‘Tom.’ She tugs at my sleeve. ‘We’ve got to get off here.’
‘No, we’re going to the hospital. Next stop.’
‘No!’ She slumps sideways, virtually falling out of the train, and I have to jump off to catch her and stop her landing on the platform.
‘Lydia! What are you doing?’
‘We’re here.’ Her words slur. ‘You are going to make that film. Promise me.’
‘Lydia, it doesn’t matter.’ I take her burning cheeks in my hand. I don’t give a toss about the bloody film at this moment. She needs help.
She jerks her head back and her voice is fierce, her eyes glowing – almost demonically. ‘Yes, it does. Come on. We have to do this.’
I shake my head. I can’t do this to her. ‘There’ll be other opportunities,’ I say and there will.
‘Tom!’ she hisses, her face a contorted mask of urgency. ‘We’re here. I need that money. For my gran’s house. Please.’
My heart falters. I can’t deny her.
‘We go straight to A and E, as soon as we’ve…’ Done whatever it is that we need to do. Funny, I’ve no idea what that might be. Whatever it is, I guess there’ll be someone there with a camera filming.
She pushes herself up and starts to head in completely the wrong direction. I grab her hand.
‘It’s this way.’
We enter the ticket hall and even though she’s leaning on me, Lydia is limping badly. There’s a choice of exit. Trafalgar Square or The Mall. I bite my lip. What if they’re waiting for us, staking the exit? That would be harsh but they’ve not been mucking about to date. I guess a hundred thousand pounds is a lot to give away. Although presumably they want some dramatic footage of us running into the square.
‘Not going to happen,’ I mutter under my breath. I need to get this over and done so that I can get Lydia to hospital. Trust her to be stubborn to the absolute last.
Daylight dazzles us as we emerge from the exit. Nelson’s Column is in sight.
Lydia leans on me as we walk over to the to the pedestrian crossing. To my right I spot Jonno and Midge. They catch sight of me just as the light turns green. I stop and scoop Lydia into my arms. She’s not that heavy but I’m not Superman, which results in a pathetic half-run, half-walk rather than the manly romantic gesture it would be in a rom-com. I make it across the road, stumbling slightly on the uneven pavement, my eyes fixed on the nearest fountain, aware of Lydia’s grip around my neck.
‘We’re going to do it,’ she mutters. ‘We’re going to do it.’ A taut manic smile lights up her face – reminiscent of a scary Halloween mask. I’m so focused, I don’t bother to apologise to the tourists I barge into. And suddenly we’re there. At the edge of one of fountain pools with Nelson’s column to our right.
I ease Lydia down, careful to hold on to her as she leans against the stone coping.
‘Lydia?’
With over-bright eyes, she looks over my shoulder. ‘We made it,’ she says swaying. ‘We bloody did it. You can make your film.’
‘And you can rebuild your house.’
‘Pfft,’ she snorts, or at least I think that’s what it’s supposed to be. It’s got very little oomph. It feels like she’s a leaky balloon with very little air left. ‘It’s just a house. I don’t care anymore.’
Before I can ask what she means, Jordan and Mark materialise from the crowd, with a camera man behind them. I realise he’s been filming the whole time. I hope they’re bloody pleased with the footage.
‘Well done, mate.’ Jordan holds out a hand to shake mine. I shake my head in disbelief. He’s congratulating me? ‘Well played. You led us a right merry dance.’
‘We need some medical ass—’
Before I can finish Lydia crumples. I just manage to catch her before she hits the deck. ‘Lydia,’ I cry. A hard fist clamps around my heart as I cradle her limp body. ‘Lydia.’ Her cheeks are two hot spots of red and there are beads of sweat across her forehead.
‘Call an ambulance,’ I snap at Mark, my insides like writhing snakes.
Already a crowd is gathering around us and I want to protect Lydia from their curious stares. Bloody vultures.
I lower her to the ground, my voice an agonised whisper as I say over and over again. ‘Lydia. Lydia.’ There’s no response and, helpless, I look up at Mark, who’s on the phone with his back to me.
A woman steps forward and hands me a folded fleece to go beneath Lydia’s head and someone else offers a jacket to go over her. I’m not sure she needs to be kept warm but it feels like some sort of protection.
‘Ambulance is on its way,’ says Jordan. ‘ETA five minutes.’
I hold Lydia’s hand and her eyes flutter open for a second.
‘Tom.’ There’s a faint squeeze on my fingers and her eyes close again.
I lean down but I dare not kiss her. Her breath is painfully shallow and she suddenly seems so fragile.
Mark crouches down beside me, handing me my phone and wallet.
‘Well done, mate. You just won yourself a hundred grand.’ I realise that Jonno is filming and I glare at him.
Can’t the fucker see that Lydia needs help? I’m already on the phone dialling Annette’s number.
‘Tom. Are you at the hospital with Lydia?’
‘What?’
