‘We really appreciate that,’ Jasmine’s mum said. ‘So can we see her now?’
‘Of course you can. She’s got a lot of tubes and cannulas in,’ Georgie said, ‘but you can sit by her and talk to her and stroke her head and hold her hand. I know it’s not quite the same as cuddling her, but she’ll know you’re there and it’ll comfort her.’
‘And our nurses are more than happy for parents to be involved in their babies’ care, so you’ll be able to help with things like washing her face and changing her nappy,’ Ryan added.
‘I’ll take you up and introduce you properly,’ Georgie promised.
‘Thank you,’ Jasmine’s parents said, looking relieved.
‘It looks scarier than it actually is,’ Ryan said. ‘But just remember that Jasmine will get a little bit better every day. Before you know it, she’ll be back home.’
Georgie popped into the special care baby unit after her shift, too, just to see how Jasmine was getting on; and then she drove back to the cottage, pleased that her second day had gone well. Even though it was raining again, everything was fine until she was heading up the track to the cottage; then she felt a jolt, and after that the car started to pull strongly to the left-hand side.
Oh, no.
She was pretty sure that meant the car had a puncture. She’d never actually been in the car with a puncture before. Her dad had shown her how to change a tyre, but that had been years ago and she could barely remember how. The middle of a muddy track, in the rain, when it was starting to get dark and there was no place for anyone to pass her so she was completely blocking the road, wasn’t exactly the best place to change a tyre for the first time.
Not that she had any other options. She’d just have to get on with it.
She stopped the car, put her hazard lights on to warn anyone else who might need to use the track that she was there, and used her phone as a torch so she could inspect the wheels on the passenger side of the car. Just as she’d feared, there was a hole in the front tyre; clearly she’d damaged it when she’d bumped through the pothole. Changing the tyre it was, then.
But, when she looked in the well of the boot, the spare wheel she’d expected to see wasn’t there. All she could see was a repair kit with a compressor and a bottle of goo. According to the packaging, it would act as a temporary repair until she could get the car to a garage or tyre fitter to replace it, as long as the hole in the tyre was less than four millimetres in diameter and the side wall of the tyre was fine. Otherwise the kit wouldn’t work and the tyre would have to be changed.
She went back to measure the hole. Six millimetres. She blew out a breath. Great. The repair kit wouldn’t work and she didn’t have a spare wheel. Now what?
The rain was coming down a lot faster now, and the wind was getting up, driving the rain right into her. She was soaked to the skin—and she was stuck here until she could get that tyre changed.
Shivering, she climbed back into the car. Please let there be a signal for her phone, so she could call a roadside assistance service. She wasn’t sure if they’d come out to people who weren’t actually members, but she hoped at least they’d be able to put her in touch with someone who would come out and help.
Then she noticed the sticker on the corner of the windscreen: it seemed that the hire car came with membership of a roadside assistance service. One hurdle down.
Though her relief was short-lived. When she rang them, they advised that they couldn’t come out to rescue her for three hours.
Three hours.
She was tired, she was wet, she was cold, she was starting to get hungry, and right at that moment all she really wanted was a hot shower and a cup of tea. Clearly she was going to have to wait for a lot longer than she wanted to. But other people had much worse to contend with; she was lucky, she reminded herself, and she had a lot to be thankful for.
A few minutes later, she became aware of headlights travelling up the track behind her, and then she heard the sound of a car horn.
Time to upset the neighbours, she thought ruefully, and jumped out of the car, ready to apologise for the fact that she couldn’t move her car and it was still going to be another couple of hours before the assistance company could rescue her.
Then she recognised the car.
Ryan.
‘Georgie? Are you all right? What’s happened to your car?’ he asked, climbing out of the car to join her.
‘I’ve got a puncture—and the hole’s too big for the repair kit to work,’ she said. ‘Sorry, I know I’m blocking the track, but I’m afraid it’ll be another couple of hours before the assistance company can get to me.’
‘Do you want me to change the tyre for you?’ he asked.
‘Thanks for the offer, but there isn’t a spare—just a repair kit,’ she said.
‘Ah, the joys of modern cars.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Which tyre?’
‘Front left.’
He went to inspect it, then came back. ‘You’re right—the repair kit definitely won’t work on that. Look, I know the track well so I can avoid the pot holes more easily. Do you want me to drive your car back to the cottage for you?’
She
