‘Of course, you can,’ says the ice-cream shop boy. ‘I bet you like, what’s his name …?’
Shannon’s voice rises slightly.
‘I just like boy bands,’ she says, her tone showing me she is still very much with us, whereas I fear he is not going to be for long. ‘I like Backstreet Boys.’
His breathing is becoming shorter and more rapid. I’m doing my best to stay calm, but my leg is in sheer agony. It feels as though it’s full of glass.
‘You’re doing really well,’ I tell him. ‘So well. You’re going to be fine. Just keep breathing. It’s going to be OK.’
‘You deserve … you deserve the best birthday party,’ he tells Shannon, his own voice fading in comparison to hers. ‘Do you like dancing?’
He looks my way, but his eyes begin to roll back a bit, so I take over.
‘We love dancing,’ I tell him, doing my best not to cry. I’ve put everything I can think of into fixing the scarf tohis arm but now I’m so scared. I’m losing him. ‘We’ll go dancing and we’ll all go to the beach one day. I bet you love the beach?’
‘I do,’ he says. ‘Keep talking,’
‘And the amusements up at Barry’s and we’ll go to Donegal and go horse-riding,’ I continue, hardly even knowing what I’m talking about. ‘And you can come to Shannon’s party even though no boys are allowed. Is that OK, Shannon?’
‘That’s OK,’ she whispers.
She’s so frightened too.
‘I feel so faint,’ he says. ‘Don’t leave me.’
‘I won’t. I promise I won’t leave you. What’s your name?’ I ask him, trying my best to blank out the screams from the street that threaten to either smother us or distract us.
‘David,’ he says. ‘David Campbell.’ I take his hand and it’s shaking so much it takes a moment to steady it. ‘You’re Kate.’
‘Yes,’ I say, nodding and holding his eyes with mine. Shannon grips my arm tighter. She is stuck to my side, clinging to me like a vine. ‘You OK, baby?’
‘I want Mummy.’
‘Keep talking, please,’ says David. His eyes roll in his head and I need to keep him with me. ‘Please keep talking to me. Please don’t let go.’
‘I won’t.’
The screams are getting louder now, and the horror issuffocating me, but I need to stay present and calm as we wait for help.
‘You said you liked my T-shirt,’ he whispers, managing the faintest side smile as his eyes close. ‘Were you flirting with me?’
My leg throbs and I’m starting to fade myself, but I know we both need to keep each other’s minds busy for just a bit longer.
He opens one eye a little and reaches for my hand again. I hold it and close my eyes too.
‘I think I was,’ I admit to him, wondering how something so simple and innocent and age-appropriate for us both has ended up like this. ‘You seem like a nice person, David. And I did like your T-shirt.’
He smiles properly this time between shortening breaths. His dark hair is sticky and matted with blood and I see a tear fall down his cheek. Oh God, please let him be OK! I don’t know what else to do!
‘You’re a nice person too, Kate,’ he whispers, shaking almost uncontrollably now and then – with a rustle of movement and some swift, direct voices – we are suddenly being helped from the doorway and panic rises inside me.
‘No!’ I scream. ‘No, she has to come with me!’
‘Kate!’
I watch them bundle my little niece into the back of a makeshift ambulance, then to my relief they come back for me. Assessing my injuries, they strap me to what looks likea door or shelf acting as a stretcher before they take David in the opposite direction to another waiting ambulance. Every movement, every jolt makes me yelp in pain, but as they bob me along the pavement through the carnage and despair, I catch David’s eyes one last time before we go our separate ways.
‘I’ll find you, I promise,’ I call after him. ‘I’ll find you again, David!’
