Or did I? That image lingered in my brain long enough to confuse the matter…
No! I didn’t! Definitely not! No, no and thrice no.
No.
‘Don’t be crackers,’ Orange Squash said. ‘Yer not goin’ anywhere. Let’s get you back up the slope first, then find some mobile reception and call an ambulance.’
‘No, really,’ I winced. ‘My son’s at home by himself. I need to get back. I’ll be all right once I’ve walked it off a bit. Please. Carry on with your run.’
Ignoring me completely, the women slid the last couple of metres down the slope and tucked one of my arms over each of their shoulders. Not so bad for the woman nearly as tall as me, but I had to stretch down several inches just to reach the top of Orange Squash’s head. I hopped, swore, stifled a lot of sobs and somehow made it to the top. The taller woman, Dani, a red bandana framing dark skin, called for her husband to come and pick us up. Orange Squash, real name Mel, inspected my ballooning ankle with surprising tenderness. Her official diagnosis: ‘Totally buggered.’
I insisted on hopping to the exit, where Dani’s husband Derek could park his car, but had made it less than a few metres before he jogged up. Scooping me up in his arms, (impressively muscled, despite a full head of grey hair), he carried me the quarter of a mile back to his Land Rover and gently placed me on the back seat.
The sun was beginning to rise behind the treeline. I closed my eyes and counted slowly to ten. Then twenty.
‘All right?’ Mel asked, from about an inch in front of my face.
I opened my eyes, tried to summon up a smile. ‘I’m fine, honestly. Thanks so much for your help.’
She hopped into the seat next to me, surprisingly agile for someone of her size – sort of teapot-shaped, short and stout. ‘You keep sayin’ yer fine as much as you want. Looks to me like yer gunna puke any second.’
Yep. A wise one, old Orange Squash Mel.
Thank goodness for wipe-clean leather seats.
* * *
My Good Samaritans saw me back home, propped up on the sofa with pillows and dosed up with painkillers, and then proceeded to… not leave.
Dani made a pot of tea and rooted about for the ingredients to cook a post-run breakfast (cheese and spinach omelette). Mel came downstairs with a pair of thermal pyjamas she’d found in my bedroom drawers and insisted on helping me change into something comfortable ‘that don’t reek’. She made an ice pack with frozen peas wrapped in a tea towel and used a bandage from one of Joey’s old sports injuries to add compression.
‘No ibuprofen for a couple of days, then use it to help bring the swelling down. Ice pack for ten minutes every two hours, no hot baths. Stick it up in the air now an’ again, too. You’ll be right, it don’t look too bad.’
When I asked if she had medical training, she laughed.
‘I’ve got five kids, one of ’em with multiple disabilities. So, yeah, I guess so. They’ve ’ad more breaks and bumps and whatnots than I can remember. Spent so much time in the walk-in centre, we should get our own cubicle.’
‘Shouldn’t you be getting back to them?’ I didn’t want to seem rude, but I felt all twisted up and tense having strangers in my house. And no clue as to when they might leave.
‘Nah, it’s fine. Me mum’s there.’ She settled back into the armchair. Dani also seemed settled in for the morning, making another pot of tea after clearing up the remains of breakfast.
When Joey sloped into the kitchen at around nine, they were still here. ‘Good morning, Joey,’ Dani said, following him in. ‘Your mother said you’ve a gala today, so let’s get some good energy into you. We can do wholewheat pancakes. Or porridge. The others had an omelette. What do you fancy?’
‘Um.’ Joey sounded like he was wondering if he’d actually woken up yet. ‘The others?’
‘Oh, not all of us. Just me, your mother and Mel.’
‘Right.’ There was a pause. ‘Who’s Mel? And you?’
‘Dani. Very pleased to meet you. Your mother tripped and fell off the top of Top Woods. We found her in the ditch at the bottom and got her home.’
‘What?’
‘I’m fine!’ I called through. ‘Just a mild ankle sprain. Nothing to worry about.’
Joey disagreed. As did, it would seem, everyone else.
‘That’s it,’ my son instructed me, while scoffing a mouthful of scrambled eggs. ‘You’re not running in the dark by yourself again. I forbid it. What would’ve happened if Dani and Mel’d not been there?’ He waved his fork at the pair, who’d somehow managed to take on the role of surrogate aunties in the half hour he’d known them.
