dad and owner of the workshop, wasn’t in today. That had given Kerry time to get the paint job finished.
Locking up behind him, Kerry left by the rear of the workshop. He only lived in the flat above but he wanted a quick smoke before he went up. Despite it being the middle of May, the day had been a particularly wet and dreary one. Kerry gave a little shiver, the sea breeze drifting in from the Irish Sea chilling his arms. He rolled a cigarette and, standing on the path, he looked across the High Street and to the service road opposite, which ran behind the parade of shops.
He saw something. At first he thought it was a pile of black bin bags that hadn’t been put in the commercial wheelie bins, but as he took a draw on his roll-up and looked closer, he realised it was someone kneeling down, bent over something. Or rather someone.
The person kneeling raised their head and flicked their hand towards the end of the service road. Then, as if sensing they were being watched, turned to look over their shoulder at Kerry.
‘What the…?’ said Kerry, instantly recognising Marie Hurley, not least because of her distinctive bobbed auburn hair.
She jumped to her feet and began running towards him. ‘Kerry! Kerry!’ she shouted. ‘Help me. Please.’
Kerry chucked his half-smoked cigarette to the ground and dived across the road. He caught Marie as she bundled into him in a blind panic.
‘It’s okay, Mrs Hurley,’ said Kerry, holding onto the tops of her arms. ‘Mrs Hurley. What’s wrong?’
She looked up at him. Her face was paler than normal, if that was possible. Her eyes were wide with fear. ‘It’s Jim,’ she said. ‘He’s had a fall or something.’ She pulled away from Kerry and then, taking hold of his forearm, started dragging him back down the service road. ‘He’s bleeding. Come quickly.’
Jim Hurley was indeed bleeding, badly. A dark crimson pool of blood was leaking out from under the back of his head. One of his arms was twisted underneath his body, which was sprawled flat out on the tarmac.
Kerry snatched his mobile from his pocket and dialled the emergency services.
‘Get a blanket and some towels,’ he instructed Marie, while he waited for his call to connect. He reached over and tried to locate a pulse in the man’s neck. It was there. Weak, but there.
The operator answered the call and after a few minutes’ exchanging information and advising on basic first aid, she assured Kerry the ambulance was on its way. Marie reappeared with a blanket.
‘Is he going to be okay?’ she asked as Kerry draped the pink candlewick bedspread over Jim’s body.
‘The ambulance will be here soon,’ said Kerry. He had no idea if Jim was going to be all right. He bundled the towel up and placed it at the side of Jim’s head.
‘If you can’t see where the wound is, then don’t move him,’ the operator instructed. ‘He might have spinal-cord injuries. Wait for the medics. Keep the towels either side of his head to stabilise him.’
‘I think I can see part of the wound,’ said Kerry. ‘It’s right at the back of his head. It looks pretty deep.’
‘Just leave the towel there. Don’t apply pressure. You could end up causing more damage.’
Kerry was no doctor but the trickle of blood from Jim’s ear that appeared didn’t look good to him. Marie was standing over her husband, looking down on him in a trance-like state. She was probably in shock.
‘It’s okay, Mrs Hurley. Come and kneel down. Hold his hand,’ said Kerry. Marie glanced around. ‘The ambulance will be here very soon. Come on, now.’ Marie nodded and, kneeling down, she took Jim’s hand, making soothing noises and offering reassuring words. Kerry suspected this was as much for her own benefit as for her husband’s.
Jim’s breathing was becoming shallower with each beat of his heart. Kerry willed the ambulance to get a move on. Rossway village was a bit out of the way, ten miles south from Cork itself on the Irish coast and the roads were twisty and narrow. Not exactly the easiest of routes to be throwing an ambulance around.
The sound of an empty bottle being knocked and rolling across the road made Kerry look up. He thought he saw something move in the shadows of the evening sun. A cat jumped out from behind one of the wheelie bins, trotted across the road and then sprang up onto the fence before disappearing into the grounds of the doctor’s surgery.
A thought broke into Kerry’s consciousness. The doctor’s surgery. Why didn’t he think of that before? He looked at the building. It was in darkness. He dismissed the small beacon of hope with his next thought. Half an hour earlier and one of the doctors might still have been there. Now, though, they would all have gone home. As far as he was aware, neither of the GPs lived in Rossway. It wasn’t as if he could get one of them here to help. There was, of course, Diana Marshall. She used to be the local GP, but he dismissed the idea pretty much straight away as well. She lived on the edge of the village. It would take over ten minutes to get there and back. The ambulance would be here by then. Besides, he couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t have been drinking tonight. From what Roisin had told him in the past, her mother more than liked her sherry.
Eventually, there came the reassuring sound of an engine turning at speed and blue lights bouncing off the walls of the High Street. Kerry ran out to the main road and flagged the ambulance down, pointing to the service road.
With an assured confidence and professionalism, the paramedics examined Jim, wrapped his head with a temporary dressing and manoeuvred him from the ground to the back of the emergency vehicle. It took less than five minutes.
Kerry stood with his arm around Marie’s shoulder as they watched.
‘Is he going to be all right?’ Marie asked.
The paramedic pushed the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. ‘We need to get him to hospital straight away,’ he said. ‘Are you coming with us?’
‘Oh, but I haven’t locked up,’ said Marie, looking anxiously back up the steps to her flat.
‘Don’t be worrying about that now, Mrs Hurley,’ said Kerry. ‘Give me the keys. I’ll do it for you.’ He was aware of the undercurrent of urgency and had registered that the paramedic had offered no comment to Marie’s question of Jim’s prognosis.
Marie grappled in her coat pocket and pulled out a set of keys. ‘The flat and café keys are all on there.’
Kerry took the bunch. ‘Off you go, now,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to contact Fiona?’
‘Yes please. Tell her to phone Erin too.’
London, England
When the call comes, it strikes me numb with fear. I don’t know what to think or what to feel. Thoughts and emotions are crashing around in my head like bumper cars, bouncing and rebounding, stopping and starting. Confusion reigns.
‘How bad is he?’ A thread of compassion laces Ed’s voice. ‘What exactly did your sister say?’
‘Fiona
