Simon Beckett - The Chemistry of Death

I tried again. There was a slim gap between the seats. I succeeded in hooking my arm through it and managed to heave myself partway up. I could feel unconsciousness hovering behind my eyes, threatening to engulf me again. I paused, my heart hammering painfully, until it had passed. I heaved myself further up, clenching my teeth as the Land Rover seemed to yaw and pitch under me. Come on! Now I was wedged partway through the gap, my chest resting on the utility box fixed between the seats. The car keys hung in the ignition, but they might as well have been a mile away. I groped for the window control, knowing even that was too far. Head spinning, I looked at where the dark mouth of the rubber pipe gaped obscenely. I'd no idea if I could reach it before I was overcome by the fumes. And even if I did, what then? Henry would simply put it back, assuming he didn't just lose patience and use the rest of the diamorphine on me.

But I couldn't think of anything else to do. I grabbed hold of the handbrake and used it to haul myself further into the gap between the seats, and as I did I saw Henry framed in the windscreen in front of me. He was leaning heavily on the wheelchair, his exhaustion evident as he slowly pushed it back towards the house.

I was still gripping the handbrake. Without pausing to think, I let it off.

I felt the Land Rover shift slightly. But even though the driveway sloped down towards the house it didn't move. I threw my weight forward, trying to break the inertia that held the car in place, but it had no effect. My gaze fell on the automatic transmission. It was nestling in park as the engine idly pumped its exhaust into the cab.

I strained forward and pushed the lever into drive.

The Land Rover rolled forward smoothly. I was still wedged between the seats, and through the windscreen I saw Henry hear its approach. He looked back, his mouth opening in surprise. Even as the car gathered speed on the slope there seemed ample time for him to get out of its way. But perhaps he'd already used up all his reserves, or his wasted legs simply couldn't respond quickly enough. For a moment our eyes met, and then the Land Rover struck him.

There was a thud and Henry disappeared. I felt a sickening bump, then another. Off balance, I groped for the handbrake as the house suddenly loomed up in the windscreen, but I was too slow. With a loud bang the car jolted to a halt. I was pitched forward and lay stunned across one of the seats. The engine continued to rumble. I reached up and turned off the ignition. Then, taking out the key, I managed to fumble open the door.

Cold, fresh air flooded in. I gulped it greedily as I tumbled onto the drive. I lay panting on the sharp gravel for a moment while I gathered my strength. Then, rolling over onto all fours, I used the Land Rover to pull myself up. Supporting myself on it in much the same way Henry had done, I made my way around to the back.

He lay a few yards away, a dark shape lying unmoving next to the broken wheelchair. But there was no time to think about him. I managed to get the key into the lock and open the door, then climbed into the back to Jenny.

She hadn't moved. My hands were uncoordinated as I tore the blanket from her. Please, please, be alive. Her skin was pale and cold, but she was still breathing, the tell-tale acetone odour treacherously sweet. Thank God. I wanted to hug her, give her some of my warmth, but she was in urgent need of far more than that.

I slid out of the car and stood up. It was easier this time, the adrenalin and desperation helping counter the waning effect of the drug. The front door to the house was still open, a rectangle of light spilling from it. I lurched into the hallway. Bracing myself against the wall, I staggered towards the telephone table that Henry had supported himself on earlier. I almost fell over the chair next to it, but managed to stay upright. Knowing if I sat down I might never get up again, I remained standing as I pawed for the phone. I couldn't remember Mackenzie's number, and my fingers were thick and uncooperative as I dialled 999.

A sudden spasm of dizziness shook me as the operator answered. I closed my eyes against it as I began to speak. I made an effort to concentrate as I gave the details, aware that Jenny's life depended on my making sense. I took care over enunciating the words 'emergency' and 'diabetic coma', but then I could hear myself starting to ramble. When the operator started asking more questions I let the phone drop back into the cradle. I'd intended to go to the fridge for the insulin, but as I clung to the sideboard, struggling to stay upright as my vision came and went, I knew I wouldn't be able to make it. And even if I did, I daren't attempt injecting her in the state I was in.

Rolling like a drunk, I went back outside. A sudden tiredness threatened to overwhelm me as I lumbered over to the Land Rover. Jenny was lying on her side where I'd left her, her face terribly still and white. Even from where I stood I could hear that her breathing had grown worse. It was wheezing and uneven and far, far too fast.

'David.'

Henry's voice was a mere whisper. I turned to look at him. He hadn't moved, but now his head was turned towards me. His clothes glistened, dark and wet with blood. The pale gravel around him was stained with it. In the half-light I could see that his eyes were open.

'Said you were… dark horse…'

I started to turn back to Jenny.

'Please…'

I didn't want to look back. I hated him, not just for what he'd done, or even what he'd turned out to be, but for what I now knew he wasn't. Still, I hesitated. Even now, looking back, I'm not sure what I might have done.

But at that moment Jenny stopped breathing.

The sound of it simply cut off. For a moment I just stared at her, unable to move as I waited for the next breath to follow. None did. I scrambled into the back of the car.

'Jenny? Jenny!'

Her head fell back as I turned her over. Her eyes were partly open, half-moons of white lined with achingly beautiful lashes. I felt frantically for a pulse. There was nothing.

'No!'

This couldn't be happening, not now. Panic almost paralysed me. Think. Think! Adrenalin helped clear my head as I rolled Jenny onto her back, then snatched up the blanket and wadded it up under her neck. I'd practised CPR during training, but never used it. Come on! Cursing my awkwardness, I tilted her head back, clamped her nose and jammed clumsy fingers into her mouth to clear her tongue. My own head swam as I lowered it to her lips, breathed my own air into her – once, twice – then put my hands on her breastbone and began to rhythmically press and count.

Come on, come on! I begged, silently. I breathed into her mouth again, went back to pumping her lungs. Repeated it. She lay limp and unresponsive. I was weeping now, my vision blurring as I continued to work on her, trying to will her heart back to life. Her body remained slack and lifeless.

Useless.

I forced the knowledge from my head, breathed into her mouth once more, then counted as I pressed rapidly down on her chest. I did it again. And again.

She's gone.

No! I raged, denying it. Blinded by tears, I continued to work on her. The world was reduced to thoughtless repetition. Breathe, press, count. Breathe, press, count.

I lost track of time. I wasn't even aware of the approach of sirens or the headlights that splashed through the car. Nothing else existed except for Jenny's still and cold body, and my desperate rhythm. Even when I felt hands on me I refused to give it up.

'No! Get off me!'

I tried to fight them, but I was pulled back, out of the Land Rover and away from Jenny. The driveway outside the house was a confusion of flashing lights and vehicles. As the paramedics ushered me towards an ambulance, the last of my strength crumbled. I collapsed onto the gravel. Mackenzie's face appeared in front of me. I could see him mouthing questions, but paid him no attention. There was a flurry of activity around the Land Rover.