“Charlie!” I yell as loud as I can. “Charlie, where are you?” My words are swept away on the wind, but I continue to shout his name as we start to descend. The steps are slippery with rain, and the only real light is the bobbing glow from our headlamps. There is no beautiful sunset tonight; it is as though the sun has never even graced the sky. The mood of the whole place has been transformed; what once felt dazzling now feels dangerous.
We make slow progress, Luke in front of me, occasionally holding out a steadying hand to help me down. I am frantic with worry, cold with dread—I can hear the waves crashing in against the rocks, see the white spray of the breakers illuminating the darkness. I imagine my boy down there, in trouble, needing me, and I scream his name once more.
We are about halfway down when we hear Betty barking. We don’t see her until we are much closer, and she runs up to woof at us. She circles and heads back down, and Luke speeds up his pace, leaving me behind as he clambers down the steps two at a time. I follow as fast as I can, cursing my own limitations.
“He’s here!” Luke shouts, and I slip and slide the last few steps to find them.
Charlie is sprawled on the ground, one leg splayed out in front of him. His hair is soaking wet, plastered to his pale skin, and his clothes are drenched. Betty is licking his face, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that he is stroking her.
He is stroking the dog. He is moving. He is alive. We crouch down next to him, and Luke shines the flashlight over his body. I grasp Charlie’s face in my hands, kissing his cheeks, pushing his wet curls back, telling him repeatedly that he is okay, that we are here, that everything is going to be all right.
“It’s okay, Mum,” he murmurs, his eyes huge and wet, “I’m okay. Busted my ankle on the way down. I tried to crawl back up, but I didn’t get very far—too wet, and I kept slipping. My phone’s dead. I’m sorry...”
I kiss him some more, see him grimace as Luke examines his injured ankle, and reply: “No need to be sorry, love. I’m just glad you’re okay. I thought—”
“Thought I’d gone swimming, on my own, at night, in the place you told me never to do that?”
“Um... yes...”
“No. I came home, saw you all watching telly. Just couldn’t hack it, so I went to the caravan for a bit, and then I just... I just wanted to come and sit down here and watch the waves for a bit, you know? It was daft. I’m sorry. I feel so stupid now.”
“No, no... it’s okay. It’s fine. Accidents happen—it doesn’t make you stupid. Nobody expects them—it’s why they’re called accidents... Don’t worry. We’ll get you home, you’ll be all right...”
I stand up, and Luke joins me.
“He’s right—my medical definition would be busted ankle as well. I don’t think it’s broken, but I’m not sure. Pretty swollen already, and he’s cold and wet and probably in shock. We should get him to hospital. Should I call an ambulance?”
“No,” I say, feeling something approaching calm settle back over me. “They’ll take too long around here, and they’d never get down the steps anyway. Charlie, do you think you can make it back up if we help you?”
“Yeah, I think so...,” he says, and I can tell he’s trying to be brave.
Between us, we manage to get Charlie upright. Luke whips off his own coat and fits it around Charlie’s much slighter form before we tell him to wrap his arms around our shoulders. He can barely put weight on the bad ankle, and it is awkward and difficult, but we manage to pick our way slowly back up the steps. There is some swearing, from all three of us, and a few breathtaking moments when we almost lose our footing, but eventually we make it. We leave the sound of the waves behind us and emerge onto the clearing by the gate.
We are all exhausted by this point, but there is more to come—one look at his leg tells me he definitely needs X-rays.I help Charlie hop toward my mum’s car, and Luke goes to put Betty back in the motorhome.She’s earned an extra-special treat tomorrow, I think.
The keys are where I left them, tucked inside the glovebox—a car thief would have to walk miles in this neighborhood—and I start up the engine. Charlie is in the back seat, covered up in the travel blanket my mum always keeps in the trunk. Bless her organizational skills.
Luke climbs into the passenger seat, and part of me wants to tell him he doesn’t need to come with us, that he should go back to Joy and warm up—but I am glad to have him by my side, and simply smile my thanks. I pause before we set off and send my mum a text:Everything is fine, but Charlie has twisted his ankle. Taking him to the emergency room to get a quick X-ray, be back soon.
I drive off in a flurry of gravel before she can see it, come outside, and get involved. They don’t need to see Charlie like this; they don’t need to know how close this came to being even worse—they don’t need the stress, especially in my dad’s condition.
In the end, the “be back soon” part of that message turned out to be on the optimistic side. The nearest emergency room is miles away anyway, and the sudden bad weather has caused a deluge of accidents. It is hours before Charlie is seen, once the triage nurse has established that he isn’t about to die. Such strange places, hospitals—that weird combination of adrenaline and boredom.
When Charlie is finally wheeled through for his X-ray, I glance over at Luke, see his perfectly bland face, and the way his clenched fists give the lie to his surface calm. I realize that I have been so caught up in the moment, caught up in my own worries, in Charlie’s needs, in the drama, that I have not evenconsidered how this must feel for him. He is a man who has spent more than his fair share of time in a hospital with a child, and this must be brutal for him.
I reach across the chairs, take hold of one of those hands, unclench one of those fists, and look directly at him. His eyes skitter away, like he doesn’t want to face me.
“Luke,” I say insistently, “it’s okay now. Thank you, for everything—but we’re all right for now. Why don’t you go and take a walk, or get a coffee, or even get a taxi back to Foxgloves? I know this must be hard.”
He nods, an abrupt jerking of his chin, and stands up. “Okay. I could do with a breather. I’m not leaving, though—I’ll be around, at the end of the phone. Just call me when you need me. Promise?”
“I promise,” I reply and watch him walk away toward the exit. There are flashing lights outside, and as the automatic doors hiss open, I see an ambulance pull up. Luke is lit up in their flashing strobe, and I see him duck his head and walk quickly past. He doesn’t even have a coat, I realize—Charlie still has it.
Just then my name is called, and I dash over to the nurse who is scanning the busy room looking for me.
“He’s fine,” she says, taking one look at my face and obviously realizing I need the reassurance. “It’s just a sprain. He’s just getting it bandaged and taking some painkillers. It should heal up quickly enough—rest for a while, ice if needed, and keep it raised if possible. As soon as he can put pressure on it more easily, though, get him up and active. Okay?”
I nod and follow her through to a cubicle. Charlie is lying on the bed, his now-dressed foot propped up on a pillow. He still looks exhausted, but his color is back, and he manages a smile when he sees me.
