God, what if he was dead? What the fuck would I
say to Sienna, to everyone? Sorry, Sienna, I’m a meddling idiot who just couldn’t stay away. I spent five minutes with your father
and killed him just by being near him. Fuck’s sake.
I pushed my fingers into the soft skin of his neck; he was still warm, but I couldn’t feel his pulse. I tried to work out if it was just
my fear and the blood rushing around my head that was rendering me useless at finding it. Tears started to slide down my face. What
on earth was I going to do?
Oh shit, I thought, what if George had a delicate condition that somehow I had disturbed? And if he died, then would I be the
cause? I looked up to the ceiling, hoping that I could renew my faith in God. Last time I’d tried this was when I’d bunked off
Sunday school all those years ago and spent the collection money on cola bottles. But praying was pointless. I had abandoned it for
far too long.
I pushed myself down towards his face again, whispering into his ear. ‘Please George, no, please. I love Sienna, she loves you,
and she needs you. Don’t go anywhere . . .’ I begged his motionless body.
‘I love your daughter. Terribly,’ I said, my voice now a hoarse cry.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and tried to dial 999, but my hands were shaking so much I screwed it up. Twice. I was
wasting valuable time.
I’d always hoped that in moments like this I would be the comic-book hero, knowing exactly what to do, breathing life into the
dying, sweeping the hurt and the danger away, applying bandages in the blink of an eye.
I was a tit. A crying, shaking, useless lump.
When I finally managed to dial the number I tried to explain what had happened to the operator, but the words didn’t flow as I’d
hoped. ‘Please, just come now, I think he’s dead. Please hurry,’ I rasped, my throat dry as sandpaper.
‘OK, caller, please stay calm. Where are you?’
‘Erm, flat 10, Orchard Court, Great Westfield Road, London.’ Yes, that was it. I was being vaguely useful now.
‘What is the emergency?’ came the cold, calm voice at the other end of the line.
‘Look, I don’t fucking know. I’m with a man, he’s collapsed, I can’t feel a pulse, I think he’s dead. Just come NOW, please!’ I
shouted, a little hysterical by that point.
They told me later they had achieved a six-minute response time. Those next six minutes felt like an age. I sat next to George in
the puddle of tea, holding his hands and weeping like a hysterical child. He didn’t move an inch the whole time. I was already
wondering how I was going to tell Sienna. What if they thought I’d done something to him to cause this? Panic pulsed through my
veins as I imagined myself behind bars.
I was so glad when they turned up, flashes of fluorescent yellow and green and those sturdy, black laced-up boots. Bright red
kitbags and the sound of Velcro ripping through the air reassured me that everything might just be OK.
One of the paramedics pulled me away from George and sat me down. I felt like a small boy. I watched in silence while they
worked away at him, feeling as though I was having an out-of-body experience. ‘He’s alive, mate,’ one of them said, turning
towards me with a wide grin on his face. He obviously thought I was a dick.
Then the same paramedic kneeled down beside me, his bald head shining under the strip lamp. ‘Are you running around after
Sienna now, then?’ he said, looking at me with a half smile. ‘I hope you didn’t say anything embarrassing – he’ll have heard
everything you said,’ he added, the smile spreading out even wider now.
I said nothing.
‘She’s a nice girl, isn’t she?’ he concluded, rolling up a green mat and securing it with a black band.
God, this bloke knows Sienna – he’s talking about her and George like he knows all about their lives, and I’m still in the dark.
What happened back there? I wanted to ask but this bloke was getting
say to Sienna, to everyone? Sorry, Sienna, I’m a meddling idiot who just couldn’t stay away. I spent five minutes with your father
and killed him just by being near him. Fuck’s sake.
I pushed my fingers into the soft skin of his neck; he was still warm, but I couldn’t feel his pulse. I tried to work out if it was just
my fear and the blood rushing around my head that was rendering me useless at finding it. Tears started to slide down my face. What
on earth was I going to do?
Oh shit, I thought, what if George had a delicate condition that somehow I had disturbed? And if he died, then would I be the
cause? I looked up to the ceiling, hoping that I could renew my faith in God. Last time I’d tried this was when I’d bunked off
Sunday school all those years ago and spent the collection money on cola bottles. But praying was pointless. I had abandoned it for
far too long.
I pushed myself down towards his face again, whispering into his ear. ‘Please George, no, please. I love Sienna, she loves you,
and she needs you. Don’t go anywhere . . .’ I begged his motionless body.
‘I love your daughter. Terribly,’ I said, my voice now a hoarse cry.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and tried to dial 999, but my hands were shaking so much I screwed it up. Twice. I was
wasting valuable time.
I’d always hoped that in moments like this I would be the comic-book hero, knowing exactly what to do, breathing life into the
dying, sweeping the hurt and the danger away, applying bandages in the blink of an eye.
I was a tit. A crying, shaking, useless lump.
When I finally managed to dial the number I tried to explain what had happened to the operator, but the words didn’t flow as I’d
hoped. ‘Please, just come now, I think he’s dead. Please hurry,’ I rasped, my throat dry as sandpaper.
‘OK, caller, please stay calm. Where are you?’
‘Erm, flat 10, Orchard Court, Great Westfield Road, London.’ Yes, that was it. I was being vaguely useful now.
‘What is the emergency?’ came the cold, calm voice at the other end of the line.
‘Look, I don’t fucking know. I’m with a man, he’s collapsed, I can’t feel a pulse, I think he’s dead. Just come NOW, please!’ I
shouted, a little hysterical by that point.
They told me later they had achieved a six-minute response time. Those next six minutes felt like an age. I sat next to George in
the puddle of tea, holding his hands and weeping like a hysterical child. He didn’t move an inch the whole time. I was already
wondering how I was going to tell Sienna. What if they thought I’d done something to him to cause this? Panic pulsed through my
veins as I imagined myself behind bars.
I was so glad when they turned up, flashes of fluorescent yellow and green and those sturdy, black laced-up boots. Bright red
kitbags and the sound of Velcro ripping through the air reassured me that everything might just be OK.
One of the paramedics pulled me away from George and sat me down. I felt like a small boy. I watched in silence while they
worked away at him, feeling as though I was having an out-of-body experience. ‘He’s alive, mate,’ one of them said, turning
towards me with a wide grin on his face. He obviously thought I was a dick.
Then the same paramedic kneeled down beside me, his bald head shining under the strip lamp. ‘Are you running around after
Sienna now, then?’ he said, looking at me with a half smile. ‘I hope you didn’t say anything embarrassing – he’ll have heard
everything you said,’ he added, the smile spreading out even wider now.
I said nothing.
‘She’s a nice girl, isn’t she?’ he concluded, rolling up a green mat and securing it with a black band.
God, this bloke knows Sienna – he’s talking about her and George like he knows all about their lives, and I’m still in the dark.
What happened back there? I wanted to ask but this bloke was getting
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