'Martin!' she screamed, but her voice was swallowed in the clamour of the crowd, the noise of thousands of feet running, running, running, and the ambulance siren getting louder and louder. She pushed forwards heading from the screens.
A man's voice. 'There's nothing to see here, please move on.'
She vaguely registered the darkness of his uniform. 'Please, please, it's my husband. Please.' She stared up into his face, not seeing it, willing him to let her through. Everything hung on his decision. 'Please, it's my husband,' she said again.
He swung the catch that held the barriers together and pulled one towards him to make a gap. She slid through it and he caught her arm. 'I'll take you through.'
They got nearer the screens. People with walkie-talkies were busy directing everyone around the screens, the runners separating like fish around a rock, seething, bobbing, but there seemed to be this still centre, like a spotlight that followed Becca round. 'Poor bugger,' she heard one steward say as they passed.
It was part of some film where everything goes into slow motion. She looked up and could see the policeman talking to one of the men in a fluorescent jacket, see their mouths moving, see their heads turn to her, the embarrassed, harassed, sympathetic looks. The man with the fluorescent jacket and the walkie-talkie had missed a bit when shaving that morning she noticed, she could see the tiny patch of darker stubble on the underside of his left jaw. Someone trod on Martin's peaked cap, scuffed it over to the kerb.
'Martin,' she screamed again, and pushed past the men, for a second registering their surprised faces, their mouths making the shape of no', and she was behind the screens and there was a man lying on the ground in the recovery position, covered with grey-brown blankets, surrounded by other people kneeling beside, including one dressed top to toe in pink Lycra.
'Martin.' And the film suddenly speeded up and there she was, sobbing into his shoulder. 'I thought it was you,' she cried. 'I thought it was you.' And she held on to him as though she would never ever let him go. And Martin held on to her, his shoulders shuddering, her Martin, alive and in her arms.
The ambulance siren suddenly stopped and seconds later the crew rushed to the man on the ground. 'Can we get a bit of room here,' one shouted, but even as they spoke the people kneeling moved back to let them work, feeling for vital signs, then clamping an oxygen mask to the man's white face. Becca recognised the brown top.
'But I thought Ian was fit, the fittest of you all,' Becca said, clinging to Martin's arm. She recognised other members of the team standing in the background, Una in tears with her hand over her mouth being comforted by the MD in green. Becca held her breath. 'Is he...?'
'I don't think so.' Martin shook his head, his face nearly as white as Ian's. 'Christ, Becca, I couldn't believe it, we were all running together, and then suddenly he just went. I thought he'd stumbled, went to help him up, then realised he was unconscious. I can't believe it.'
'I've just thought, has anyone got Val's mobile number?' the MD said, his face nearly as green as his outfit. 'We should call her, she's bound to be watching somewhere.'
'I've already called her,' Martin said, and Becca was proud that, although as stunned as any of them, Martin had thought to call Ian's wife. He was good in a crisis, she thought, remembering how he had dealt with Lily when she was drunk. He was a good man. She held his arm tightly, flashing back to the moment when she thought it was Martin who'd had the heart attack, and Martin put his arm around her. 'It's OK,' he murmured.
A white-faced woman Becca recognised as Ian's wife was ushered past them. 'Ian!' she gasped, falling to her knees beside him and bursting into tears. The ambulance crew exchanged glances and opened their mouths to get her out of the way, but Martin was there first.
'Val, love, he'll be fine, but the crew need space to look after him,' he said as he gently helped her stand up. She nodded, hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and full of tears.
Becca gave Val a hug. 'Ian's in the best hands,' she murmured, trying to match Martin's calmness despite her own emotional turmoil. The ambulance crew were manoeuvring Ian, flipping him up and on to a trolley. Ian moaned as they moved him, and waved an arm as if trying to pull off the mask. At least he's alive, Becca thought as the ambulance crew tucked him firmly on to the trolley. Thank God.
'Will he be OK?' the MD blurted out.
'He's coming round, that's a good sign,' one of the crew said, with a calmness that astonished Becca. 'But we need to get him in as soon as possible.' With practised speed they clicked down the wheels, and pushed the trolley into the ambulance. Val climbed in the back with Ian and one of the crew. The other slammed the doors shut, then climbed into the cab. Siren on, they zoomed away leaving Becca, Martin and the rest of the team standing in the street.
'Can you move along please,' cried the stewards, taking down the screens and pushing the barriers back to their original positions. Becca realised that there were still runners going past, as the screens went back.
'What should we do?' Una said. 'Do we go to the hospital, or what?'
'I don't know,' the MD said, looking around. 'Martin, you trained with him. What do you reckon? Should we run?'
'I don't know,' Martin said, his arm around Becca's shoulder. 'It seems wrong somehow, to carry on running.'
'But Ian loves running,' Una said. 'He'd want us to carry on. Besides, there's all that money we've raised for charity. We'd have to give it back if we don't run.'
'Ok. Executive decision: we're running,' the MD said. 'I mean, it's not as if he's died.' Becca exchanged a look with Martin. 'OK, team, let's get out there.'
'You don't have to if you think it's wrong,' Becca said in a low voice to Martin.
'I know. But Una's right, Ian would want us to run.' He squeezed her shoulder. 'Besides, I don't think Lily would forgive me if I didn't run.'
'She's waiting to see you at Queen Square,' Becca said, suddenly realising, and fishing her mobile out of her bag. 'She'll be worried you haven't come round yet. I'll ring and let her know you're OK.'
'Thanks.' He bent his head and kissed her quickly. She stared up into his eyes. Then he kissed her again, longer this time, before setting off with the remaining team. 'See you at the finish.'
Becca stood and watched them join the mass of runners, her hand to her mouth, remembering his lips on hers.
- ooo -
Becca waited for Martin outside the cardiac ward. People came and went - visitors? Doctors? Nurses? It was hard to tell unless they came with flowers or stethoscopes round their neck. Everyone seemed to walk purposefully as if they knew where they were going. Becca and Martin had had to follow the signs to the ward. Sunday afternoon. Prime time for hospital visiting.
The last time she'd been in hospital was when Lily was born.
Then the nurses had bustled and babies cried and she too had wept from exhaustion, but the atmosphere was positive. They would be going home with their babies. Here the atmosphere was different. This was the ward where you lived, or died. She noticed that every visitor used the antiseptic hand wash before entering the ward.
The swing doors to the ward pushed open, and Martin emerged. 'How is he?' Becca said, standing up immediately.
'They think he'll be all right,' Martin said. 'Val says he came round in the ambulance on the way in, and he's now stable, not needing oxygen any more or anything. Mind you, he's wired up to so many machines it must be draining the National Grid. But he's going to be all right.'
'Thank God for that,' Becca murmured.
'Let's get back home. I'm dying for a cup of tea,' Martin said.
Becca thought the expression ironic, given the circumstances. 'I should have made you one while you changed, but I didn't think.' On their way back from the race she'd insisted on driving home so Martin could shower and eat something before visiting Ian. 'You won't help him by passing out in hospital,' she'd said, putting scrambled eggs in front of Martin, the quickest meal she could think of. But she'd forgotten tea. They began to walk back to the main reception.
'Was it a heart attack?'
'Yup, complete heart block, whatever that is. He's going to have a pacemaker fitted and then apparently he'll be as right as rain. He was saying he was going to run the marathon next year in under two hours.'
'Val must have looked pleased at that,' Becca said. Martin looked round blankly at the corridor. Becca smiled, knowing a sense of direction wasn't one of his talents. She pushed open the double doors to the stairs and Martin followed her.
'She didn't look exactly thrilled. Makes you think, doesn't it? He's nearly ten years younger than me.'
Becca nodded. 'I couldn't bear it if it had been you.'
'It'd take more than that to get rid of me.' Martin put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed as they walked down the stairs and into the main reception area. 'Though under two hours might do it. Bad enough doing it in two hours seventeen.'
Becca felt her eyes fill with tears. 'I parked on the far side,' she said, as they left the central hospital door. They walked towards the car. Becca's hand brushed against his, and somehow they were walking hand in hand. 'Two hours seventeen sounds pretty impressive to me. How are you feeling?' Becca asked.
'Not too bad. I expect I'll be in agony tomorrow, but right now...' he paused, taking a deep breath and stretching, 'Right now, it's good to be alive. When you're young you treat each day as if there are plenty more to come,' Martin said. 'Makes you realise that there is actually only a finite amount of time left. If you knew this was going to be your last day, would you behave differently?' His hand was warm in hers, his grip firm and reassuring.
'Of course.'
They reached the car. 'What would be different?'
She looked directly at him. 'I'd tell everyone who mattered to me that I loved them.'
'Ah.' He smiled, then opened the car door. 'Let's go home.'
They drove in silence. Becca leaned her head against the car window feeling the coolness against her forehead. I don't want to be alone, she thought. I don't want to rip my life to shreds and hope I can make something better from the wreckage. I want to build on what I have. They turned down the familiar street. Becca could have done this journey with her eyes shut, and yet today she looked, really looked, at all the houses they passed. She saw the new curtains at number six, that number nine had trimmed their hedge. Someone was painting the upstairs bay window of number fifteen, the scarlet cloth dangling from his jeans pocket a bright splash of colour against the honey stone.
Martin pulled up outside the house. Wordlessly they got out of the car and went in. Becca slipped her coat off, and after a moment's hesitation, Martin took her hand and led her upstairs.
Skin on skin. Known, yet new. She felt shy with him as he undressed her, his hands soft, his touch light, as if this was the first time. Each hair stood erect as his fingertips traced the line of her arms. Hands clasped, they slid into bed. Bare legs entwined, his foot fitted exactly under her instep. She stroked his face, as if learning him with her fingers, his eyes large and gentle, skin taut across his cheekbones, her fingertip running along his lower lip. He bit it lightly, playfully, and she laughed as his teeth nibbled her skin sending sensations rippling over her body. Her hand grazed the surface of his skin, warm and smooth, running the length of his body, feeling the curve of his skin at his hip, and down, his hands on her, she felt pliant at his touch, soft and supple, skin quivering.
The room was quiet except for their regular breathing, the light dim as the spring afternoon light filtered in through closed curtains, their skin gleaming where the light caught it, dissolving into soft smokiness under the covers. She felt she could dissolve into the warm air as he touched her, rolling over to luxuriate in the sensations travelling throughout her body, his mouth on hers, tender and affectionate, everything was calm and unhurried and she was flowing, her body liquid like molten gold pouring over the edge and felling away as he took her. Their breathing quickened, the rhythm accelerated, she clutched his arms, his shoulders, fingers digging in, no longer fluid but taut with longing, overstrung like a bow waiting for release, she pressed against him, determined, eyes shut tight, oblivious to everything except the hunger he had ignited within her, and, steady, steady, her breath juddering as she arched her back up to him, and now, now, now.
She subsided in his arms, face pressed into his shoulder, breathing his warmth in with every inhalation, every muscle relaxed and unstrung. He stroked her hair, his hands gentle and loving, and she nuzzled into him like a cat curling up in a sunbeam.
'Lily will be home soon,' he whispered in between giving her tiny kisses that dappled over her face like summer rain. She stretched out, toes and fingers flexed. Her body felt burnished inside and out, skin satiny to the touch. She gave him a wide, sleepy smile.
'I suppose we ought to get up,' she said, not moving. She wasn't sure she could ever move again, all her bones had dissolved away into nothingness. She trailed her fingers languorously over his chest. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, but after a few seconds opened them again and rolled away from her.
'Cup of tea?' he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
'Mmm,' she replied, rolling on to her front and stroking his back. 'That is, if you don't fancy seconds.'
'Later,' he said, smiling.
'Is there going to be a later?' Becca said seriously.
He nodded, equally serious. 'If you want.'
'I do,' Becca said. 'I do.'