The car skids, but the speed I’m travelling cannot be countered by the brakes. It hits one of the rocks dotted along the edge of the grass island, the steering wheel is snatched from my grasp and all of a sudden I feel a weightlessness as the car is briefly airborne before flipping onto its side and colliding with a tree, which bounces the vehicle back onto its wheels. The airbag has deployed at some point and my face is cushioned before I’m jolted backwards and the side of my head hits the off-side window.
I’m vaguely aware of screaming and shouting. Voices that are familiar but sound so far away, as if they’re calling and yelling from a great distance. I can see figures running towards me. I try to move but I’m trapped by some sort of strap. I can’t work out what it is. I’m looking down a black tunnel, which is closing in around me.
‘Clare! Clare!’
The tunnel pulses away. I look to the side and I see Luke yanking at the driver’s door. ‘It’s okay, Babe. We’re going to get you out of here.’
Before the door comes open, something distracts him and he looks across the driveway. It’s then I hear him roar with pain. He flees from my sight. I hear more shouting but I can’t make out what they are saying. The volume and clarity of their voices throbbing in and out.
Then Leonard is next to me. He’s talking. His voice is stern. His face is grim. He’s tapping my face. He sounds drunk, his words sound slurred. My brain can’t understand what he’s saying. My vision is blurry and I squint my eyes. I focus hard on his voice and his words become clearer.
‘Clare. Unfasten your seat belt. Your seat belt, Clare. Unfasten it.’
He’s jabbing inside the car and I move my hand to the side of my seat. I find the buckle and, on the second attempt, I hear a click and the pressure across my stomach and shoulder is released as I slump to one side. The black tunnel is closing around me again. His voice becomes distant. I think I can hear Luke’s voice too.
I fight the overwhelming sensation of tiredness. I manage to open my eyes again and see Leonard’s concerned face. He’s frowning and speaking in such a low voice, I can barely hear him. His words sound harsh, but I can’t make them out. Something like: What have you done?… Stupid … Told you. None of it makes sense.
My head rolls to the side and through half-closed eyes I see steam spiralling up from the bonnet of my car.
I look at Leonard and try to speak but I can’t form the words properly. ‘Mar,’ I gasp. It hurts to breathe. I try again. ‘Marth …’
‘Shh, don’t speak. Say nothing.’ This time Leonard’s voice is clear and it sends a new wave of fear through me.
I hear a child crying. My maternal instinct kicks in, the one that can quell all the chaos around me, dampen all other thoughts and feelings, both physical and mental and zoom in on that one sound. I hear it distinctly. I know instantly it’s Chloe. I hear her, but I can’t see her.
‘Shit.’ Leonard jumps up and disappears towards the sound of Chloe. The impact of the car against the tree has left the car at a ninety-degree angle to the drive and now my view is no longer obstructed by Leonard. I can see clearly the horror before me. My brain prioritising what needs my attention the most.
Lying perfectly still, a red stain of blood across her forehead, is Hannah. Luke is kneeling over her. He’s yanking off his navy jumper, the one Mum bought him for his birthday, a V-neck from M&S, and covering her little body with it. He’s speaking. I can see his mouth moving as he leans over our daughter, but I can’t hear any words. All I can hear is me.
‘Nooooooo! Please God, no!’
I’m not sure how many ambulances arrive at the house or how many police cars. I’m just aware of the sound of sirens, the wheels scrunching on the gravel drive, radios buzzing and crackling, broken and fractured noises of people talking in firm, professional voices and then soft tones. I ask about Hannah constantly, but I’m told they are attending to her now, that I’m not to worry and that they need to get me to hospital. Then there’s the sound of rotor blades and a flurry of activity out of the gateway. I don’t know who is airlifted. It isn’t me.
They place three orange padded blocks around my head and a strap across my forehead. I’m lifted by several pairs of hands onto an orange stretcher, the straps across my body pulled so tight it’s impossible to move. I think there may be a drip in my arm. I can’t feel anything, but I can see a bag of fluid hanging up on a clip next to me. I’m asked questions that I don’t think I know the answers to.
At some point, Leonard has come back to my side.
‘Chloe?’ I ask, as the stretcher is lifted.
‘She’s okay. Your mum is taking her to Pippa’s,’ he says. Then he lowers his mouth to my ear. ‘Don’t say anything to anyone. Don’t answer any questions until I’ve spoken with you first.’