The line went dead.
I swallowed hard, trying to contain my rising panic.
“I need to find somebody on a party boat in Putney,” I said to the cab driver. “Where should I go?”
“Moored or sailing?” was his laconic response.
Moored or sailing—how should I know?
“I don’t know,” I admitted. The cabbie gave a resigned sigh.
“All right, love, I’ll take you to Putney pier, shall I? We can take it from there.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “But please hurry. It’s—”
“—
an emergency,” the cabbie cut in. “Yes, I got that impression.” And, under his breath, “It’s
always
an emergency in this business.”
The journey seemed to take forever but could only have lasted about fifteen minutes. Soon the river came into view and I started looking out for a party boat.
The cabbie was doing the same, because he suddenly offered, “Look out there to your right… That’s the boat you’re looking for.”
I followed his gaze and sure enough, there was a pleasure cruiser blazing with fairy lights right in the middle of the Thames.
“Looks like it might be heading for the pier,” the driver suggested. “Probably best if I just take you there and we can see.”
Another couple of red traffic lights later and we veered off sharply to the left just before Putney Bridge. The cabbie pulled up by the pier, and I fumbled in my purse for the fare. Then I fell out of the cab as ungracefully as I had fallen in, straightening up swiftly and scanning the river for the approaching party boat.
Alas, it didn’t seem intent on mooring after all. I could hear snippets of music and gales of laughter. And—
My heart stopped.
Well, okay, it didn’t, but it felt like it.
I had found Rachel. She was hanging by her very fingertips off the front railings of the boat. I could see her distinctive ponytail and her very favorite party frock.
What on earth was going on?
“She’s gonna let go, you know,” somebody spoke to me. I nearly passed out with shock. It was my friendly cab driver, having got out for a look-see.
“Never,” I assured him with as much authority as I could muster. “That’s my best friend out there. She’s not going to let go. That must be some kind of stunt.”
The cab driver watched thoughtfully.
“Uh-uh,” he ventured. “Not a stunt. That looks pretty desperate to me. We should call an ambulance.”
I opened my mouth to protest again, but Rachel let go. Things seemed to be happening in slow motion. Her fall took forever. Her body turned in the air and she hit the water slightly lengthwise. A little splash showed where she had hit the water, then nothing. Nothing at all.
Someone was screaming. “
Rachel! No!
”
It took a couple of seconds for me to work out that it was me. Subsequently, I vaguely heard someone else and turned to see who it was. The cab driver was speaking urgently on his mobile phone, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying. I felt like I was under water myself, sinking, drowning, unable to hear or make myself heard.
Quite suddenly, the sensation cleared. It was like I had unmuted the television and could follow the action again.
“…
off the boat, yes, by Putney pier… No, I’m a cab driver… Her friend took me here… No, the people on the boat don’t seem to have noticed… Yes, the boat is still moving… No, she’s not come up again yet…”
My mind was racing.
What had happened to my cheerful, happy-go-lucky friend to make her jump off a boat? Why wasn’t she coming up? Was she still alive? Should I jump in? Why wasn’t anybody helping her? Where was the ambulance?
Where was bloody Jordan?
Where?
What would an ambulance do, anyway?
And always, always, that central question—why had she let go?
Suddenly, the party boat was lit up from above as a helicopter hovered and switched on its search lights. At the same time, a rescue boat came zooming up the Thames. I breathed a sigh of relief. Somebody had alerted the coastguards. With a boat and a helicopter, Rachel would stand a chance. If only she would come up.
The rescue boat homed in on one area and I saw her. In the glare of the search light, I could just see a head bobbing above the water.
There were tears running down my cheeks as I whispered, “Swim, Rachel, swim like you’ve never swam before. Swim!”
I had grabbed the cab driver’s hand in my emotional turmoil, and it was only when he gently pried my fingers off one by one that I realized I had been squeezing rather hard. He flexed his fingers gingerly. “Steady on, love,” he advised. “Breaking my hand won’t save your friend there. But look!”
He pointed out toward the boat, and I focused once more on the unfolding drama. Rachel was rather halfhearted about swimming. She would do a few strokes and then let herself float, sinking back into the water until her head was nearly under. At that point, she would do a few more strokes before letting herself go under again. It didn’t look as though she wanted to be saved at all.
The coastguard rescue boat had assumed a position in the current below Rachel. It wouldn’t have taken much for her to reach the boat, yet she appeared to be turning away from her rescuers.
I was dizzy with frustration and inability to help. It was through a thick haze of emotion that I noticed an ambulance rolling up the pier, deftly reversing so that the doors faced toward the river. Two paramedics got out, opened the back and disappeared inside. Within seconds, they reappeared with a stretcher and a green emergency case. They strode purposefully up onto the pier and waited for things to come.
Meanwhile, the coastguard rescuers had decided that Rachel wasn’t going to join them willingly. They had lowered a dinghy into the water, and when it drew level with Rach, one of the coastguards threw her a life ring but she pushed it away and went under instead.
“She’s not wanting to get out of that water, is she now?” the cab driver observed dryly. “It’s not often you see a death wish written over somebody quite so clearly.”
I was stunned driving pigs.
How dare he? How
dare
he?
What was he even still doing here? He had no place commenting on my best friend like that. I turned to shout at him, to let out all my frustration and anger, but I caught myself in time.
He was right. He might have been extremely callous about it, but he was right. Rachel did seem to have a death wish. Or rather, she didn’t seem to have a desire to live. What was it she had said on the phone?
I can’t do this anymore...
Down in the water, it was becoming more and more obvious that she couldn’t do any more swimming. Her movements had slowed right down and the flailing had stopped. She looked like a broken ragdoll, jetsam on the tide.
The party boat had come to a stop a few meters up river. All the party guests were now standing by the railing, watching Rachel’s plight. I hoped to God that Jordan wasn’t among them—if I found out he had been there and watched Rachel drowning herself, I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions.
Now there were two people in the water. There was Rachel, only barely afloat, and another swimmer, a strong, purposeful swimmer, making his way toward her. He had to be a lifeguard, and he swiftly reached Rachel. I breathed a sigh of relief; she was safe.
Not!
The appearance of her rescuer had inflamed in Rachel one last effort to resist, and once more she was thrashing wildly. However, the lifeguard was having none of it. He took Rachel in the classic arm-lock while he was side-stroking toward the dinghy. Within a minute, he had reached the dinghy, dragging a lolling Rachel with him. She looked more like a broken ragdoll than ever.
Suddenly, things were moving really fast. I had started running toward the pier, and by the time I reached it, the coastguard had already handed Rachel over to the paramedics. They placed her on the stretcher and were fitting her with an oxygen mask.
I knelt down beside her, trying not to get in the way of the paramedics. One of them looked at me, taking in my tear-stained face and shaky appearance.
“Do you know her?” he probed. “Is she your sister? Your friend?” His voice was deep and calm.
“She’s my best friend,” I offered, resisting the urge to stroke her pale face. The other paramedic had brought blankets to wrap her up and was now inserting a cannula in her right hand.
“Do you know what happened to her?” the first paramedic asked. I shook my head.
“I have no idea,” I tried to explain.
“Was it you who called 999?” the other paramedic cut in.
“The cab driver…the cab driver who took me here, he called.” I looked over to the car park. “He’s still there, look.”
But before anyone could look anywhere, Rachel gave a moan and a splutter. She started coughing up water, and the paramedic deftly pulled her oxygen mask off so she wouldn’t choke. “It’s okay,” he soothed, crouching down low to look at her face. “You’ve been in the river, and we’ve got you out. You’re safe now. Do you remember your name?”
Rachel started shivering all over and mumbled incoherently. I made eye contact with the other paramedic—should I talk to her? He nodded,
yes
.
“Rach?” I started, also crouching down low. “Rach? Can you hear me?” My voice wobbled a little, and I tried really hard to keep my fear from showing.
Rachel turned her face toward me.
“Sophie,” she said after what seemed an eternity, and the paramedic and I let out a joint sigh of relief.
“Rach,” I said again, taking her un-cannula’d hand this time. “What happened?”
“What happened?” she repeated. “What happened?”
The paramedic next to me rose to his feet, pulling me up with him.
“We’d better get her to the hospital quickly now,” he explained. “She’s conscious, breathing, and appears to remember you. But we’ve got to have her examined and make sure she doesn’t secondary drown on us later.”
Secondary drown
?
I was confused. I had assumed that they would let her perk up and let me take her home. I longed to ask questions but this wasn’t the time. The paramedics loaded Rachel into the ambulance. When they started closing the doors, I turned to go, unsure of what else to do.
“Hey…are you coming?” one of the paramedics shouted after me. I turned back.
“Am I allowed?”
“Of course. A familiar face will really help,” he assured me.
So I climbed into the back of the ambulance and sat on a pop-down chair next to Rachel. The driver got in the front and the ambulance moved off. No sirens, no blue lights—Rach wasn’t in mortal danger. Still, being in back with her and the paramedic, seeing her bundled under all the blankets, with that oxygen mask back over her mouth, the enormity of what had happened finally hit home. I felt shaky all over and ever so slightly woozy. I reached out a hand to steady myself against the ambulance wall. The paramedic, still fussing over Rachel, glanced up briefly.
“You okay?” he inquired. “You’ve gone quite pale. Take a few deep breaths,” he suggested calmly.
“I’m fine,” I replied, taking deep breaths as instructed. “Just a bit…you know.” I didn’t want to say it in front of Rachel, didn’t know how much she would hear or take in.
“I know,” he said. “You should get a drink of something when we get to the hospital.”
“Where are we going?” I wanted to know.
“St George’s,” he said. “In Tooting.”
“That’s good,” I responded. “That’s where we both live.”
Within minutes, we arrived at the hospital. The paramedics took Rachel right through and I trailed after. A brusque nurse took me aside to expedite Rachel’s admission. While I wasn’t exactly next of kin, having arrived with the patient apparently gave me authority to supply important information such as name, date of birth, and place of residence. Meanwhile, Rachel was taken into an examination room.
I was allowed to wait in the relatives’ area and sat down wearily. The paramedics came by, obviously on their way out, but stopped to talk to me.
“You still look very pale. Have you had that drink yet?” the one who had looked after Rachel in the ambulance asked. I shook my head.
“Let me sort that out for you,” he offered. “We wouldn’t want you to keel over now.” He disappeared and quickly came back with a steaming mug of milky tea.
“I put three sugars in for you,” he said, pressing the mug into my hand. “Drink it slowly, and good luck.” And before I could say anything else, they loped off.
Time passed in a blur as I observed the comings and goings. Various doctors went into Rachel’s room and came out again, and I was getting anxious all over again. Finally, one of them sat down next to me.
“I’m Dr. McKendra,” she introduced herself. “Your friend is okay now. She’s warm, and coherent, and quite comfortable. We’ve given her a sedative and will keep her in overnight, just in case…”