, “Where are you going?” called Tom to my back.

“Where is she?” I asked and saw her lying on the road, her body in an unnatural position. People were stood around. I frantically pushed them out of the way and kneeling down felt for her pulse. There was none.

“She’s a gonner,” said a voice, and as I examined her, I noticed bleeding from her ear, suggesting a fracture to the skull. I laid her flat, and started CPR. There was nothing else I could do.

“Thirty to one,” I muttered to myself as I began pumping her little chest.

“Shift over, I’ll pump you blow,” said a young copper who appeared at my side.

“Don’t do it too hard then,” I cautioned and blew twice into the little mouth. My helper pumped. We did this for several minutes when I heard the sirens in the distance. I knew from experience that even when they arrived they’d need time to set up. “Keep going until they tell us to stop,” I gasped to my colleague.

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” he was looking quite hot and bothered.

I blew again, “Come on Jemima, it’s Cathy, don’t leave us, you hang on in there.”

“…thirty, you know her?” asked the copper.

“Sort of,” I said after inflating her lungs.

“Let us through,” called a voice and the cavalry in the form of the Hampshire Ambulance Service, arrived. “Keep going,” he urged us, so we did.

“We have a pulse,” he said, it’s very weak, “so why isn’t she breathing?” He checked her airway, having stopped the policeman and his compressions. He shoved a bag thing over her nose and mouth and began pumping it with his hand, her little chest rose and fell.

“How long was she stopped?” he asked me, and his companion began to strip her clothing and put on an ECG machine leads.

“I don’t know, maybe five or ten minutes.”

“Shit!” he said and he kept squeezing the bag, “Can you do this for me while we get her on to the stretcher?”

I nodded and moved towards him, “Make sure you keep it over her nose and mouth.” I nodded again.

I kept squeezing as they fitted a neck brace and then ever so gently lifted her onto the stretcher. They raised it up to waist height on it’s telescopic legs and the paramedic took back control of the bag. “She’s not yours then?”

“No, I just happened on the accident, her mother’s here somewhere.” I pointed to the woman sobbing on the shoulder of another copper.

“Okay,” he went over to her, his colleague had taken over the bag squeezing and the gurney was shoved into the ambulance. Moments later, Jemima’s mother was shoved in after her and the paramedic, shut the door and drove off at speed: the lights and wailing siren clearing it’s path through the traffic.

The young policemen took my name and address, I was sort of a witness after the fact. I then got back into Tom’s car.

“What happened?”

I began to realise the enormity of what had happened. “A little girl was hit by a car, I think. The problem is, I think I know her.”

“Who is she?”

“Jemima, the little girl who has damaged my ear drums many times. I think she may never do so again.”

“Bad?”

I nodded, “Fractured skull, there was no pulse when I got there, so I started CPR, a young copper helped me.”

“Oh dear, said Tom, “I’m taking you home.” Which is what he did. He also poured me a stiff brandy and almost forced me to drink it. It burned and I coughed, then I gave a big shudder and started to cry. He put his arm around me and I sobbed on his shoulder. How could so much happen to one person? Did it happen to me, or did I provoke it in some way?

I could see the limp, battered, little body lying in that awkward shape and I never thought I’d be able to get it out of my head as long as I lived. She looked so pale, with her blue lips. Was I too late? I suppose I might never know.

I actually went to bed and slept right through until about six in the morning. When I awoke, I felt physically refreshed but still sad after yesterday’s incident.

“Stay home, go back to bed.” This was Tom’s exhortation and I did wonder about it. I felt like shit, despite my catch up on my beauty sleep.

“I wonder if I called the hospital?” I mooted.

“They won’t tell you anything?”

“No, I suppose not. Poor little bugger, what chance did she have at life? If there is a God, he’s a miserable bastard. That’s two people I know, he’s taken in the last couple of months.”

“Cathy, I’m no expert, but I don’t think that’s how it happens.”

“I don’t care, all these Bible thumpers, they’re all so stupid, can’t they see through all that crap for what it is?”

“And what is it?”

“Crap, that’s what.”

“Cathy, you are justifiably angry, but maybe your anger should be directed at the driver who hit your little friend, or the council for not providing a crossing. Cussing and blaspheming helps no one, and it makes you look rather silly.”

I was about to tell him where to go, when he smiled and melted my heart. He was right–a-bloody-gain–and he held me as I wept some more. Some days I felt so helpless and others, so useless.

“You did all you could, it’s up to her doctors and luck if she survives.” He cooed as he held me. “You did your best, which is all you could do.”

I calmed down, and had a cuppa, then still feeling bad, went back to bed. I wondered how much more could happen, World War Three? I could just see it now–a nuclear sub docks at Portsmouth on a goodwill visit, I go to look around and while doing so stumble and my hand strikes a button which launches Trident missiles at Russia. Yeah, that was my sort of luck. I must have fallen asleep, because I was awoken by the doorbell. It took me a moment to realise what it was.

I struggled out of bed, and grabbed my dressing gown which I wrapped around myself as I descended. I opened the door, half expecting it to be the Russian Ambassador asking why I’d declared war on his country.

Instead, behind a large bouquet of flowers stood an oldish, well fifty something-ish man, with a large moustache. “Are you, Cathy Watts?”

“Yes, why?”

“These are for you.”

“Why?”

“You helped to keep my granddaughter alive.”

“She’s alive?” I shrieked and kissed him on the cheek.

“Yes, she’s in a coma, she’s fractured her skull and they’re keeping her unconscious until the swelling goes down. She is very poorly, but if you hadn’t started to resuscitate her, she’d have been dead on arrival.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get there earlier.”

“You did what you could, please accept these flowers with our family’s gratitude, she has a slim chance of survival.”

“I can’t take those, I didn’t do anything to deserve them, please give them to Jemima.”

“They said you knew her.”

“I showed her some of my dormice at the university, they nearly had nervous breakdowns at the range of decibels such a small body could produce.” We both laughed and he agreed.

“Please take them, we’d all like you to. It’s not much, but it’s important for us to acknowledge what you did.”

“Thank you, would you like a cuppa?”

“No, thank you all the same, I’d better get back to the hospital.”

“Please, “I gave him my mobile number,” let me know how she gets on, won’t you?”

“I’ll do that,” he said, and I accepted the flowers.

“I do hope she’ll be alright.”

“Aye, so do I lass.” He left.