still wear the harness. If the crevice is too tight or another wave comes then I pull you straight out-this isn’t about losing you as well. You get the harness under his shoulders or you grab him any way you can and then you get out of there. Old surf mantra-every seventh wave is a biggie, and it seems to be working. Straight after the next biggie and you’re down.’
They were working as he spoke, adjusting her harness. He was looping ropes around her waist and shoulders, tying them so he had a rope on either side of her.
‘Wait,’ he said as she stooped, and it nearly killed her to wait-and it nearly killed him as well.
Then, as the next big wave struck, he held her tight, hard against him, so the wave couldn’t move them. His body gave her courage. He gave her courage.
The wave rocked them, filled the crevice, and she thought, Mickey, Mickey…
The wave sucked out again. Deep breath. And then… Riley gave her a hard, swift kiss as the water cleared from around their legs. The kiss was a blessing.
Then she was on her knees, stooping, leaning in…
Letting go.
Riley held her. Her hands touched the side of the crevice, feeling her way straight down. Hauling herself in. She couldn’t worry about the waves-that was Riley’s lookout.
She trusted him.
It was so tight-she had to hunch her shoulders as hard as she could to squeeze down.
She had no room to work with a torch and her body blocked the light.
Her hands touched Mickey’s hair. She pushed herself further down, fighting to get a hold on his shoulders. He was crammed in hard. Maybe he’d wriggled to get out, wedging himself in further.
‘Mickey…’
No response. He’d have been under water, over and over.
His shoulders were hunched forward like hers. In front of his clavicle… a tiny amount of wriggle room.
She got her hands down under, gripping like death.
She couldn’t fasten a rope. No room. She grabbed handfuls of his windcheater and tugged. He didn’t move. She firmed her hold.
‘Pull,’ she yelled at Riley, and he pulled and the child shifted. If she could hold him…
She couldn’t, he was too heavy, the grip of the rocks too great. But he was up far enough now for her to get a harness around him. Sort of.
She was holding and tying, keeping the deadweight steady, and if anyone asked her afterwards how she’d done it, she could never tell them. She didn’t know.
All she knew was that she wasn’t letting go. If the water came in now she was still holding on for dear life.
The water did come in, but not enough to reach her, not enough either to cover Mickey’s head, not now she’d tugged him a little higher. Oh, but he was so limp.
She couldn’t think that. She could only think harness.
She had him. She was fastened to Riley. Mickey was fastened to her. They were going to have to rise as one. If Mickey came out without support… if his head fell sideways and caught… if another wave twisted him…
There was no winch on top. Only Riley. Would he have the strength?
Like her, he had no choice.
‘Pull,’ she yelled, and she felt her harness tighten. She held to Mickey for dear life. His harness held…
And she felt the rocks release them.
She came free just as another wave hit. She hauled Mickey up and they were out. Riley was holding her, holding Mickey, they were falling backwards against the rocks, simply holding until the sucking power of the wave eased.
And the moment it did Riley was working on Mickey.
There was no room for the niceties of a mask. ‘Breathe for him,’ he snapped as he set Mickey down on the highest piece of rock so they could work on him. ‘I’m on chest and wave watching.’
He still had to watch the sea. If another wave hit, they’d have to stop to hold on. There was no point in getting Mickey breathing again if they were all to be washed back into the waves.
So Riley watched the sea but still he worked, compressing his chest as steadily as if he was in the emergency department of her training hospital. All his focus was on the little boy’s chest.
She checked Mickey’s airway again-she’d done a fast check and given him a quick first breath as they’d come out of the crevice but now she had time to be careful. She breathed.
If Riley could be steady, so could she. If Riley wasn’t panicking, neither would she.
She had her fingers on the boy’s carotid artery. Feeling desperate.
A pulse?
It was barely there but she was sure she’d felt it.
‘Pulse. Don’t even think about stopping,’ she told Riley, but he barely acknowledged her. He kept working. When the next big wave hit they worked as one, lifting the child, holding him high, bracing themselves against the rock. Pippa kept on breathing as much as she could. Riley’s chest compressions were more hugs during the worst of the wave. As the wave receded Mickey was down on the ledge again and they kept right on.
And then… the little boy stirred. His chest heaved.
He took a gasping, searing gulp of air, and Riley had him on his side in an instant.
He was horribly, wonderfully sick.
And then, amazingly, he started to cry.
Pippa was beside him, on the rock, her face almost touching his. She held him tight as the water washed over the rock’s surface. She was making sure his airway wasn’t blocked. This time the wave wasn’t high enough to be threatening.
How could anything threaten them now?
‘You’re safe, Mickey,’ she said, holding him close as his retching eased. ‘Doc Riley’s come in his helicopter and we’ve rescued you. Your mum and dad are on the top of the cliff. The helicopter’s lowering a stretcher right now so we can pull you up. How cool to tell the kids at school you were rescued with a helicopter? You just stay still and let me hold you until we get you back to your mum.’
She was amazing.
Pippa…
Riley stood back as Mickey was embraced by his family. He’d done what needed to be done. Mickey’s airway was clear, he had oxygen flowing-he was conscious and lucid so there appeared to be no long-term threat from his near drowning. He had a fractured arm and maybe further fractures to his pelvis and ribs but nothing life- threatening. The painkillers were taking effect. He was almost managing to smile.
His mother was holding his good hand and she didn’t look like she’d let go any time soon.
His father was hugging Pippa. He didn’t look like he was letting go any time soon either. He was sobbing and Pippa was holding him tight, cradling him like she’d cradled Mickey down on the ledge. Soon Riley needed to work on him-he was sure the guy’s ankle was fractured-but the man wasn’t worried about his own pain. He was only worried about his son.
‘It’s okay. He’s safe,’ Pippa told him.
‘If not for you… I don’t know how we can thank you.’
‘Hey, Doc Riley held my legs and watched the waves. It’s Riley who’s the hero. Plus my gym back in England. How cool that I lost a little weight for my wedding?’ She set him back a little, smiling. ‘Happy endings. I love ’em. By the way, did you guys catch any fish?’
‘I… Yes.’ The paramedics were loading Mickey into the ambulance. Riley was helping, but Pippa’s conversation had him distracted.
‘How many?’ Pippa demanded, and Riley blinked. He was thinking of giving the guy some morphine; Pippa was thinking about fish?
‘We caught three,’ the man managed.
‘What sort?’
‘Whiting.’
‘Oh, yum, are these them?’ She seized a fishing basket and peered inside.
