The next thing I know, someone is shaking me. I squint into the light of the lounge room to see Callum’s tense face close to mine.
‘What the hell is going on?’ he demands as soon as he sees my eyes open. ‘Liam phoned me to find out how Georgia is and I didn’t know what he was talking about!’
The time on the DVD player is now 12.55 am. I’m not entirely surprised. Once it goes dark on the fells, rescues become dangerous and protracted. Progress is necessarily slow, since the only light comes from torches and the moon, and with one wrong footing a volunteer can suddenly be in need of help themselves. Nevertheless, tonight I’m not in a particularly tolerant mood.
‘For god’s sake, Callum,’ I hiss. Only the thought of the children asleep upstairs stops me from raising my voice. ‘I have been leaving you messages all night. You could try answering your mobile. I presumed you were out on a rescue. I thought you’d phone me back when you saw the missed calls.’
Callum sinks into a chair opposite me. ‘It’s been busy – I was caught up.’
I try to keep calm. ‘So, what have you been doing? And what did Liam say – how’s Sophia?’
‘She’s sedated. She’s broken her right leg – it’s a nasty fracture. Liam sounded terrible. He wanted to know what Georgia said to the police. He hasn’t had much chance to piece together what happened.’
‘It sounds like the car came up behind them and just didn’t stop,’ I tell him. ‘We have Danny Atherton to thank for Georgia being in one piece – apparently he hauled her out of the way just in time.’
‘And how is Georgia?’
I run a hand through my hair and sigh. I’m not sure I know the answer. ‘She’s very shaken – she was in shock when I first saw her, then the police came here and took a statement, and by the end of that she was shattered.’
Callum nods, and we sit in silence. I am focused on his face, while his gaze has moved to some unknown spot behind me. I open my mouth to ask him about the rescue, then think better of it, and we sit like this for a minute before he catches my eye again. The sight of me seems to stir him into action.
‘I’ve got to get some sleep,’ Callum announces, slapping his knees to indicate the finality of his decision, then jumps up. ‘I’ll talk to Georgia in the morning,’ he adds, before leaving the room.
I consider staying down here on the chair, but I know I’ll be achy and regretful tomorrow. I hear Callum in the bathroom as I head upstairs, and I peek into both children’s rooms, to see they are each turned to the wall, their bodies still. I want to creep over to see their faces, like I would have done without a thought when they were younger, but I don’t want to wake them. I can’t be bothered to wash my face and brush my teeth, I just get quickly into my pyjamas and jump under the covers to escape the cold. Callum comes in and undresses with his back to me, then climbs in beside me, turning away without a word in order to flick off the light.
I wish he would reach for me, pull me close and whisper sweet comfort while the light is missing. It’s no surprise that he doesn’t, and I don’t make any move of my own. In the darkness, I wish I had stayed downstairs in the chair, where it wouldn’t hurt so much to feel alone.
A few tears escape onto my pillow, but I bite my lip and pull myself together. It’s a habit I have developed – this small, permitted release of tension before I buck up and remind myself of my responsibilities: all the people who lean on me, all the reasons I cannot fall down.
Beside me, Callum moves onto his back, and to my surprise I get the slightest whiff of alcohol. The team never drink on the job, but they have been known to stay and socialise afterwards. The thought of him having a good time, oblivious to his family’s nightmare, completely riles me. I debate kicking him accidentally while I roll over, but I restrain myself, and turn away.
I urge sleep to come, but all I see is a pair of headlights, shining like angry eyes in the black night, bearing down on the silhouettes of our children. Vicarage Road isn’t lit by street lamps once you’re past the church, but how could you not spot three people with your headlights on?
In an instant, my confusion clears, and I open my eyes in the darkness. That’s what’s bothering me, I realise. That’s why I can’t picture the scene, because if the car headlights were on, why did the kids have so little time to jump out of the way? Surely they would have been aware of the vehicle with enough time to move to the side of the road to let it pass. And why didn’t they hear the engine? Now I am itching to wake Georgia – to make sure the police covered this with her. Now I wish I had taken the glass to the wall.