wasn’t at work.
It took a moment to find the light switch, a moment to comprehend that this wasn’t a dream and that she wasn’t at work, that she wasn’t even at home, but it was definitely Ciro knocking loudly at her door and from the urgency in his voice this was no time to try and locate her gown.
‘Harriet!’ His shout didn’t fade as she flung open the door draped only in a bathroom towel, blinking at the bright hall lights of the apartment block, squinting at Ciro who was crouched in her doorway equally suitably undressed in a pair of dark boxers. He was pulling on a pair of runners. ‘Those kids that were partying on the beach…’ Footwear on, he was heading for the stairwell, giving her just enough information to act before he bolted down the stairs. ‘I’ve called for an ambulance, they’re in trouble.’
And that was all the information she needed. Berating the fact she wasn’t tidier, Harriet located her shorts from her bedroom floor and pulled them on before yanking open her chest of drawers and grabbing the first T-shirt that came to hand. For the sake of speed and safety she followed Ciro’s cue and spent thirty seconds pulling on her own runners so she could race down the stairs and out into the night. The air was cool now, the foreshore eerily dark without the familiar glow of the cafés. There were just a few streetlights to guide the way. The moon was hidden behind low clouds, bobbing out occasionally to give Harriet a view of what lay in store as she ran along the beach. And it wasn’t a pretty sight.
Ciro, waist-deep in the water, was diving in, swimming towards a surfboard that an exhausted swimmer was trying to drag to shore, an inert body lying, floppy and prone, on it. Harriet knew, even from this distance, that the victim was in serious trouble. However, causing her even more concern right now was the group of hysterical teenagers that were shouting and swaying on the beach, screaming frantically for Ciro to hurry, one even trying to run into the inky water. Harriet was genuinely concerned that this already bad situation could turn into a complete disaster.
‘Stop him,’ Harriet shouted, pointing to the drunk teenager who was already knee-deep. But her voice was carried away in the wind. Her only option was to run faster, to stop him before he drowned himself.
Accelerating harder, her breath caught in her lungs, the salty air stung her nostrils, her heart pounded in her chest, and she tried to ignore the pull of her recent stitches as she stretched the boundaries of gentle postoperative exercise.
She could feel the waves whipping around her ankles and already her trainers were making running even heavier. But if she wanted to stop him there wasn’t time to take them off. The ground suddenly shifted beneath her, the water waist-high now, and Harriet took a final lunge at the young man, deciding in her own mind that if she couldn’t reach him there was no way she was going in any further, the water was just too deep, the surge too strong for her in her already exhausted state.
‘Get back to shore.’ His arm was wet under her grip, shrugging her off.
‘I want to help.’
‘Not this way,’ she shouted. ‘They’re bringing him in. That man’s a doctor. You’re going to end up needing to be rescued yourself.’
Mercifully he didn’t take another step out, but neither was he heading back to the safety of the shore, and Harriet knew she only had a small window of time to persuade him before foolish bravado took over and he headed back out.
‘You can help him,’ Harriet shouted, ‘by going to the street and directing the ambulance.’
‘But Vince needs his mates.’
‘He needs medical help,’ Harriet said urgently. She was freezing now, struggling to keep her footing. ‘You need to wave them down and show them exactly where we are. Come on,’ she insisted, heading back to the shore and praying he would follow her lead.
After a small hesitation he saw sense, wading through the waves to his waiting friends, urging them to the street. But Harriet’s real work had barely started. Ciro was swimming back now with the other rescuer, both men attempting to guide the surfboard, but Harriet could see it was growing increasingly difficult as they neared the shore, the breaking waves making the task more difficult. She watched with her heart in her mouth, knowing from her brief foray in the water just how exhausted Ciro and the rescuer must be, but knowing that unless they hurried they weren’t going to make it back in time, that already it might be too late to save this victim.
‘Stay there, love.’
Sheer relief flooded her as she heard the welcome sound of reinforcements. Three burly men, alerted by the distressed teenagers, were rushing past her, heading out just as Ciro had done, with no thought for their own safety, willing to help a stranger in trouble. And many hands did make light work. They dragged the victim those last exhausting metres and as they lifted him out of the water, not for the first time Harriet thanked her lucky stars that these men had arrived. The victim was a thick-set, burly guy and it would have been an almost impossible feat in Ciro’s and the rescuer’s depleted state to drag him the last few metres to where Harriet was waiting. Wasting no time, Harriet set to work, sweeping his airway clear, palpating his neck for a pulse and then pinching his nostrils and extending his neck. She delivered two swift breaths into the patient before commencing cardiac massage.
‘I’m coming.’ Ciro was nearby, his hands on his knees, coughing, choking on the salty water that must surely be filling his lungs, trying to somehow summon the energy to complete the task.
‘I’m OK,’ Harriet said, pushing on the large chest, but though her words were brave she needed help. This guy was big. It took a huge physical effort to effectively massage his chest and all her breath was taken up giving him the kiss of life. She could feel the pull of her incision, knew she couldn’t keep this up for much longer.
‘Where the hell’s the ambulance?’ Harriet called, between expirations.
‘It’s coming,’ someone shouted. ‘I can hear the sirens.’
But Harriet couldn’t hear anything except the sound of her own pulse pounding in her temples, the scorching sting of every breath as she worked on. Even though he was nowhere near ready, Ciro must have recognised her desperation because he knelt down beside her and pushed her hand away, not wasting a single precious breath to tell her he was taking over, just extending his arms and pushing down hard on the man’s chest. Harriet moved up to the head, her eyes trained on Ciro’s hands, watching for the tiny pause so she could push in her exhaled air.
‘Stop.’ Feeling a shudder of resistance, Harriet pulled her face back, placed her hand on Ciro’s arm and they both leant back on their heels. Ciro’s fingers palpated Vince’s neck, concentration etched on every feature as he strained to find a pulse, but it seemed useless. Just as Harriet was sure she must somehow have imagined the tiny shift in tone she’d felt in the young man, suddenly his chest moved and he spluttered, his whole body convulsing in spasms as Harriet and Ciro swiftly rolled him onto his side, Ciro pushing on his back to force out the salty water that was choking him.
‘OK, guys, help’s here.’
Harriet didn’t know the paramedics who had arrived, but relief flooded her at the sight of the bright green uniforms, the shiny boxes they dropped silently onto the sand. She noted with a wry smile that Ciro didn’t waste time stating the obvious. He just gave a very brief handover and introduction as the paramedics set to work assessing the patient and attaching him to monitors and blood pressure equipment. Harriet silently assisted.
‘He was in full arrest by the time we got him to shore.’ Ciro gestured over to the other rescuer, still lying on the beach, his mates
