style="font-size:15px;"> ‘Are we going to cross the road or will we stay on this side, discussing aardvarks and fleas?’
Far too late, Jo moved her arm so the man’s hand fell off it, then she checked both ways—she didn’t want him saving her again—and hurried across, beeping open the car as she approached it, so she could escape inside it as quickly as possible.
Except he’d be getting in as well—no escape.
Until they heard the loud crash, and the sounds of splintering glass.
Cam reacted first, pushing her behind him, looking around, apparently finding the scene of the accident before she’d fully comprehended what had happened.
‘It’s the moped driver,’ he said, as he hurried back across the street to where people were already gathering on the footpath.
Jo followed, seeing the splintered glass of the shopfront and the fallen moped, its wheels still turning, the young driver lying motionless beside it.
‘Let’s all step back,’ Cam said, his voice so full of authority the onlookers obeyed automatically, and when he added, ‘And anyone without shoes on, walk away carefully. The glass could have spread in all directions.’
That got rid of a few more onlookers and made Jo aware she had to tread carefully. Sandals were fine in summer, but as protection against broken glass not sensible at all.
Cam was kneeling by the young man, who wasn’t moving or responding to Cam’s questions.
‘Unconscious?’ she asked, as she squatted on the other side of him, their hands touching as they both felt for injuries.
‘Yes, but he’s wearing a helmet and the bike barely hit the window before he came off.’
Jo lifted the youth’s wrist automatically and though she was looking for a pulse she had to push aside a metal bracelet. Remembering the rider’s swerve earlier, she checked it.
‘He’s a diabetic,’ she said to Cam. ‘Maybe he was feeling light-headed when he nearly ran into me. He might have been pulling over to take in some carbs when he passed out.’
‘His pulse is racing, and he’s pale and very sweaty—I’d say you’ve got it in one, Dr Harris,’ Cam agreed. ‘I don’t suppose you have a syringe of glucogen on you?’
‘I’d have tablets in my bag in the car, but he should have something on him.’ She began to search the patient’s pockets, pulling out a sleeve of glucose tablets.
Perhaps because she’d been poking at him, their patient stirred.
‘That’s a bit of luck! I’ve seen before how blood glucose can rise back to pre-unconsciousness levels,’ Cam said, as he helped the young man into a sitting position and asked him if he was able to take the tablets, but Jo had already sent one of the audience to the closest café for some orange juice.
Their patient nodded, muttering to himself about stupidity and not stopping earlier.
The juice arrived and Cam supported him, holding the bottle for the shaky young patient.
‘This will be easier to get into you than the tablets,’ he said, ‘but even though you’re conscious you should take a trip up to the hospital and get checked out.’ He nodded towards the ambulance that had just pulled up. ‘Here’s your lift.’
‘But the moped?’
‘I’ll take care of that,’ Jo told him. ‘I can put it in the back of my vehicle and take it back to the hire people and explain.’
Cam stood back to let the ambulance attendants ready their patient for transport, and looked at Jo, eyebrows raised.
‘You’ll put it in the car?’
He was smiling as he said it, and all kinds of physical symptoms started up again—ripples, flickers, flutters, her skin feeling as if a million tiny sparks were going off inside it.
‘Someone would help!’ she retorted, trying really hard not to sound defensive but losing the battle.
His smile broadened and now her reactions were all internal—a squeezing in her chest, accelerated heartbeat while her lungs suddenly needed all of her attention to make them work.
How could this be happening to her?
And why?
Wasn’t she perfectly happy with her life?
Well, she was worried about the refuge, but apart from that …
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