Now, Liam, you keep pressing on that cloth. And keep telling me about Manchester United—it’s really interesting.’
‘Really?’ Liam looked stunned, as if he wasn’t used to anyone paying him proper attention.
Been there, done that, kid, Charlie thought. Though he’d never resorted to playing with fireworks to get the attention he’d needed. He’d just learned to become self-reliant.
‘Keep talking,’ he said, giving the boy an encouraging smile. If Liam kept talking, his voice would give Charlie warning signals if the boy was going into shock: the first signs would be if Liam started to sound ‘spaced out’ or his breathing became shallow.
‘There are a couple of fingertips missing,’ he said, sotto voce, to Bill. ‘Could you try and find them for me and put them in a bag?’ He could tell by the look on Bill’s face that the elderly man thought it served the kid right. ‘He’s only a child,’ Charlie said softly.
‘He’s a wrong ’un.’
‘And he needs help. Please.’
Bill’s mouth thinned, but he started to look through the weeds on the path.
Charlie crouched down to the letterbox. ‘Mrs Ward? My name’s Charlie and I’m a doctor. I’m coming to help you, but if you can’t open the door for me I’ll need to force it open.’
No reply. But at least he couldn’t smell smoke either, so it seemed that the firework hadn’t started a blaze. And he hadn’t seen any orange flickers through the opaque glass or with the limited vision he’d had through the letterbox.
‘I’m going to break the pane of glass and reach through to open the door,’ Charlie said. ‘Don’t be frightened. Bill’s with me.’
He took off one shoe, shattered the pane with it, then wrapped his hand in one of the teatowels to protect him from the broken glass and reached through to open the lock from the inside.
‘Found them,’ Bill said, at the precise moment Charlie pushed the door open to reveal a couple of burned-out bangers and scorch marks on the carpet.
‘Let’s go in and see to your neighbour.’ Charlie shepherded Liam in before him. ‘She’ll probably have a plastic bag of some sort in her kitchen.’ He hoped. And from the colour of the teatowel Liam was losing blood, which meant there was a good chance he’d go into shock. Charlie needed to get the boy lying flat, with his legs raised, as soon as possible: it would help to prevent shock from blood loss.
He found Mrs Ward slumped in the kitchen, her face white and her hand clutched to her chest.
‘Mrs Ward, can you hear me?’ he asked.
To his relief, Mrs Ward nodded.
‘Mary! Oh, God, is she all right?’ Bill asked.
‘Bill, the best thing you can do to help is find a plastic bag and some ice for those fingertips. And can you get Liam to lie flat on his back with his legs raised? Try and keep pressure on that pad on his hand for me. I don’t want him to lose consciousness.’
‘But…’ Bill gestured helplessly towards Mary.
‘I’ll look after her,’ Charlie said quietly. ‘I can’t see to them both at the time same. I need you to help Liam. Please.’
Bill nodded and followed Charlie’s directions. Meanwhile, Charlie checked Mary’s pulse.
‘Can you talk?’ he asked Mary.
‘Can’t…breathe…’ the old lady wheezed.
Breathless, pale and with obvious chest pain. Bill had mentioned his neighbour’s ‘dicky ticker’. Angina? ‘Have you had pain like this before?’ Charlie asked.
‘Spray. Drawer,’ the old lady whispered.
Which meant that, yes, she had and, yes, she had medication to deal with it. Good.
But there were several drawers to choose from. Which one? Charlie stood in the middle. ‘Can you point me left or right, then put your hand up when I’m in front of the right drawer?’ he asked.
She managed to direct him left and down to the drawer where she kept her medication. As he’d suspected, she had a GTN spray. Glyceryl trinitrate, known as GTN for short, increased the flow of blood through the heart muscle and controlled the symptoms of angina.
‘Can you open your mouth and lift up your tongue for me, Mrs Ward?’ he asked gently.
She did so, and he sprayed the medication under her tongue—the quickest way to get the drug into her system. Hopefully the pain would ease very quickly. And where the hell was the ambulance?
‘Little bugger. Right hooligan. Clip round the ear, if he was mine,’ Mary muttered.
‘Try not to talk,’ Charlie soothed.
‘Put fireworks through my door. Needs a good hiding,’ she wheezed.
‘He’s learned his lesson the hard way,’ Charlie said gently. ‘One blew up in his hand. He’s lost the tips of a couple of fingers.’
‘Told him not to chuck rubbish in my garden. Kept on. Kicked my fence down. Now this.’
‘The police’ll sort it out, Mary,’ Bill said. ‘Oi, you, the doctor said to stay still!’
Charlie glanced over to see Liam struggling and Bill trying to pin him down.
‘Can’t stay. Mum’ll kill me if I’m in trouble,’ Liam said, clearly panicking.
‘Should’ve thought of that earlier, shouldn’t you?’ Bill sneered. ‘Tell that to them when they take you down the nick.’
‘Liam, you’ll be going to hospital,’ Charlie interjected. ‘We need to sort your hand out before anything else happens. And you need to stay calm right now. If you start moving about and lose much more blood, you’ll start feeling very, very rough. Or you could struggle, and Bill will have to give you mouth to mouth.’
As he’d hoped, both Bill and Liam looked horrified at the thought. They both lapsed into silence, and Liam stayed absolutely still.
To Charlie’s relief, he heard a shout at the front door. ‘Paramedics—is anyone in there?’
‘In the kitchen,’ Charlie said.
‘What have we got?’ the older paramedic asked.
Charlie gave the two paramedics a brief run-down of what had happened. ‘Mrs Ward’s had GTN but it isn’t having much effect. We’ve found Liam’s missing fingertips and put them in a plastic bag with ice—I cleaned the wound with a dry cloth in case of phosphorus contamination.’
‘Trained first-aider?’ the younger paramedic asked.
Charlie smiled. ‘Something like that.’
‘We’ll take them both in,’ the older paramedic said.
‘My house. Open,’ Mary said.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll stay and help the police secure it,’ Bill said. ‘I’ll tell them what happened.’
Charlie took the notebook from his inside pocket and scribbled his mobile number. ‘I need to get going, but they can get me on this number or call me at the hospital—the Hampstead General.’
‘You work at our place?’ the younger paramedic asked.
‘Yep.’ Charlie glanced at his watch. ‘And I’d better get my skates on or I’ll be late for work.’ He was already late, but that couldn’t be helped.
‘Might as well come along with us, then,’ the younger paramedic said with a smile.
Ten minutes after Sophie had left, Charlie walked into the department. ‘Sorry I’m late. Unavoidable delay,’ he said. Not that he was going to explain