I fight the overwhelming sensation of tiredness. I manage to open my eyes again and see Leonard’s concerned face. He’s frowning and speaking in such a low voice, I can barely hear him. His words sound harsh, but I can’t make them out. Something like: What have you done?… Stupid … Told you. None of it makes sense.
My head rolls to the side and through half-closed eyes I see steam spiralling up from the bonnet of my car.
I look at Leonard and try to speak but I can’t form the words properly. ‘Mar,’ I gasp. It hurts to breathe. I try again. ‘Marth …’
‘Shh, don’t speak. Say nothing.’ This time Leonard’s voice is clear and it sends a new wave of fear through me.
I hear a child crying. My maternal instinct kicks in, the one that can quell all the chaos around me, dampen all other thoughts and feelings, both physical and mental and zoom in on that one sound. I hear it distinctly. I know instantly it’s Chloe. I hear her, but I can’t see her.
‘Shit.’ Leonard jumps up and disappears towards the sound of Chloe. The impact of the car against the tree has left the car at a ninety-degree angle to the drive and now my view is no longer obstructed by Leonard. I can see clearly the horror before me. My brain prioritising what needs my attention the most.
Lying perfectly still, a red stain of blood across her forehead, is Hannah. Luke is kneeling over her. He’s yanking off his navy jumper, the one Mum bought him for his birthday, a V-neck from M&S, and covering her little body with it. He’s speaking. I can see his mouth moving as he leans over our daughter, but I can’t hear any words. All I can hear is me.
‘Nooooooo! Please God, no!’
I’m not sure how many ambulances arrive at the house or how many police cars. I’m just aware of the sound of sirens, the wheels scrunching on the gravel drive, radios buzzing and crackling, broken and fractured noises of people talking in firm, professional voices and then soft tones. I ask about Hannah constantly, but I’m told they are attending to her now, that I’m not to worry and that they need to get me to hospital. Then there’s the sound of rotor blades and a flurry of activity out of the gateway. I don’t know who is airlifted. It isn’t me.
They place three orange padded blocks around my head and a strap across my forehead. I’m lifted by several pairs of hands onto an orange stretcher, the straps across my body pulled so tight it’s impossible to move. I think there may be a drip in my arm. I can’t feel anything, but I can see a bag of fluid hanging up on a clip next to me. I’m asked questions that I don’t think I know the answers to.
At some point, Leonard has come back to my side.
‘Chloe?’ I ask, as the stretcher is lifted.
‘She’s okay. Your mum is taking her to Pippa’s,’ he says. Then he lowers his mouth to my ear. ‘Don’t say anything to anyone. Don’t answer any questions until I’ve spoken with you first.’
I don’t have time to ask why, before the stretcher is slid into the back of the ambulance. I close my eyes and the ambulance doors are slammed closed and we begin our journey to Brighton hospital. I’m slightly comforted by the thought that Pippa has taken Chloe. I don’t know what this means about our relationship, but at least I know Chloe will be looked after well. I think of Daisy’s accident. Pippa thought her daughter would be looked after well too. She thought I was caring for her. How could I be so stupid as to forget to pick the girls up? She’s right. I am responsible for what happened, just like I’m responsible for what has happened now.
My head continues to throb and I feel the pull of fatigue. I think of Hannah and try to ask once again what’s happened to her, but I’m met with the usual side-step of an answer.
We hit a pothole in the road and the jolt makes me cry out in pain. My left arm is killing me. I can hear myself groaning.
‘Where’s the pain coming from, Clare?’ asks the paramedic, who is sitting in the back of the ambulance with me. ‘Is it your arm?’
I give a grunt. ‘Okay, what I’m going to do, Clare, is give you some more painkiller. Some more morphine. Are you okay with that?’
I give another grunt. Her voice is drifting away from me and I don’t think I can fight this tiredness any longer. I just want to go to sleep. And then I think of Hannah. I’m awake again.
‘Hannah, where’s Hannah? Where’s my daughter?’ I become more and more agitated with every word and every second that passes. I try to move, but I can’t. The paramedic tells me to stay calm. Calm! How the hell can I stay calm when I don’t know what has happened to my daughter? I scream her name as I’m swamped by dark thoughts and images of her lying motionless on the gravel driveway. And then the blackness comes and takes me away.