Miranda's Mount (18 page)

An elderly man started taking off his shoes but Jago laid a hand on his arm. ‘Wait, sir. What happened?’

The man shook visibly. ‘A little boy climbed out of his pushchair and must have fallen into the harbour.’

‘How long ago?’

‘A minute? I’m … not … not sure. I didn’t see what happened.’

The mother grabbed Miranda’s arm, squeezing it so hard, her nails almost pierced the skin. ‘Do something, for God’s sake!’

As Miranda comforted her, Jago peered into the water. ‘How deep is it?’

‘With the tide in like this, about five or six feet,’ said Miranda.

‘Anyone see him go under?’ he demanded, pulling off his T-shirt.

The
elderly man spoke. ‘No. One moment he was in the pushchair, the next he’d gone.’

The mother let out a howl of pain and sank into the older man’s arms. Jago kicked off his shoes and sat on the edge of harbour. There was a splash as he slipped off the wall.

‘Anyone called an ambulance?’ shouted Miranda, scanning the shocked faces around her.

A teenage boy handed her a phone. ‘Not yet. It all happened so fast.’

Miranda snatched the phone from him. She had to stay calm but her fingers felt like sausages as she stabbed out 999. The controller answered straight away.

‘Yes. An ambulance, please, at the Mount.’ Her heart pounded harder as she gave the details to the emergency control. She couldn’t believe she was saying the words. ‘There’s a child in the water. He’s about two years old, I think. How long?’ She tried to estimate the time that had elapsed from gearing the screams to now. ‘A couple of minutes, I think …’ Yes, someone was trying to get him out. Yes, they were trained. No, there was no one else in danger. Yes, she’d stop anyone else from jumping in.

She gave back the phone to the boy and dropped to her knees, scanning the shifting surface to try to spot Jago. The water was murky but she could see his pale body, twisting beneath the surface, merging with weed and mud. He was searching right under the quayside where the pushchair stood empty. Surely the boy couldn’t have drifted far? What if he was tangled in the weeds? What if he’d hit his head? What if he was already dead?

Jago
popped out of the water, mouth open, gasping for breath. And he had something in his arms. ‘Got him!’

The mother broke free of the elderly man and screamed.

‘Come to the slipway!’ Jago called to Miranda.

Jago towed the little boy towards the slippery stone ramp that led out of the water. Miranda raced to meet him as he waded out with the limp body in his arms. He seemed to stumble but then steadied himself and ran up the slipway. By now Reggie and Ronnie had arrived to help, ushering the gathering crowd back from the harbour wall.

‘What’s his name?’ he shouted, running along the quayside. The mother dashed forwards, sobbing. ‘Braden. Is he all right? He’s not moving! Do something. Do something!’ The mother let out a howl of anguish that brought bile to Miranda’s throat, but she knew she mustn’t throw up. It was her job to help, not fall to pieces. ‘Please, someone help Braden’s mum,’ she ordered. ‘Ronnie, we need some space here.’

The teenager stripped off his sweatshirt and spread it on the quayside.

Jago knelt down and carefully laid the child on the sweatshirt. The little boy’s straw-coloured hair stuck to his face. His eyes were closed, his body still as if he were fast asleep. But he wasn’t asleep, Miranda knew that. Not asleep.

‘Miranda? You can do CPR, can’t you?’

She
heard Jago’s voice and glanced at him, momentarily dumbfounded. It had been ages since her last first aid course and it had only gone through the basics, not a full-scale resuscitation. Even then, none of the staff had taken it seriously because none of them ever expected to use their so-called ‘skills’. An instructor with halitosis had shown them what to do in a local community centre on the hottest day of the previous summer. The dummy had had a Hitler moustache drawn on it with biro and they’d all been too busy stifling sniggers to concentrate. She’d never thought that one day knowing what to do could mean the difference between a tiny life continuing – or ending here on the cobblestones.

Behind her, Braden’s mother was sobbing and begging them to do something. She heard Ronnie trying to soothe the mother and tell her it would be OK. Miranda wished Ronnie wouldn’t. It might not be OK, it probably wouldn’t be. The cobbles were hard under her bare knees. She had to get a grip.

‘What do I have to do?’ she asked Jago.

‘Kneel down here. Braden? Can you hear me?’

Gently, Jago inserted a finger inside the boy’s mouth. ‘There’s something in here.’ He scooped out a small piece of weed, a grotesque green strand and threw it on the cobbles. Then he listened at the boy’s mouth. ‘You need to help me. He’ll have a better chance if we both do this,’ he said softly.

‘The ambulance …’ she whispered as the mother wailed above her.

‘The tide’s in and it’ll be too late before help gets here. It’s up to us.’ Jago leaned in close to Braden’s mouth. ‘He’s not breathing and his chest’s not rising. I’ll have to breathe for him while you do CPR. Do you know how?’

‘Think I can remember.’

‘Good.’

Jago
tilted Braden’s head back and lifted his tiny chin with two fingers. He closed his mouth around the boy’s and gave two breaths into his tiny mouth. Miranda watched the birdlike chest. It was still as stone.

Jago blew into the mouth again but there was no response or movement, just gasps and sobbing from the crowd around him.

‘You’ll have to do chest compressions while I breathe for him. You know how?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. Miranda brought down the heel of her hand onto the Braden’s chest. Her palm felt like a giant’s. She would break him, surely? Her huge palm would crush the fragile ribcage? She pressed gently then brought her other hand on top. Just the way she’d been taught in the class. Back then she’d been shaking with laughter, and she was shaking now too, but with genuine terror and helplessness.

‘Just one hand will do. He’s only small … that’s right. You need to do fifteen compressions while I breathe for him. Ready? Now.’

Miranda tried to block out the mother’s wails and just focus. This needed to be perfect. The rhythm of her compressions, the depth of them, had to be precise. She had to get this not just right, but absolutely
perfect
.

Sweat trickled down her back, just the way it had in the stuffy first aid centre, except today it was fear not heat. Fear of failure. If she got this wrong. If she and Jago failed, the boy would die, his mother’s life would be ruined. There’d be no future for him, any children or grandchildren, just a life wiped out.

‘Wait.’ Jago
lifted his head and listened briefly for any sound of breath or movement of the toddler’s chest. ‘Carry on.’

Miranda’s own heart tried to do the work of Braden and herself. It thumped away, and a pulse beat in her brain. Ohpleaseohpleaseohplease …

The little body twitched. Jago lifted his head. The boy coughed and spluttered. Miranda let out a cry. ‘He breathed!’

The mother broke free from Ronnie’s arms. ‘Braden? Can you hear me?’

Jago turned him onto his side as he coughed. ‘Good. Good boy. That’s it.’

The mother collapsed on her knees. ‘Is he alive?’

‘Wait,’ said Miranda. ‘Hold on.’

Jago held the boy’s head as he coughed again and vomited seawater onto the cobbles.

‘He’ll be all right, though. He’s OK!’ The mother stared at Miranda, begging her to give the right answer.

‘He needs to get to a hospital fast. He needs proper medical attention,’ said Jago.

‘But he’s breathing!’

Miranda glanced at Jago. The little boy had been unconscious for over two minutes. Even she remembered that from the first aid course. There could be all kinds of complications. Brain damage. Secondary drowning. Hypo thermia.

‘We
need to keep him warm,’ said Jago. ‘And get him into the medical room.’

Ronnie brought a blanket. Braden started to sob with shock. Miranda didn’t blame him, falling into the harbour and waking up to two strangers doing horrible things to him. He couldn’t be kept down on the cobbles any more and let out a howl: ‘Mummy.’

That was good, that had to be a good sign, thought Miranda.

Jago picked him up, from the quayside.

‘Mummmmmyyyy!’

Jago grimaced. ‘You’d better take him,’ he said, handing him to the mother. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Louise,’ said Ronnie as Braden’s mum hugged him and cried even louder than her son.

‘Any ETA on the ambulance?’ asked Miranda.

‘Twenty minutes,’ said Ronnie. ‘But the lifeboat’s on its way.’

‘Good. Let’s get him into the medical room.’

As Miranda led Louise and Braden to the medical room, she was amazed to see so many people with their phones and cameras out, filming. Bloody hell …

‘Show’s over, folks. The little boy will be fine now,’ said Ronnie, with a laser glare. She turned to the elderly man. ‘Thanks for your help, sir. Can we treat you and your wife to tea?’

Jago was by Louise’s side keeping a close eye on Braden who shrank against his mother, clearly disgusted with Jago. Miranda noticed Jago limping and the trail of blood spots on the cobbles where he’d walked. Inside the medical room, he gave Louise a blanket and, as she wrapped Braden up, he spoke quietly to Miranda. ‘We need to keep an eye on him and the ambulance needs to get here as soon as it can. There could be a risk of secondary drowning.’

‘I hope
not. The RNLI are bringing the paramedics over. They’d have called an air ambulance but there’s no place for it to land with the tide in.’

‘This damned place,’ said Jago then shut his mouth.

‘The mother …’ she said.

Braden’s mum, Louise, hugged her little boy as if she would never ever let him go. Miranda was still shaking. There would have to be an inquiry as to how he’d ended up in the harbour. There’d be an incident report to complete; the police might have to be involved. Filling in forms seemed ridiculous after a little boy had almost lost his life but there was no getting away from it.

Right now, she was too concerned about the little boy to care. As Louise soothed her son, Miranda turned her attention to Jago. He sat on a plastic chair in a corner, grimacing at his foot. Blood streaked the tiles and led out of the door. ‘What happened?’ she asked

‘I don’t know. Suppose I must have stepped on an old can or some glass on the bottom of the harbour. I didn’t notice with all the adrenaline pumping.’

Miranda pulled a green first aid box from a shelf and opened the lid. ‘Here press this to it.’ She handed him an absorbent dressing.

‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re making a mess on the tiles.’

‘True.’ He ripped open the pack and pressed the dressing to the wound.

Miranda
let him be and went back to Louise and Braden. ‘How are you both doing?’

Squirming against his mother, Braden sucked his thumb and glared at Miranda. Miranda didn’t blame him.

Louise held out her hand. ‘I just can’t stop shaking.’

‘No wonder. Do you want a glass of water?’

‘Got any vodka? I don’t mean that. Yes, I do but – I need bloody something. Braden could have … Oh Christ, I don’t know how to thank you both.’

‘Really. You don’t have to.’

‘But he could have …’ Her words tailed off. She obviously didn’t want to frighten her son any more than he already had been. ‘You must think I’m a terrible mother, letting him fall in but I swear I only took my eyes off him for a second to answer my phone. I thought he was strapped in. Maybe I’d forgotten or he must have undone the straps. He’s like that; I never know what he’ll do next. But this …’

Miranda smiled. ‘It’s an adventure he’ll never forget or perhaps it’s better if he does. I’ll get you a drink.’ She filled a glass from the tap and handed it to Louise, who drank it with her free hand while keeping the other tightly around Braden.

Jago watched carefully as Louise gulped down the water and handed the glass back to Miranda. Her hands were still trembling as she turned to Jago. ‘What you did – jumping in and saving him – was amazing, thank you.’

Miranda saw him visibly shrink into the corner.

‘No need,’ he muttered.

‘Have you hurt yourself?’

‘Just a graze. It’s nothing.’

Ronnie popped her head round the door of the medical room. ‘The lifeboat’s here with the paramedics.’

In seconds,
the small room was filled with people in green and orange overalls, all calmly and swiftly going about their work. Quietly, Miranda and Jago gave the details of how long Braden had been in the water as the paramedics took Louise and her son outside. One of the female medical team stayed behind and pointed to Jago’s foot. ‘That looks nasty. Want us to take a look at it?’

‘No.’

‘You can come with us to A&E if you like.’

‘I said no.’

The medic shrugged, justifiably annoyed at his rudeness. ‘Suit yourself but by the amount of blood, it needs stitches.’

‘Take care of Braden and his mother. I need the bathroom.’ He hopped into the bathroom at the side of the medical room and locked the door.

‘I’ll try to get him to go to hospital,’ said Miranda, following the paramedic outside.

She shrugged. ‘Good luck to you. I was only trying to help.’

Outside, the inshore lifeboat waited alongside the harbour wall. Theo was at the helm, and two of his colleagues helped the medics into the boat. Braden’s eyes widened in excitement at the sight of the bright orange RIB. He looked remarkably well considering his unscheduled exploration of the harbour. Miranda cringed to think of the crap that was down there; her own brief experience of it had been horrible enough. He pointed to it. ‘Boat!’

For the first time, his mother smiled.

Theo took Braden from her arms. ‘Let’s have you, young lad.’

‘Thanks
for getting here so quickly,’ said Miranda as he handed the boy to the crew and the medics climbed aboard.

‘Where’s Jago got to?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know.’

There was no time for any more talk. Theo jumped aboard and piloted the boat out of the harbour, while the visitors took pictures on their phones, chattering excitedly. To them it was just another episode of
Seaside Rescue
with another happy ending. Miranda felt like she’d been put through an old-fashioned mangle and wrung out. Braden could have died; he was almost dead when he was pulled from the sea.