Читать книгу Emergency: Wife Needed - Emily Forbes - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

‘SORRY.’ Phoebe eventually managed to murmur an apology.

‘My fault. Are you OK?’ His eyes ran over her body. She knew it was his reaction to the collision but it made her heart race all the same. She cursed her fair skin as she felt a blush steal across her cheeks. She was never normally at a loss for words but she just stood there, staring at him. ‘Did I hurt you?’

Phoebe searched for a reply. His hands were still holding her upper arms, making coherent thought difficult. ‘No, no.’ Her gaze met his and again she felt a sense of familiarity. He held her gaze. Was there a flicker of recognition from him too or was that her over-active imagination?

His lips parted, he was about to speak. She knew she hadn’t sounded convincing but she wasn’t hurt, only momentarily stunned. ‘I’m fine. Really,’ she said as she stepped back, forcing him to release her so she could flee to the kitchen where there was safety in numbers. She knew she was being completely absurd, running away from the very person she’d been trying to find all afternoon, but until she could get her ridiculous reaction under control she couldn’t be trusted around him. Not if she didn’t want him to think her a complete idiot.

She headed for the first familiar face she saw. Ned.

‘Hey, Phoebes, how’s it going?’

Phoebe deliberately kept her back to the change rooms so she wouldn’t be tempted to watch for him.

‘Not bad so far, touch wood,’ she replied, tapping her knuckles against the tabletop. ‘Where’ve you been today?’

‘The other side of Mt Lofty. It’s pretty hairy over there.’ As an experienced firefighter, if Ned thought a situation was dangerous, Phoebe knew it must be bad. ‘I’m heading back in a minute.’ He glanced over Phoebe’s right shoulder, then reached out to shake someone’s hand.

‘Max, buddy.’ His grin was broad. ‘I wasn’t expecting you this early.’

The mystery fireman was here. Only he wasn’t a mystery to Ned.

Max and Ned merged together in a bear hug. Phoebe saw a flash of blue followed by tanned arms, bulging biceps and dark hair curling at the nape of a strong neck.

The hug over, there were claps on backs and broad grins, illustrating the reunion was a happy one. ‘I’m not officially on deck till tomorrow but you know how it is with fires like this. The more the merrier.’

‘Phoebe, this is Max. We did our basic training together, he’s our relieving station officer, covering for Dutchy. Max, this is Phoebe. We live together.’

Max held out his hand, accompanying the gesture with a broad smile, flashing his perfect teeth again. ‘Nice to meet you officially, Phoebe.’

Phoebe took his hand. His grip was firm, his palm smooth and cool to the touch.

‘Hello, Max.’ His name suited him and she nearly told him so but fortunately came to her senses just in time. He was looking at her so intently again she couldn’t hold his gaze. She dropped her eyes and focussed on his chest.

He, too, had stripped down to a singlet but she was willing to bet he looked ten times better in his than she did in hers. Broad shoulders protruded from his top and while his neck wasn’t muscle-bound his arms definitely looked as though he spent time lifting weights. She had a weakness for good arms on a man. His singlet top didn’t disguise a well-toned abdomen either. There wasn’t an unnecessary ounce of weight on him.

She glanced down at her own once-white singlet, which was now an unattractive shade of brown, thanks to the fires. Her breasts, which she was convinced were one cup size too large, were doing their best to escape. She raised her eyes again to discover he was watching her, looking amused, as she stood frowning at her grubby top.

An announcement came over the loudspeaker. ‘Attention, attention, 262 and 263 responding to fires west of Lobethal.’

‘That’s me,’ Ned said. ‘I’ll catch you both later.’

Phoebe went up on tiptoe, kissing Ned’s cheek. ‘Be careful.’

Max was watching her again. ‘Have you eaten?’ he asked. Phoebe shook her head. ‘Can I get you a sandwich—ham and cheese?’

She nodded then berated herself as he went to the kitchen. He was upsetting her equilibrium. She never had ham sandwiches. She didn’t even like ham. But she accepted it with thanks when he returned, not wanting to give him any more reasons to think she was a complete fool.

Phoebe sat at a table, pushing a pile of books out of the way to make room for her sandwich. Max pulled out a chair, not waiting for an invitation, not thinking he needed one.

‘How long have you and Ned lived together?’

‘About eighteen months.’

‘So it’s serious, then?’ He and Ned hadn’t caught up much in recent times but it surprised him that Phoebe had never been mentioned, even in passing.

Phoebe frowned at him, her fair eyebrows coming together and creating a little crease in her forehead. ‘Serious?’

‘Living together for that long, it must be, right?’

‘Oh. We don’t “live together”,’ Phoebe said, making quotation marks in the air with her fingers. ‘We share a house. Separate bedrooms.’ She took another bite of the sandwich she seemed not to be enjoying.

‘Jumping to conclusions.’ But even as he spoke, he knew there was no way the thought of sharing a bedroom with Phoebe hadn’t entered Ned’s mind. His reputation as a playboy hadn’t been without basis and Phoebe certainly wasn’t hard on the eye. Tall and blonde, her figure was athletic, with long lean limbs. And she filled out her tank top in all the right places. As if Ned hadn’t noticed!

Maybe she and Ned had had a fling—who was to say otherwise? He tried to get his mind off that topic. It wasn’t any of his business.

Her voice halted his train of thought. ‘You’ve had a hectic introduction to the town.’

‘It was my choice to start early. I like a bit of drama—gets the adrenalin going.’

‘Is there enough drama today to keep you satisfied?’ She was smiling at him but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. He could tell she wasn’t sure about him, yet he’d swear there had been sparks between them from the moment they’d met. Or was that exactly why she wasn’t sure?

‘I reckon today just about covers everything.’ He eyed the pile of textbooks in front of Phoebe. ‘But it looks as though you’re expecting a few quiet moments.’ He spun the pile of books around, reading the title of the top one. ‘French for Beginners. Are you planning a trip?’

‘No. This is my latest craze, learning French. I’ve got a test tomorrow.’

‘Êtes-vous assez fort en Francais?’

She looked at him with a bewildered expression. ‘I have absolutely no idea what you just said. It was French, right?’

They both laughed then and he said, ‘I asked if you were any good.’

Phoebe buried her face in her hands then reappeared with a smile on her face. ‘I guess you already know the answer, but I’ll see if my vocab stretches so far. Non.’

Her smile reached her eyes, she seemed to relax, and Max had to remind himself to act casual and not stare. She’d be attractive no matter what she did, but when her face was graced with a smile—a real, honest-to-goodness laughing-at-herself smile—she was, purely and simply, lovely. Her eyes were pale blue, but in an unusual, not insipid, way and framed by dark eyelashes, which contrasted with her fair eyebrows. When she’d smiled and even now there was a sparkle in them that hadn’t been there before and he knew it was egotistical of him, but he liked the idea he’d been the one to add the extra sparkle. Despite the noise and the crowd in the kitchen, they might have been the only two people there. Her smile had totally captivated him.

‘I’m obviously a total disaster,’ she answered. ‘Can you really speak French or are you pulling my leg?’

‘I can speak it, though I’m getting rusty. I haven’t had much of a chance to exercise my linguistic skills lately.’

She blew some hair off her face and looked downfallen. Adorably so. ‘Did you learn French as a child? Apparently it’s much easier then, and I’m clinging to the hope that that’s why I’m so bad at it, not just that I’m bad, full stop, and too old!’

She didn’t look more than twenty-five but he knew better than to comment on a woman’s age, especially one who was a relative stranger. ‘I spent a few years in Canada.’

‘In the French provinces?’

‘No. In Saskatchewan. I did an exchange program through the fire department. I dated a French Canadian girl for a while—she taught me.’ She’d taught him a few other things, too, about human nature in particular, and he could feel his blood starting to boil at the thought of how foolish he’d been. But it had been a lesson well learned.

‘Do you have any tips to pass on?’ Phoebe’s question brought him back to the present.

‘I watched lots of French movies. It’s a great way to test comprehension and work on the accent.’ He said the words as if in an ad.

Phoebe laughed and her face lit up again. Again, too, he felt that warmth inside that told him he was the one who’d put that light in her eyes. ‘A likely excuse. I’ve always wondered what men see in foreign movies, and an improved accent isn’t high on my list of reasons.’

That was a smile he could very quickly get used to. She had little lines at the corners of her eyes—perhaps she was older than she looked—but rather than detract from her looks the lines gave her face more character. ‘I can’t speak for all men but in my case it was purely educational.’

She held her hands up in mock surrender. ‘I’m not doubting you, I’m sure it helped your linguistic skills no end.’ She was laughing again. Her laugh was infectious. So much so that he wasn’t leaving here until he knew he’d see her again outside work. He wouldn’t usually act this quickly—he’d learnt his lesson there—but something about Phoebe was different. Different enough to make him seize the moment, at any rate.

‘Are you up for a deal?’ She cocked her head to one side, clearly interested. ‘If you play tour guide for me, I’ll help you with your French.’

‘Won’t Ned be expecting to be playing host?’

‘I know exactly what sights Ned would have on his itinerary: the pubs and clubs and anywhere else he might find the under 25s. I’m assuming you’d know a few other places of local interest.’

‘A fair assumption.’

‘We have a deal?’

‘I’ll think about it.’ It hadn’t been a rebuff, her mannerisms said she was relaxed enough, but he was still a little surprised. He’d expected her to agree, not because he was arrogant but because he was sure she’d reacted to him in the same way he’d reacted to her. There was something there. Or was he reading the energy between them all wrong? ‘I have to get going,’ she was saying as she stood, gathering her books. ‘I need to make a phone call. Thanks for the sandwich.’

‘Je vous en prie.’

‘Ah…’ She stalled, clearly drawing a blank and frustrated with herself for doing so. ‘I know that one, truly.’ And she clenched her free hand in a fist and shook it at herself. ‘All right, I give up.’

‘ “ You’re welcome.” That’s what it means. And it’s in the dialogue on page one of your workbook, I saw earlier, so I’d imagine you’ll need that for your test.’

She shook her head, gloom falling over her face and making her eyes darker. ‘I’m done for.’

Then she rolled her eyes, shook her head and left him to his thoughts.

Perhaps a stint in the country would be more enjoyable than he’d anticipated.

‘Attention, attention 261 and 81 responding to an MVA.’

‘Sorry, Mum, I have to go, they’re paging me.’ Phoebe hung up the phone after saying goodbye, relieved to find all was well on her parents’ small land holding on the outskirts of town. So far, at least. She raced back to the ambulance bay, shrugging the top of her jumpsuit on as she went.

‘What have we got?’ she asked Steve, deciding that was quicker than checking her own pager.

‘MVA on Jungfer Road. The car’s left the road and apparently there’s someone trapped inside.’

Phoebe jumped into the driver’s seat, waiting until Steve had buckled his seat belt before pulling out of the station, siren blaring. A fire engine was in front of them, leading the way. As they drove further out of town the visibility worsened and Phoebe had to concentrate in order to keep a safe distance between the ambulance and the fire engine while still keeping them within sight. The emergency broadcaster was giving them regular updates on the state of the fires, including where they were burning and in which locations people needed to be making decisions about staying or vacating their properties. Residents of Lobethal were being advised to evacuate now. Jungfer Road was one road that remained open and provided an exit route for those residents. As the ambulance got closer to the turn-off Phoebe drove more cautiously in order to avoid the steady stream of cars coming from the opposite direction. She wanted to put her foot down, she felt the need to get to the crash site as quickly as possible, but she couldn’t risk being involved in an accident of her own.

In front of her she saw the flashing left-turn indicator on the fire engine. She flicked her own indicator on, slowing further to take the corner. They drove on for a few minutes but as they approached one of the few bends in the road Phoebe saw a car pulled off to one side. A man climbed out of the car and waved them down. The fire engine pulled over and Phoebe brought the ambulance to a stop behind it.

She jogged past the fire engine, concentrating on getting to the witness to get any information he might have but still vaguely aware of the fire crew already at work, opening hatches and retrieving their equipment. Aware too that Max was among them.

She stopped beside the man’s car. ‘He’s down there.’ The elderly man’s voice was muffled by the hand towel he was holding over his nose and mouth to protect himself from the hot, ash-strewn air. He pointed with one hand over the embankment and Phoebe looked in the direction he had indicated. She could see an old yellow sedan at the bottom of the slope, its front crumpled around a huge tree.

‘I went down there, but I couldn’t get any response. Do you think he might be dead?’

They had no way of determining that from where they stood and Phoebe assumed it had been a rhetorical question.

‘Did you see the accident?’

‘No. My wife and I were travelling behind that car but I lost him as he went around the bend. He was driving pretty fast considering the conditions and I guess he lost sight of the road in the smoke. I thought I’d better wait to show you where the car was—it’s not easy to see.’

He was right. The thick smoke was obscuring everything, limiting visibility to less than a hundred metres and, coming from the direction they travelled, they could easily have missed the wrecked car.

‘Do you have any idea who’s in the car?’

‘No. Sorry.’ He shook his head. ‘Can we get going now, do you think?’

Phoebe could hear a slight tremor in the old man’s voice. He’d done the right thing, what his conscience had demanded of him, and now understandably he was getting nervous about the approaching fire. Phoebe was nervous, too.

‘Of course. Thanks for your help.’

He hurried to his car, still clutching the towel to his face.

Phoebe looked around her. Cars continued to travel past but for once they didn’t have to work with a crowd of onlookers, the imminent danger from the bushfire was taking care of curious spectators. The fire crew and Steve were already at the vehicle, assessing the situation. Phoebe hurried down the slope, slipping a little on the dry undergrowth with its layer of fallen gum leaves.

The car was a total wreck. The driver’s side was wrapped around the tree, the bonnet virtually non-existent now as it was so badly compacted. The windscreen was shattered but access through there was limited as the tree blocked the opening. From what Phoebe could see, it appeared as though the steering-column might have crushed the driver’s chest, pinioning him to the wreck. She very much doubted he’d survived the accident.

She saw Max hand the spreaders to Mitch before coming to her side. Both of them silent, watching, waiting for the firies to get access to the vehicle.

Max spoke first, verbalising her thoughts. ‘I don’t reckon there’ll be much you can do for him even if he is alive.’

There were no signs of movement from within the car and no response to any of their calls. The doors were too badly damaged to be opened so Mitch smashed the back passenger window directly behind the driver, but even that caused no reaction.

As soon as the window was shattered Steve reached through the gap. Phoebe saw him put his hand on the driver’s shoulder, heard him ask a question, seeking a response. Nothing.

Steve moved his hand over the driver’s neck and Phoebe knew he was checking for a pulse. He cocked his head to one side in concentration.

‘I’ve got a pulse. Weak and irregular but he’s still alive. We need access now!’

Max picked up the crowbar Mitch had dropped at his feet and hurried around to the passenger side of the car to smash the unbroken windows while Mitch started cutting through the pillars supporting the roof. It would take Mitch a few minutes to get them access. Minutes this young man might not have.

Phoebe could hear Steve talking to the youth even though there was no response. She felt extraneous and looked for something useful to do. She skirted the tree, the tree that had done all the damage, wondering if there was any way she could get into the car. Was there enough room for her to squeeze through the broken windscreen into the front seat?

No way would she fit. To get through that hole she needed to be about five feet four and weigh eight stone. Not five feet ten and buxom.

Max had smashed the windows on the near side and Phoebe looked at the shattered glass scattered over the seats and littering the floor. A handbag lay on the floor, covered in broken glass, its bright colours incongruous in the wreckage. Phoebe’s gaze travelled over the handbag across to Steve. He’d stepped back from the driver, giving Mitch room to cut through the metalwork.

Phoebe’s subconscious drew her attention back to the handbag, suddenly working out what was so strange. She stepped back from the car, searching the ground around the crash site.

‘What is it?’ she heard Max’s question.

‘There must have been someone else in the car. A girl.’

‘What?’

‘There’s a handbag on the floor. Why would he have a handbag? We’ve got to find her.’

She moved to the front of the car. A flash of bright blue in the undergrowth to her left caught her eye. She wondered how she’d missed it as she’d first skirted the tree.

It was a sandal.

And the sandal was on a foot.

Phoebe’s eyes travelled up from the foot, following the line of a jeans-clad leg.

‘Over here.’

Max was beside her.

The top half of the body was partially hidden by a straggly shrub and Phoebe stepped forward. It was a girl. She was lying on her stomach but her face was turned towards them, her head at an unnatural angle, her sightless eyes staring into the sky.

‘Her neck’s broken.’

Phoebe squatted down beside her, force of habit making her check for a pulse even though she knew it was futile. She took her fingers from the girl’s neck, reaching up to close her eyelids.

Max looked back to the tree and the destroyed car. ‘She must have been flung out on impact.’ He stretched out his hand, offering to help Phoebe up. ‘Come on, there’s nothing you can do for her now.’

Phoebe took his hand. The contact was comforting, his warmth reassuring after touching the lifeless body of the young girl at their feet. In the background Phoebe was aware of the noise of the jaws of life crunching through metal as Mitch cut open the car.

‘Are you OK?’

She nodded, an automatic response, but actually she was far from okay. Unnecessary deaths always gave her a mix of emotions. She couldn’t remember the last time any of her colleagues had asked if she, or anyone else, was affected by what they dealt with at work. Death was an inevitable part of their job but it didn’t mean they were unaffected by it. It never got any easier but no one really talked about it. She didn’t need—didn’t want—to talk or think about it either. She knew from experience she just needed to keep moving. To stay busy.

Despite the heat of the day she felt a chill as she moved away from Max’s side. Keep moving, stay busy. Max was right. There was nothing she could do for this girl but hopefully they’d be able to save the driver.

The firemen had peeled back the roof of the car along the driver’s side and were just removing the front door. Steve was still talking. ‘Just about there, mate. Hang on.’

The moment the door was gone Steve was back in place, his hand under the driver’s chin, supporting his head, feeling for the carotid pulse. The youth’s face was surprisingly undamaged. He had a cut above his eye but that had stopped bleeding and Phoebe knew why even before Steve spoke.

‘We’ve lost him.’

Now the car had been opened up they could see the massive abdominal injuries the lad had suffered. Looking at those, Phoebe was surprised he’d still been alive when they arrived.

Steve let the driver’s head go and stood, turning to speak to the policemen who’d just arrived. Max and his crew began gathering their equipment, preparing to return to the fire front. Returning to their task of saving the living.

Phoebe climbed back up the slope with them, part of her wishing she could leave too. Leave this scene of death and destruction. Leave with Max.

Instead, she dragged a Jordan frame and a sheet from the ambulance and made her way back down the slope, waving a hand in farewell to the firies.

With Steve’s help she lifted the girl onto the Jordan frame and covered her with the sheet. Two policemen helped them carry her to the ambulance where they put her on a stretcher and slid her into the van. The police would arrange to collect the car later—the driver would have to be cut out of the wreckage and their resources were already stretched because of the bushfires. Phoebe didn’t like leaving the driver behind but with the fire crew gone she didn’t have any way to get him out of the car. She had no choice.

She closed the ambulance doors and climbed into the passenger seat beside Steve. Ash was falling around them as they drove away, coating everything with a fine layer of grey, a suitable colour in the circumstances, and how many more fatalities they’d see before the fires were extinguished.

The atmosphere in the ambulance as they left the hospital was subdued. Neither of them liked delivering casualties. Steve was driving so Phoebe picked up the handset of the two-way to notify the station they were back on the road.

‘This is Hahndorf 81—we’re just leaving the Hahndorf Hospital. Where would you like us to head? Over.’

‘Hahndorf 81, please return to the station. The fire has broken containment lines and all non-essential units are being withdrawn from the area. I repeat. Please return to the station. Over.’

Phoebe glanced at Steve. ‘Fat lot of good we’ll be, sitting at the station,’ he said.

‘My thoughts exactly, but I don’t suppose we have much of a choice.’

‘No. But I’d rather be out doing something than sitting around, twiddling our thumbs,’ Steve said as he turned into the main street.

‘I guess people either get out to us or they don’t. They won’t risk more lives by sending us into a no-go zone,’ Phoebe said, as Steve parked the ambulance and she hopped out. ‘I’m just going to the control room. I want to see what the situation is for myself.’

The control room was crowded. It seemed as though many people had had the same idea. If they couldn’t be at the scene of the emergency they still wanted to feel involved. Knowing what was going on, even if it was only via a telephone and a fax machine, was preferable to feeling totally useless.

One wall was covered with a large-scale map showing an aerial view of the Hills zone, red markings indicating the area where bushfires were burning. Three separate fires were marked and if the north wind kept up, two of the three fires would be threatening their region, two too many. One fire was already within ten kilometres of Hahndorf, albeit on the other side of the Onkaparinga River.

Phoebe turned to leave the control room. There was nothing she could do there. She saw Steve beckoning to her over the heads of the crowd.

‘What’s up?’ she asked as she met him in the corridor.

‘A call’s just come through. An eighteen-month-old child with breathing difficulties. His parents are too frightened to move him because of his condition so they called for us.’

‘I didn’t hear anything over the loudspeaker.’

‘We’re not being dispatched.’

Phoebe frowned. ‘Why not?’

‘It’s too dangerous.’

‘Where’s the house?’

‘Six k’s out of town, this side of the river but in the direct line of the fire.’

‘Can we get to them?’

Steve nodded. ‘The road’s still open but—’

‘We’ve been told to stay put.’ Phoebe finished the sentence and Steve nodded. ‘What are you thinking?’ she asked, although she was pretty sure she knew the answer.

‘I’m in. Are you?’

Phoebe wasn’t the type of person who regularly broke the rules but this wasn’t a rule as such, more a recommendation. She nodded at Steve, both of them already heading to their ambulance, the decision a foregone conclusion.

Minutes later, after being berated over the radio by their team leader for disobeying orders, Phoebe pulled into a dirt driveway lined with tall dark firs. The ambulance’s suspension took a beating as they bounced over the potholes in the approach to the red brick cottage. It was a pretty house, surrounded by large lawns and well-tended garden beds that pressed hard up against its walls, but with the dark clouds of smoke rolling in over the bush, like the wolf lurking in the shadows of a story book cottage, the atmosphere was sinister.

Phoebe parked the ambulance in the curve of the driveway. A blast of hot wind caught her in the face as she opened her door. Tiny particles of dust and pollen blew into her eyes, forcing their way behind her sunglasses. She narrowed her eyes as she and Steve grabbed their gear and headed for the porch, the crunch of gravel underfoot barely audible over the roar of the wind. The light was eerie, glowing with the colours of fire, bright in contrast to the backdrop of a dark and ominous sky.

The front door opened and a man stepped out to meet them, shaking their hands in a distracted fashion, looking not at them but at the smoke looming over the bush.

‘Malcolm Watts, Benji’s dad. He’s through here,’ he said, beckoning them in and casting a last look in the direction of the fire. It was still out of sight but they all knew it was just over the hill. ‘The wind’s all over the place, I don’t like the look of it.’

Phoebe had to agree and when the front door slammed shut behind them, closed by the force of the wind, she shuddered at the finality of the sound. Malcolm led the way into a sitting room where a toddler was lying wan and pale on the couch, his blonde head on his mother’s lap. The child’s skin was almost translucent in the way of infants and young children and his mother was stroking the damp yellow curls back from his forehead. Her focus was entirely on her son. She was oblivious to their arrival.

And it was too much like Joe. This could have been her. That had been her, her cheek resting on the velvet roundness of another’s little cheek, running fingers through sweet-smelling, soft curls, heart swelling with the impossible sweetness of such a love.

Come snuggle Mumma, Joe. How much do I love you?

Mostly it was OK. Mostly the past didn’t rush at her like this, making her breath catch in her throat, her lungs constrict with sudden remembrance. But sometimes…

‘Phoebe?’

Steve was already at Benji’s side, calling to her, casting a glance to hurry her along.

It wasn’t Joe and it wasn’t her. She’d had that life, a long time ago. She had a new one now, she was another person to the one she’d been. There was no turning back the clock. Sometimes her memory didn’t obey the rules, but she had to. And she always did.

She didn’t miss a beat, heading straight over to introduce herself to Benji’s mum, Marg, noting at the same time how the little boy’s eyes were ringed with dark circles, each exhalation a struggle with a tight wheeze. Steve was already setting up the oxygen cylinder, slipping the mask into place, adjusting the straps until he had the fit right over Benji’s nose and mouth. As he moved on to the physical exam, speaking softly to the child, Phoebe questioned Malcolm and Marg about Benji’s health history. Benji appeared unfazed by Steve, a stranger, rolling up his top and pressing a stethoscope against his chest. It was a further sign he was a very sick little boy.

‘Definite obstruction of the airway, difficulty exhaling.’ Steve announced his findings as he continued the examination.

‘You say he’s been sick these last few days? Wheezing getting worse?’ Phoebe asked.

Malcolm nodded and Marg said, ‘We didn’t take him to the doctor because last month he had the same thing and they said they couldn’t do anything—it was just a cold and a slight upper respiratory infection, nothing major. But then this morning he started to wheeze a lot. It’s been getting worse. He was crying and now he’s settled, but he still can’t breathe.’

No point now in explaining he’d not settled but become exhausted. His condition had deteriorated, not improved. ‘The wheezing hasn’t happened at all before? Your doctor hasn’t mentioned asthma?’

‘No, nothing like that. We thought he had a cold and we’d stick it out here. We’ve done it before and it’s always been fine. But we didn’t have a child then.’

‘We should have left. The smoke’s made him worse.’ Marg’s voice cracked with barely restrained feeling as she spoke. ‘What’s wrong with him? Is it asthma? Is it the smoke?’

‘The hospital will have to give you the answers, but it’s likely he has undiagnosed asthma. The smoke or the harsh wind whipping up the pollens and dust are all likely triggers. Wheezing in small children is more likely to be from a cold induced by a virus rather than asthma per se, but Benji’s symptoms suggest it’s much more than a simple cold.’

Steve was continuing to monitor Benji on the oxygen. ‘He’s not responding as quickly as I’d hoped.’ Phoebe looked at Benji, whose lips were now faintly tinged with blue.

‘Nebuliser?’

Steve nodded and Phoebe extracted the nebuliser equipment, setting it up with well-practised hands, running the Ventolin with the oxygen. The ventolin rose, smoke-like, up through the mask and Benji inhaled it, submissive throughout.

‘We’ll need to take him to hospital.’

‘Aren’t we meant to stay put?’ Marg asked. ‘That’s why we called the ambulance and didn’t leave before.’

‘Yes, theoretically, and for the same reason we weren’t meant to come out in the first place, but the best place for Benji is the hospital. One of you can ride with us or you can both follow. That is, if you’re coming.’

‘Of course we’re coming,’ said Malcolm, adding, ‘Do you want to grab some things, Marg?’ He touched her on the arm, the gesture of intimacy and affection jabbing Phoebe in the heart, although she covered it by packing up their equipment. She’d had that, too, that closeness with someone, that sense of being on each other’s side.

Or had she? Had it really been like that with Adam before it had all fallen apart?

Malcolm called after his wife, breaking into her thoughts, ‘Bring the fire-box, too, just in case, honey.’ Marg’s eyes widened at that. It seemed that in her anxiety over Benji she’d forgotten for a brief moment about another danger lurking on the horizon.

As Marg collected her thoughts and left the room a new sound intruded.

‘Sirens.’ Steve and Phoebe spoke in unison.

‘It’s the CFS siren. The fire must be getting closer,’ Malcolm told them. Phoebe shot a look at Steve, wondering if they’d been foolish coming here. But it was too late to worry about that now. They needed a new plan.

‘Where’s your phone, Malcolm?’ Phoebe asked him. ‘I’ll just let the hospital know we’re coming in.’

‘The phone lines are down. We just managed to call 000 before they went and we don’t have mobile reception here.’

‘I’ll use the ambulance two-way, then,’ Phoebe said, leaving in what she hoped was an efficient manner, trying to quell the mild panic fluttering about in her belly. ‘Back in a moment.’

As she stepped from the house, the first thing she was aware of, after the screaming of the siren, was the hot wind blasting her left side. It had swung around.

Windy days had always unsettled her and coming out into this gale was extremely unnerving. The wind had increased in intensity and buffeted her as she struggled across the driveway. Trees were being bent double by the force of the wind and she made herself keep walking, leaning into the wind, fighting her instinct to return to the safety of the house. She had to find out what the situation was—they couldn’t afford to be trapped on the road.

The howling of the wind was battling with the shrieking of the siren, the cacophony of noise clashing in Phoebe’s head and making her want to scream in frustration.

She made it to the ambulance, tugging open the door and clambering into the front seat. She picked up the radio but the external noises were so intrusive she knew she wouldn’t be able to make herself heard. She put her sunglasses on top of her head and massaged her temples. A flash of light in the rear-view mirror caught her attention. A fire engine was coming up the driveway behind her.

It came to a stop two metres from where she sat.

Four fire officers climbed out and Phoebe knew them all but had eyes for only one.

Max was back.

Which, judging by the immediate pitch in her belly as she took in the broad bulk of him, was a good thing.

Except the three other officers had swung immediately into action, and there was a major fire raging somewhere nearby. So, not so good?

She climbed out of the ambulance and waited as Max issued directions to his men before coming to her, his strides making short work of the distance, his gait giving no indication of the heaviness of the protective clothing all the firemen wore. He wore his helmet but had his visor up and over one shoulder he’d slung an oxygen cylinder. He looked like a man in control.

‘Max! What’s going on?’ Over Max’s shoulder Phoebe could see his crew working in an efficient but hurried manner. Two were unrolling hoses while the third was taking more oxygen cylinders from the truck.

Max answered her question with one of his own. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘There’s a little boy inside, suffering a serious asthma attack. We’re just about to take him out to the hospital.’

‘Not right now you’re not. You need to get back inside.’ Phoebe felt Max’s hand in the small of her back as he tried to guide her in the direction of the house.

‘I need to get Benji to hospital.’

‘Phoebe, I don’t have time to argue. You need to listen to me.’

A trickle of sweat snaked its way down her spine. ‘What’s happening?’

‘This wind change has whipped the fire back on itself and it’s heading straight for us.’ Max took a few seconds before he answered. ‘The road’s been cut off. You’re not going anywhere.’