It seemed that news of the rave had got out to the wider student community and there was a huge cross section of people there, all seemingly wanting to just dance and have a good time. There was a lot of hugging going on but I knew what that was all about. I'd had a very tedious evening a month or so back when someone in Danny's hall had offered him some ecstasy tablets and, because he was a bit of a dick, he took one and tried to convince me to take the other before we went to a party in Camden. I thought by then he would have known my attitude to drugs but then again he didn't grow up in the house I did and so illegal substances, to him, were fun and cool whereas I had seen the damage first hand and I wasn't keen to ever go down that path. My disapproval hadn't fazed him and I'd been forced to watch him and a couple of his ex schoolmates behave like total morons for a couple of hours. There is nothing more boring than being straight around people who are off their tits and, eventually, I just upped and left. I caught the bus home on my own but he never even thought to ask me about it, nor showed any concern for my safety. It's my opinion that drugs turn people in to selfish arses and I haven't seen anything since I got to London that might change my mind.
After my little chat with Libby on the tube, I did start to wonder if there might be something in what she'd said after all. As a group, we did seem to be receiving our fair share of attention and I hadn't had to buy a drink all night. It was impossible to make conversation inside but, outside, on my way to the loo with Libby, we'd been chatted up by a pair of cute South African boys called Wim and Mark, who'd just finished their National Service and were backpacking around the UK and Europe. To be honest, I was pretty disappointed to lose sight of them once we re-entered the auditorium and I did a hopeful lap, scanning the crowd, but they had seemingly disappeared. Then I found myself dancing with quite a nice looking bloke who had a vague resemblance to a young Simon Le Bon and to my amusement, he hung around for the rest of the evening, even though we hadn't spoken a word. I tried to keep an eye on my friends but I'd soon lost sight of Holly until we went outside to get some air and she was spotted, snogging some boy on a bench under a tree. I couldn't see her face but they were definitely her boots and, because she seemed quite happy, we wandered back inside and were, once again, joined by Silent Simon who seemed happy just to dance with me wordlessly.
I'm not sure what time it was, but I was starting to fade and I was almost glad when I felt a hand on my elbow, and discovered it was Libby who'd decided she wanted to go home. The unspoken rule of sisterhood meant that I must go too but I wasn't bothered. I smiled at my mute dance partner and gestured towards the door, putting my hand up awkwardly and giving him a small wave goodbye. Once we were outside, Libby informed me that the other two girls had gone off to a nightclub somewhere together and that we were on our own. I looked around and noticed that Silent Simon was still with us, so clearly he hadn't got the message. I stopped and turned to him with a friendly smile.
"It was great, thanks, but we're off home now. See you around maybe?"
He looked at me with despair.
"älä mene. Luulen että rakastan sinua" he cried.
I looked at him blankly. Impatiently, Libby grabbed my arm and began to drag me away.
"Nimeni on Elias" He called out to me. "Elias!"
I started to laugh.
"That explains why he didn't say much" I said to Libby. "Any idea what language that might have been?"
"No." She replied firmly. "Passable but not cute enough to have to work around a language barrier."
"I thought he was ok!" I protested through my laughter. "And, I have to say that, after listening to Danny non stop for the last six months, a bloke who isn't always talking about himself has a bit to recommend him."
She rolled her eyes at me and we linked arms and made our way briskly around the back of the building which was, Libby assured me, a shortcut to the bus stop. We'd only gone about 30 yards and I tripped over something sticking out of the garden. I spun around to see what it was way but Libby dragged me onwards, insisting that we shouldn't hang around in a poorly lit area such as that. I was alarmed though and I pulled away from her. Whatever had just tangled around my ankles felt alive.
"Libby! Oh my god! It's a person!" I cried.
"Jesus, Louisa, it's probably a bloody tramp, come away!" She shouted at me with alarm but by now I was in my hands and knees, scrabbling around in the garden, trying to locate the person's face. From what I could make out in the dark, it was a young man, reasonably well dressed but seemingly unconscious. I could hear rapid rasping breath and he felt really hot to my touch.
"Libby! Help me, we need to get him on his side, he's still alive but he sounds terrible."
She hesitated and the crouched down next to me and we managed to flip him onto his left side.
"Do you want to stay with him, or run and ring for an ambulance?" I asked her breathlessly and, instantly she was up and sprinting down the pathway back to the auditorium. Sitting there alone, in the gloom, listening to his strangled breathing, was the longest ten minutes of my life and I have never been so relieved as I was when I saw Libby and a security guard finally approaching.
"Ambulance is on its way." She said and she sounded scared.
The security guard stood over us and stared down at the prone body coldly.
"I'll let them know where you and your friend are." He said, giving me a look of disgust and wandering away.
I opened my mouth to protest but he had gone and I consoled myself with talking to the boy, in between listening hard to try and determine if his breathing was getting better or worse.
"He feels really hot." I said in despair, before falling into a terrified silence, while Libby paced up and down behind us.
It seemed like ages before the ambulance arrived but I have no idea how long we were actually there for. We stepped aside, and stood and watched as they took over. I couldn't help but be impressed at how efficiently they worked together to get him up on on the gurney and try to stabilise him.
"Ecstasy, yeah?" The paramedic barked at Libby and I as we stood huddled together, watching on in fear as they slipped on an oxygen mask and began to attempt to stabilise him. He looked so young and helpless.
"I don't know, sorry, we just fell over him on the way to the bus stop and called you straight away." I cried. "Is he going to be ok?"
He gave us a sceptical look, as if he truly didn't believe us but didn't say anything.
"Hyperthermia. One hundred and four ." The second paramedic said calmly. "BP: 180/90."
"I saw him staggering around earlier. He didn't seem to have any mates with him." Libby said quietly. "I just thought he was pissed."
They pushed the gurney up the ramp and began to lock it into place.
"Can we please come too?" I said desperately and Libby responded with a horrified gasp.
The paramedics looked at one another and one of them smiled mirthlessly.
"Get in, then." He said coldly. "But don't get in my bloody way, alright?"
Before she had a chance to object, I grabbed Libby's arm and manhandled her into the back of the ambulance. The door slammed behind us and, next minute, with shrieking sirens, we were trundling down the road at a a rate of knots.
I looked across at the paramedic, who was listening to the boy's heart.
"Tachycardic." He said, staring at me disapprovingly, and giving a shake of his head.
The boy muttered something incomprehensible.
"Where are we going?" I asked quietly.
"St Mary's." He replied, before adding reproachfully. "And lucky for your mate here, we're just about there."
We pulled to a halt, the back door opened and we leapt out. I realise I am in shock and we stand in the background, watching everything unfold. The paramedic briefs an impossibly young female doctor who appears to be the one in charge but she looks barely older than us, if a lot more composed.
"Patient AMS, agitated, initially unresponsive." I hear them say but I glean that's it's his temperature they seem most concerned about and, in an instant he is whipped away by the orderlies and we are left standing dazed and helpless outside the imposing building. Wandering inside to A&E, it is so crowded it's like Piccadilly Circus in there. No one will tell us anything. We don't even know his name and, even if we had some right to know, at this stage his status is unknown. One kindly woman behind the admissions desk takes pity on us and recommends a quieter place to be sit, away from the desperate throng of minor wounds, angry, drunken fight victims or vomiting, pyjama clad children, so we take her advice and wander off, still stunned at the turn our night out has taken. Libby is highly aggrieved by the suggestion that we had anything to do with the state the boy found himself in and, while, I'm a bit put out, I can't get the image of his innocent young face out of mind. I was so busy enjoying myself that I didn't even see him, staggering around, clearly in trouble though it seems plenty of others did, and failed to act. That actually upsets me more than anything.
As the minutes tick by, I wonder what can be done to distract youth away from the powerful lure of illicit substances and I can't come up with anything. I think about my course and the subjects I have chosen to try and prepare me to be the best teacher I can be. My mind drifts to psychology and I make a mental note to explore my options, post grad. It seems to me, as helpless as I feel right now, understanding thoroughly why young people behave the way they do might be a very useful conduit to education.
I start to feel like an automaton. My head is thick and my limbs are heavy. Hours go by and they still can't, or won't, tell us anything about the fate of the boy so it seems like, once again, because I failed to control my emotions, Libby and I have had a totally pointless journey. Exhaustion now creeps up on us and we slump down in the hard plastic seats of the empty waiting area outside the heavily shuttered doors of the cafeteria, where we have been residing since escaping the utter pandemonium of A&E. It's more peaceful but I worry that, even if there was news, no one would be able to find us.
It's been over four hours now since we discovered him and I'm not sure what I expect to happen next. Perhaps I hoped that his family might have arrived, or that he'd recovered enough that he might be allowed visitors, or maybe someone would come and tell us what was happening but there's been nothing. I honestly have so little idea about drugs, hospitals, procedures, and patient confidentiality that I may as well be in a foreign country, and all I know is that, as usual, I feel massively intimidated by that unfamiliarity. And, I realise how ridiculous it was to think that, just because we'd found him, we somehow had some sort of right to know his prognosis.
I sense that Libby is getting restless and keen to go home but I bribe her with a coke from the vending machine in the hallway and she agrees to stay with me a little longer. I glance at the clock. Ten past six. The idea of having been up all night makes me yawn and my tired eyes water uncontrollably so I dab at them with my sleeve. A cleaner pushing a trolley comes down the long corridor and we make eye contact. I smile at her wearily and she stops next to me; reassuring me that the cafeteria will open soon and, gesturing up to the wall above us, asks me if I would like the television switched on. I shrug but she turns it on anyway so I thank her and she wanders away. I glance up at the fuzzy screen but the angle hurts my neck and I can't really shift seats as Libby is now dozing with her head in my shoulder. Besides, there doesn't appear to be any sound, so I turn my attention to the remnants of yesterday's newspaper, trying not to elbow Libby in the jaw as I turn the pages. The words swim before my eyes and I tightly squeeze them closed for a few seconds in the vain hope that my drooping lids will be somehow invigorated.
Behind me, from the other end of the corridor, I'm conscious of the ping of the lift as the doors open, followed by the dull clatter of footsteps as a group emerges and strides purposefully down the echoing hallway, approaching us. As they sweep past, I glance through my squinting eyes and a slight smile crosses my face. I elbow Libby firmly so that she gets to enjoy the sight of four, well dressed young men who have paused about thirty feet away from us. One of them in particular seems very imposing; they are all tall but he towers above them, in both stature and, it seems, in seniority as they appear to be hanging on his every word. I feel Libby lift her head and I realise we are both staring now. There is a good looking, dark haired fellow, with a stethoscope protruding from his coat pocket, who hangs back almost imperceptibly, and turns to glance back at us, a faint smile on his face.
"Very nice." Libby mutters appreciatively under her breath and wriggles in her seat to sit up a bit straighter, and stretch her long legs elegantly in front of her.
The imperious doctor has his back to us and I sleepily admire his broad shoulders and beautifully cut suit, welcoming the distraction. He seems to be in charge but, noticing the glances of our smiling admirer, his tone changes to a low growl and, dripping with sarcasm, he asks If the unfortunate young man could possibly spare a moment to pay attention to his career. In my sleep deprived brain, there is a tiny glimmer of something familiar. The young doctor snaps his head back around and mutters an apology under his breath but the mellifluous voice that has made even a stinging reprimand sound delicious, has shaken me from my stupor, and I am momentarily transfixed.
I hear myself gasp and, grateful for the cover it provides, I slump down rapidly behind my newspaper, peering over the top from under the anonymity of my fringe. As he turns sideways, folding his arms impatiently and glaring icily at the junior doctor who is fumbling with the security door, I know instantly that it's him. I feel something that seems almost like panic and, as my head swims and I try to makes sense of what has just unfolded before me, I realise that, even after all this time, he still has the ability to affect me at a visceral level. My heart pounds. While I wrestle with my thoughts, for what seems like the hundredth time since I first laid eyes on him in Mrs Norton's kitchen all those years ago, the door finally opens and, without a backwards glance, he and his group disappear through it, and out of sight.
"I wonder if they will come back this way?" Libby says breathlessly.
"I hope not." I blurt out involuntarily and she looks at me askance.
"I know, at least I knew, ummm, the tall one." I add, lamely, by way of explanation.
"The cross looking one?" She asks. "He looked like he was in charge though. If you know him, wouldn't it make sense to ask him if he could find out what's going on, and then perhaps we could go home?"
But I shake my head in horror and Libby stares at me grumpily.
How do I explain? That I would rather die than admit to Martin why we are here. That I know how it would look to him and, as a result, what he would quite naturally and understandably assume. How can I tell Libby why that is, when I barely understand it myself? The closest that I can come to an explanation, inadequate as it seems, is that I can't bear to have him get the wrong end of the stick and then, as a consequence, think badly of me for the rest of his life. The thought actually fills me with panic.
I hear a little voice in my head insist that of course he would help me, he always did, but I don't listen. I can't listen. I'm suddenly tired of being the train wreck girl that always needs rescuing, always has to call for assistance and has to live on charity. I feel that all-too-familiar sensation of humiliation and, roughly folding the newspaper in half, I throw it on the floor and jump to my feet.
"Let's go home." I say decisively, and walk off.
