had taken off, sirens blaring. Great, the paediatrician had ended up in the Clyde and the nurse had injured her ankle. The major incident report was getting longer by the second.
It wouldn’t take long to get through the city traffic at this time. He pulled his notebook from his top pocket. It was sodden. Useless, soaked when the minibus had tipped and he’d landed in the water.
‘Got anything I can write on?’
The technician nodded, his eyes never leaving the road, and gestured his head towards the glove box, where Callum found a variety of notebooks and pens.
‘Perfect. Thanks.’ He started scribbling furiously. It was essential he put down as much as could for the incident report, before it became muddled in his brain.
The number of staff in attendance. The number of victims. The decision to call out the medical crew. Jessica. The descent down the incline. The temperature and depth of the water. Jessica being called onto the minibus. His first impression of the casualties. The way the casualties had been prioritised. The fact that Jessica had landed in the water.
The feeling in his chest when she’d disappeared under the water.
He laid the notebook and pen down in his lap.
This was no use.
He wasn’t thinking the way he usually did. Calmly. Methodically.
He just couldn’t get her out of his head.
It seemed that after thirteen years of immunity Jessica had reclaimed her place—straight back under his skin.
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