the knowledge of what losing me, especially in these circumstances, would do to my father.
Eventually, when I had regained my breath a little, I gingerly raised my knees towards my chest. At least that area of my body wasn’t in pain, but it did feel strangely numb, which I supposed must be as a result of lying on the frozen ground. With my legs in position, I realised I couldn’t afford to tackle my next manoeuvre so delicately. I didn’t have much strength left and it felt very much like this would have to be an all-or-nothing attempt. I braced my arm to support me, took a deep breath, held it and rolled with Herculean effort onto my knees.
Bright spots of light pinwheeled behind my eyes; I felt the sway of an incipient faint, and bit deeply into my lower lip to fight back against the weakness. When it had passed, I cautiously opened my eyes. I was still on all fours, and was so grateful not to have succumbed to unconsciousness that it took me a moment or two to realise there was something wrong with my eyes. Seriously wrong. An involuntary cry of pure terror escaped my frozen lips. My vision had virtually disappeared in my right eye, and my left had only tunnel-like vision, the periphery of my eyesight disappearing into a cloudy fog. This, I knew, wasn’t anything to do with exposure, hypothermia or intense grief. The loss of sight was the last dire warning link in the chain of medical advice I had so unwisely chosen to ignore.
Telling myself that I couldn’t afford to let myself panic, I groped out with my left hand, found the wide marble edge of Jimmy’s headstone and pulled myself upright on legs that felt as stable as elastic. I realised I had stupidly left my mobile in the hotel room, so my only chance of aid was to try to get to the road. Hoping they would forgive me for the disrespect, I used the surrounding grave markers as handholds as I made my slow and unsteady way through the graveyard.
The sight in my left eye appeared to be decreasing at an alarming rate; the small circle of vision now felt as though I was looking through a narrow tube. I tried to ignore my greatest dread that this might be permanent. I just couldn’t allow that thought to overwhelm my mind, or exhaustion to take my body. It was hard, particularly when what I wanted to do more than anything was lie down and close my eyes against this pain-wracked nightmare. Even walking was now proving difficult, and each shaky step I took had all the fluidity of a newly awakened zombie.
As I left the last gravestone support, I thought I could vaguely make out a distant sound. Was that just a train from the station or could there be a car approaching? It was probably not yet eleven o’clock, surely not that late for someone to be driving by? The road, although quiet, might still have the occasional passing car. But from where I stood, in the shadows of the church and its surrounding trees, I knew I would never be seen. The noise grew in intensity. It was a car.
‘Help!’ I cried out uselessly. ‘Please stop, help!’
I lurched forward, trying to run and raise my arms to flag down the car. It was my last bad idea, in an evening full of them. Running isn’t really an option when you can barely stand. Or see. I was already pitching head first towards the ground and oblivion by the time the car’s headlights arced into the starlit sky.
3
The first thing I became aware of was the continuing soreness from my head, which seemed to feel somehow strangely enlarged. I moved it slowly, just the merest fraction, and heard the soft scratch of crêpe bandage against cotton. I tried to raise an arm to investigate but stopped when I felt a painful tug from something embedded in my forearm. It would appear that I was attached to some sort of machine. A persistent beeping sound from a piece of equipment positioned directly behind me confirmed I was probably hooked up to some sort of monitoring device as well as being on a drip. Clearly I was in hospital,
Eventually, when I had regained my breath a little, I gingerly raised my knees towards my chest. At least that area of my body wasn’t in pain, but it did feel strangely numb, which I supposed must be as a result of lying on the frozen ground. With my legs in position, I realised I couldn’t afford to tackle my next manoeuvre so delicately. I didn’t have much strength left and it felt very much like this would have to be an all-or-nothing attempt. I braced my arm to support me, took a deep breath, held it and rolled with Herculean effort onto my knees.
Bright spots of light pinwheeled behind my eyes; I felt the sway of an incipient faint, and bit deeply into my lower lip to fight back against the weakness. When it had passed, I cautiously opened my eyes. I was still on all fours, and was so grateful not to have succumbed to unconsciousness that it took me a moment or two to realise there was something wrong with my eyes. Seriously wrong. An involuntary cry of pure terror escaped my frozen lips. My vision had virtually disappeared in my right eye, and my left had only tunnel-like vision, the periphery of my eyesight disappearing into a cloudy fog. This, I knew, wasn’t anything to do with exposure, hypothermia or intense grief. The loss of sight was the last dire warning link in the chain of medical advice I had so unwisely chosen to ignore.
Telling myself that I couldn’t afford to let myself panic, I groped out with my left hand, found the wide marble edge of Jimmy’s headstone and pulled myself upright on legs that felt as stable as elastic. I realised I had stupidly left my mobile in the hotel room, so my only chance of aid was to try to get to the road. Hoping they would forgive me for the disrespect, I used the surrounding grave markers as handholds as I made my slow and unsteady way through the graveyard.
The sight in my left eye appeared to be decreasing at an alarming rate; the small circle of vision now felt as though I was looking through a narrow tube. I tried to ignore my greatest dread that this might be permanent. I just couldn’t allow that thought to overwhelm my mind, or exhaustion to take my body. It was hard, particularly when what I wanted to do more than anything was lie down and close my eyes against this pain-wracked nightmare. Even walking was now proving difficult, and each shaky step I took had all the fluidity of a newly awakened zombie.
As I left the last gravestone support, I thought I could vaguely make out a distant sound. Was that just a train from the station or could there be a car approaching? It was probably not yet eleven o’clock, surely not that late for someone to be driving by? The road, although quiet, might still have the occasional passing car. But from where I stood, in the shadows of the church and its surrounding trees, I knew I would never be seen. The noise grew in intensity. It was a car.
‘Help!’ I cried out uselessly. ‘Please stop, help!’
I lurched forward, trying to run and raise my arms to flag down the car. It was my last bad idea, in an evening full of them. Running isn’t really an option when you can barely stand. Or see. I was already pitching head first towards the ground and oblivion by the time the car’s headlights arced into the starlit sky.
3
The first thing I became aware of was the continuing soreness from my head, which seemed to feel somehow strangely enlarged. I moved it slowly, just the merest fraction, and heard the soft scratch of crêpe bandage against cotton. I tried to raise an arm to investigate but stopped when I felt a painful tug from something embedded in my forearm. It would appear that I was attached to some sort of machine. A persistent beeping sound from a piece of equipment positioned directly behind me confirmed I was probably hooked up to some sort of monitoring device as well as being on a drip. Clearly I was in hospital,
Similar Books
![Blake, Abby - Keen Inclination [A Bride for Eight Brothers 4] (Siren Publishing LoveXtreme Forever)](https://fs.dianahicksbooks.com/546081/thumbs/152x264/blake-abby-keen-inclination-a-bride-for-eight-brothers-4-siren-publishing-lovextreme-forever.jpg)
