by Chloe Carpenter
Louisa hurtled round the corner at top speed and sprinted towards the bus stop, then cursed as her bus went whizzing by before she'd reached the stop.
"Oh no," she wailed, and glanced at her watch. She couldn't be late for work again. Today was Friday, and she'd already been late twice - 15 minutes on Monday and a staggering 40 minutes yesterday.
Rather than stand at the bus stop for twenty minutes waiting for the next bus to arrive, she set off walking, intending to hail a cab... not that she could afford it, but it was necessary if she wanted to keep her job at Ventris Construction. She'd been there barely a month and had already made a hash of things including misfiling invoices, forgetting to pass on important telephone messages, and the most disastrous incident of all was when she unplugged her computer's network cable so she could move it on to the next desk (much bigger and nicer, with a pretty pink office chair). As a result of her ineptitude, the entire office network had crashed and some people had lost data. A contender for employee of the month she was not - though if the company had an award for the most inefficient employee of the month, she'd likely win that without even trying.
She sighed and quickened her pace, muttering, "Damn, damn, damn," every time she looked at her watch. It was almost 9 o'clock. She should be at the office by now, and even if a cab came by soon, it would still take 15 minutes to drive in to work. To make matters worse, it started to to rain: a soft drizzle gradually gathered momentum, gentle drops becoming heavier and more frequent, splatting down on the pavement. In mere minutes the shower became a downpour, soaking Louisa to the skin. She inwardly berated herself for not carrying an umbrella, and plodded on dejectedly, her blonde hair dripping and her waterlogged sandals squelching with every step.
When eventually a cab came into view, she hailed it and climbed in gratefully, glad to get out of the rain.
"Ventris Construction please. Morgan Avenue," she told the driver.
The driver nodded and the black cab moved forwards, its windscreen wipers swaying frantically from side to side as the rain teamed down. Louisa brushed her wet hair from her face and leaned back in her seat. Rush hour traffic was always bad, but today it was worse than usual. Vehicles crawled along, and after five minutes the cab came to a complete standstill.
"We could be here for some time, Miss," the driver said. "There's roadworks up ahead and temporary traffic lights."
"Oh no - I'm late enough as it is," wailed Louisa. She could already imagine the humiliating ticking off she would get from Miss Wiggins, the office supervisor, and could clearly picture the old dragon's poker face and the contemptuous expression in her pebble eyes once she beheld Louisa's dishevelled appearance. "Tell you what," she told the driver, "I think it's going to be quicker if I walk the rest of the way." She thrust some money at him and got out of the cab.
"You're probably right," he said with a shrug. "And anyway, you can't get much wetter, can you?"
This was not what Louisa wanted to hear. She was already stressed and anxious. Forcing a polite smile that came out as a grimace, she set off walking again. The rain had not abated and now a cold wind gusted fiercely, catching the tendrils of her long hair which whirled wildly about her head, flapping in her face.
Ten minutes later, the traffic had barely moved, so she took some consolation from that fact. Taking a left turn, she approached a set of traffic lights and prepared to cross the road. A small group of people were waiting for the lights to change, including a harassed looking woman with two small soggy children and a baby in a pram. Louisa took little notice of them until suddenly, one of the children broke away and ran out into the road - just as a truck came rumbling round the corner.
"Ryan!" screamed the woman.
Louisa didn't think. She simply acted on impulse... a tactic that had got her into bother more times than she cared to remember at work ... but right now, it served her well. She hurtled out into the middle of the road and snatched up the child, just as the truck blared its horn and the driver slammed on his breaks. The next few seconds were manic confusion. There was the squeal of tires on a wet road, the child's mother screaming, car horns honking and people shouting.
Feeling quite divorced from reality, Louisa clutched the little boy to her chest and staggered forwards. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the big truck skidding and swerving, and sliding ever closer to her. With a superhuman effort she almost reached the opposite side of the road - and then she slipped on the wet surface, felt her knees buckle as her balance was thrown.
There was a man. A man standing by the kerb, stepping forward, his arms outstretched.
"Catch him!" she cried, and before she went down, somehow managed to hurl the toddler in the direction of those outstretched arms. In slow motion she saw the man stoop to catch the child, then step back onto the pavement to safety with the boy in his arms; he immediately deposited the squealing child into the arms of an older lady standing next to him, then turned towards Louisa once more. She just about registered the fact that he had stepped into the road and was reaching for her when there came a razor sharp pain to her right leg as she hit the floor and rolled, and another blossoming of pain as her head slammed onto the kerb.
For a moment, the day darkened as a momentous pain filled her; there was something wrong with her vision as bright lights were exploding before her eyes. It seemed like an eternity but was in fact only two or three seconds before a pair of strong arms lifted her from the roadside.
The shouts and traffic noise faded to a muted blur of sound as she looked into the bluest pair of eyes she had ever seen. They were looking at her with concern.
"Hey." Those blue eyes fixed on her own. "Are you badly hurt?" He glanced down at the gash on her knee, then up to her face. "You gave your head a right old whack when you fell, and your leg is bleeding. I'm calling an ambulance. We'll get you checked out at the hospital."
"Hospital? No. No, I can't," she said slowly, her words slurring even as a strong sense of urgency filled her. "I've got to get to work ...I'm late."
"Nonsense, work can wait. If I set you down for a moment, do you think you can stand if you hold on to me?"
"Yes, I-ow!" she cried as her right foot contacted with the ground. "I think I've done something to my ankle. My knee's ok - it's just grazed."
"Your head's bleeding." Even as he looked, more blood spurted from the gash and trickled down her face at an alarming rate. "We need to get you checked out. Lean on me." His fingers were already pressing the keys on his mobile. He called for an ambulance, gave the location and a brief account of what had taken place, and spent a couple of minutes talking to the operator regarding Louisa's injuries.
"But I'm fine," she persisted, trying to interrupt his call. "I have to get to work now. Bye." She prepared to limp away.
"You're not going anywhere yet, young lady," her captor said firmly. He removed his jacket and placed it around her trembling shoulders, and stood with one arm round her, his free hand pressing a white handkerchief against the side of her head. "That was a very brave thing you did."
"It was! It was! You saved my boy's life!" The little boy's mother, her face dripping with tears and rain, hugged Louisa. "I don't know how to thank you for what you did."
"Is he okay?" For some reason her voice shook.
"Yes he is - thanks to you. I'm so grateful."
"I'm glad I could help." Louisa tried to smile, but the slight movement made her head hurt more. She raised her hand, her fingertips making contact with the handkerchief as the pain in her temple persisted. When she removed her hand, her fingers were covered in blood. "Blood?" Her face paled. Other people's blood was one thing, but her own ...? "Ohhh," she moaned, lurching forwards, feeling nauseous and faint, and had it not been for the man propping her up she would probably have fallen.
"Steady now," he said. "Hold on, honey. The ambulance is on its way."
His voice was comforting, and his body pressed close to her own felt reassuring. She felt herself leaning against his chest as his hands held her tightly, easily supporting her weight. In the distance could be heard the piercing siren of an approaching ambulance.
Feeling half dazed, she was bundled on to a stretcher and lifted into the back of the ambulance. A paramedic by her side asked her some questions as he examined her head.
"Can you tell me your name, love?"
"Louisa," she whispered.
"And your second name?"
"Young. Louisa Young."
"Okay, Louisa. You've cut your head open, but I don't want you panicking. The cut isn't deep, but these kind of injuries do tend to bleed a lot. It looks worse than it is. We'll soon have you as good as new, I promise."
"I need to get to work," she persisted."
The paramedic snorted. "Oh I reckon they can manage without you for a while. Can you give me your date of birth, Louisa?"
"Er ..." It was an effort to think. Her head felt funny. And it hurt. A lot. "Um ... 17th October... 1989."
"Excellent." He wrote it down. "And your address, please?" He made a note. "Are you allergic to penicillin?"
She shook her head and then wished she hadn't. "Oww ... no, I'm not."
"Good girl. You try to keep still now. Are you currently taking any medication?"
"No, none."
"Thank you. Now, let's take a look at that knee. I'm going to put some antiseptic on it - it may sting a bit. And looking at that swelling around your ankle, I think you may have sprained it. We'll take x-rays of your head and ankle. Meanwhile, we need to elevate your leg." He did the necessary as Louisa winced. "Did you see what happened, sir?"
"I did."
Louisa blinked and turned her head to see the man sitting on a side seat in the ambulance. He was holding her shoulder bag and a bloodied handkerchief. He met her glance and smiled wryly.
"Thought I'd tag along for the ride," he said.
Louisa gave him a wan smile and closed her eyes.
"Keep awake, Louisa," the paramedic said. "We don't want you falling asleep after a knock on the head. Are you feeling nauseous?"
"A bit," she admitted.
"Has she vomited?" The paramedic directed his question at the man. In spite of feeling totally wretched, Louisa had to smile. Here were two strangers discussing whether or not she'd puked up.
"No she hasn't, but she almost passed out."
"I don't like blood," she offered. "Other people's is fine, but my own freaks me out."
The paramedic laughed. "I'm a bit like that myself," he lied as the ambulance passed through the hospital gates. He gave her hand a squeeze. "We're here now. You'll soon be sorted."
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