rattles in the background. What if Bells is on it?
‘What does she look like, darling?’ She’s American.
I’m about to repeat everything I have said before but find myself crying. It’s awful but I can’t stop. I put my head in my hands. What have I done? Bells, I’m so sorry, please forgive me for shouting at you. Bells could be run over and dead by now and it’s all my fault. I look up and the stranger hands me a tissue from her handbag.
‘What does she look like?’ she asks softly again. ‘Come on, we’ll find her. She can’t be far.’
I smile gratefully at her. Her auburn hair, the same colour as Mum and Bells’s, is piled on top of her head with an assortment of hairgrips and she is wearing sunglasses, which is strange when it’s so overcast. ‘If you’ve seen someone who doesn’t blend into the crowd, well,’ I sniffle, ‘that’s her.’
She makes me sit down for a few moments to compose myself. I stare over at the playground where there are a few mothers pushing their children on the swings, and a couple of boys kicking a ball around. Under a tree a pair of boys practise their boxing skills. One stands with a padded shield over his hand while the other practises his punches. I tell her about our argument. I tell her about Bells. It’s surprisingly easy telling a stranger about our family. ‘I’m sorry for crying,’ I add.
‘Don’t be. Being sorry for crying is such a British thing. You’re going through a traumatic time, you’re allowed to be emotional. What
is
that whistling noise?’
I turn round and see Mark staggering towards us, holding on to Bells. ‘Thank God,’ I leap up from the bench, the relief overwhelming.
‘Don’t thank God,’ the American remarks, her dark glasses now perched on the end of her nose. ‘I think you should thank that nice young man.’
As I run towards them I can tell something’s seriously wrong. ‘She needs her inhaler,’ Mark shouts.
I try and find it in my bag, and then remember exactly where it is.
Bells is fighting for breath. ‘Her inhaler,’ Mark shouts again as he lifts her into his arms.
‘It’s in the shop. OK, she needs to sit down,’ I tell Mark, who carries her as quickly as he can to the bench. The American lady stands up to make space. Gently Mark sits her down, before letting me take over. I can feel the tightness in her chest as she gasps for breath. ‘Put your hands on your knees … Don’t let her lie down, Mark. She has to sit up and try to relax as much as possible. I’ll be back in a minute.’ He sits with her while I run as fast as I can across the park. I unlock the door with trembling hands and rush to pick up the inhaler. I slam the door shut and just about remember to lock it behind me.
Bells takes the inhaler immediately. I stroke her back. We watch and wait.
‘How’s she doing?’ the American lady asks.
‘If this doesn’t work we’ll have to call an ambulance,’ I say. Please let me wake up. Please let this be a terrible dream. I take in a deep breath, waiting to see if the inhaler helps Bells.
‘I’m all right,’ she says.
I can feel her breathing becoming more even as I continue to stroke her back. ‘You’re really all right?’ I say. ‘Oh, God, Bells, don’t ever … I mean
ever
scare me like that again.’
Mark tells me not to shout, that she’s safe, that’s all that matters.
‘She could have died.’ I turn back to Bells, who sits, looking tired and crumpled, with her eyes watering. ‘Oh, Bells.’ I reach out and pull her close to me. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for shouting at you. It’ll never happen again.’ I feel her arms clutching the small of my back and hold her even more tightly – the way Mum used to hold me when I was younger. So tightly that I thought I would stop breathing.
‘Mark’s right. You’re OK, that’s all that counts.’
*
I pull the duvet over her.
‘Tired,’ Bells says, turning on to her side.
‘Get some rest. I’m going to
‘What does she look like, darling?’ She’s American.
I’m about to repeat everything I have said before but find myself crying. It’s awful but I can’t stop. I put my head in my hands. What have I done? Bells, I’m so sorry, please forgive me for shouting at you. Bells could be run over and dead by now and it’s all my fault. I look up and the stranger hands me a tissue from her handbag.
‘What does she look like?’ she asks softly again. ‘Come on, we’ll find her. She can’t be far.’
I smile gratefully at her. Her auburn hair, the same colour as Mum and Bells’s, is piled on top of her head with an assortment of hairgrips and she is wearing sunglasses, which is strange when it’s so overcast. ‘If you’ve seen someone who doesn’t blend into the crowd, well,’ I sniffle, ‘that’s her.’
She makes me sit down for a few moments to compose myself. I stare over at the playground where there are a few mothers pushing their children on the swings, and a couple of boys kicking a ball around. Under a tree a pair of boys practise their boxing skills. One stands with a padded shield over his hand while the other practises his punches. I tell her about our argument. I tell her about Bells. It’s surprisingly easy telling a stranger about our family. ‘I’m sorry for crying,’ I add.
‘Don’t be. Being sorry for crying is such a British thing. You’re going through a traumatic time, you’re allowed to be emotional. What
is
that whistling noise?’
I turn round and see Mark staggering towards us, holding on to Bells. ‘Thank God,’ I leap up from the bench, the relief overwhelming.
‘Don’t thank God,’ the American remarks, her dark glasses now perched on the end of her nose. ‘I think you should thank that nice young man.’
As I run towards them I can tell something’s seriously wrong. ‘She needs her inhaler,’ Mark shouts.
I try and find it in my bag, and then remember exactly where it is.
Bells is fighting for breath. ‘Her inhaler,’ Mark shouts again as he lifts her into his arms.
‘It’s in the shop. OK, she needs to sit down,’ I tell Mark, who carries her as quickly as he can to the bench. The American lady stands up to make space. Gently Mark sits her down, before letting me take over. I can feel the tightness in her chest as she gasps for breath. ‘Put your hands on your knees … Don’t let her lie down, Mark. She has to sit up and try to relax as much as possible. I’ll be back in a minute.’ He sits with her while I run as fast as I can across the park. I unlock the door with trembling hands and rush to pick up the inhaler. I slam the door shut and just about remember to lock it behind me.
Bells takes the inhaler immediately. I stroke her back. We watch and wait.
‘How’s she doing?’ the American lady asks.
‘If this doesn’t work we’ll have to call an ambulance,’ I say. Please let me wake up. Please let this be a terrible dream. I take in a deep breath, waiting to see if the inhaler helps Bells.
‘I’m all right,’ she says.
I can feel her breathing becoming more even as I continue to stroke her back. ‘You’re really all right?’ I say. ‘Oh, God, Bells, don’t ever … I mean
ever
scare me like that again.’
Mark tells me not to shout, that she’s safe, that’s all that matters.
‘She could have died.’ I turn back to Bells, who sits, looking tired and crumpled, with her eyes watering. ‘Oh, Bells.’ I reach out and pull her close to me. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for shouting at you. It’ll never happen again.’ I feel her arms clutching the small of my back and hold her even more tightly – the way Mum used to hold me when I was younger. So tightly that I thought I would stop breathing.
‘Mark’s right. You’re OK, that’s all that counts.’
*
I pull the duvet over her.
‘Tired,’ Bells says, turning on to her side.
‘Get some rest. I’m going to
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