He’s lying on the floor in a dark pool of blood, his right arm bent up behind him. I kneel and place my fingers on his neck. He’s not dead. There is fluttering movement under the wrinkled skin. “Can you hear me?” I shout in his ear.

He doesn’t move. I get a tissue from my shirt pocket and wipe the blood running from his nose. “He’s alive. Unconscious. Go and get Grandma.”

Will runs to the house while I sit on the garage floor. I don’t know where his head is bleeding, but I fold up the sheet of plastic and put it under, so he’s not lying in the blood. When I move him, his eyelids flicker. “Grandpa?” But there is no other response. His face is grey and there are dots of sweat on his forehead. “Grandpa, are you awake?”

We have to get help. There’s an emergency helicopter that flies into remote places, but could it come in this weather? Then I remember, the phone’s not working, so how would we contact them? I have an idea. Will can drive. He can go to the neighbour’s place, the people who lent us their boat. Will knows where the key is. He can use their phone, maybe get an ambulance. How long would it take on this road?

Grandma stumbles across the grass, stick in one hand. Will supports her on the other side. They have no coats and are very wet. Their hair sticks to their scalps and Grandma’s glasses are spotted with rain. As she comes into the garage, she tries to run. She would have fallen too, but Will and I grab her just in time, so she just sort of sinks down beside Grandpa. “You silly old fool!” she yells at him. “What have you done, you useless beggar?”

“We’ll phone for an ambulance,” I tell her.

“Something’s wrong with his arm,” she says. “Why is it bent like that?”

“We’ll go to the neighbour’s phone.”

“Help me lift him.” She grabs his shoulder. “Roll him over so we can free his arm. Come on!”

We half lift, half roll him, and pull the arm out from underneath. It is covered by the sleeve of his woolly jacket, but even so, it looks a funny shape. Grandma sits on the floor with Grandpa’s head and shoulders against her skirt. She is feeling along his scalp. “It’s just a flesh wound. He’s concussed. I think his arm’s well and truly broken. We have to get him to hospital.”

Maybe Grandpa hears the word hospital, because he groans and I see some of the worry go out of Will’s face. It’s a groan of pain, but it means Grandpa is alive and waking up.

I say to Grandma, “Will can drive the car to those neighbours – you know, where we got the boat. He knows where the key is. He can go in the house and phone for the ambulance. They won’t mind. It’s an emergency.”

“No good.” Grandma shakes her head. “If our phone is out, theirs will be out too. We’re both on the same line.”

Grandpa groans again.

“Standing on a drum at his age!” says Grandma. “You’d think he’d know better. We’ll just have to take him to hospital in the car.”

Will stands up straight.

“Who’s going to drive?” But as I say it, I realise it’s a silly question.

“William, do you know how reverse works?” she asks.

He shakes his head.

“Now’s the time to learn,” says Grandma. “Back it up to the garage. Melissa, you go into the house and get my purse and the tartan rug out of our bedroom. Hurry!”

“Grandma, you’re soaking wet,” I tell her. “You need to get changed.”

Grandpa opens his eyes. He looks at us and gives another groan. “What a dunger!” he says.