You Had It Coming by B.M. Carroll (snow like ashes series .txt) 📗

‘No, not that. More that his dad might’ve had some dying words that he needs to know about. Don’t worry about it, Megs. I’ll handle any further contact.’

Joshua Newson is not going to let it go. Megan wishes now that she had just spoken with him. Hiding behind Lucas has made her feel like a helpless seventeen-year-old all over again.

Saturdays are full of extremes. From wholesome ‘sporting’ accidents to the substance-abuse variety. From unlucky or misguided to the self-inflicted and reckless. From blue skies and grass fields to nightclubs and neon lights.

Teenagers kick off the transition. I can’t wake up my friend … My boyfriend has taken something … I’m at a party and this guy is unconscious … As the night goes on, the patients become more mature, in their twenties, thirties or even forties. Old enough to know better, but yet they somehow don’t. The woman on the floor is called Rachel. She is twenty-five years old. Her friend – Sophie – relays these facts because Rachel is unable to speak for herself.

‘How long has she been like this?’ Lucas asks in a calm tone that belies his level of concern.

‘I don’t know,’ Sophie replies hysterically. ‘She was missing for a while. I went looking for her and found her in here, completely out of it …’

‘In here’ is the living room of a family home in St Ives. There’s a piano, an expensive rug and family photographs on the walls. Rachel has been sick on the rug and on her Lycra dress, which has ridden up her legs. Megan pulls it down, protecting her modesty.

‘What has she taken?’

‘I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.’

‘Find her purse and check to see if there’s anything in it.’

Sophie scrambles away to do as she is asked. There’s a small group standing in the room, watching with concerned expressions. It’s confronting, seeing a friend in this condition; it might make them think twice about mixing drugs and alcohol in the future, probably what’s happened here. Music is playing somewhere else in the house; someone doesn’t want the party to end. There are always the nonchalant types, who assume that everything will turn out fine, that this is just a misadventure they’ll laugh about tomorrow. The girl’s vital signs are worrying: irregular breathing and heart rate, low body temperature and elevated blood pressure. Absolutely nothing to laugh about here.

‘I can’t find anything in her bag.’ Sophie has upended the contents on to the rug: lipsticks, keys, receipts, a few pens.

‘Check the coin area and pockets.’ That’s often where the pills are located, if any are left over.

‘Nothing. Sorry.’

‘Has she taken drugs before?’

A telling pause. ‘Speed.’

‘And what has she been drinking tonight?’

‘Vodka.’

Speed stimulates the central nervous system while alcohol depresses it. Rather than balancing each other out, the combination conceals the effects of alcohol, with people becoming dangerously intoxicated without realising it. The end result can be alcohol poisoning or coma.

Lucas goes to fetch the stretcher. One of the bystanders, an attractive young woman wearing far too much make-up, smiles flirtatiously as he passes. Megan is both disbelieving and resigned.

‘Can you come in the ambulance?’ she asks Sophie.

‘Yes.’ Sophie rubs smudged mascara from under her eyes. ‘Of course.’

‘Get your things. We’re leaving soon. And don’t forget Rachel’s bag. Do you have a number for her family?’

Somewhere in this city, there’s a mother and a father who believe their daughter to be safe and well and perhaps too old to find herself in such a predicament. Their Saturday night is about to be blown apart.

Rachel is a dead weight. It takes four people – Megan and Lucas, with the help of two bystanders – to lift her on to the stretcher. Megan readjusts her dress again, pulling it further down her legs, which are tanned and strong. The music is still playing. Megan expects it will be turned up as soon as they leave.

They spend some time in the rear of the ambulance, stabilising Rachel before setting off. Sophie is on the phone, giving a sobbing account of what has happened to someone on the other end, presumably one of Rachel’s parents.

‘All good to go?’ Lucas asks, looking closely at Megan.

She gives him a nod. He slides shut the side door and goes around to the driver’s seat. He knows, without having to ask, that she prefers to stay with patients like Rachel. She feels protective of them. Sees herself and Jess in their young faces. Going that step too far. Paying the ultimate price. Waking up to a new, ugly reality.

‘We’re just on our way now,’ Sophie says into the phone.

Sophie will never forget this night. This fearful journey to the hospital. What will happen when they get there. The role she played and if she could have done anything differently. It’s all flashing across her face. Fear. Guilt. Uncertainty.

Megan reaches across and smooths Rachel’s hair away from her face. It’s matted with particles of vomit. She uses a surgical wipe to gently remove what she can.

Megan and Lucas need to restock and clean the vehicle before handing over to the next crew. They work efficiently, ticking off their checklists and completing reports. This is their last shift together for the foreseeable future. Every moment of today has been precious. His willingness to field Joshua Newson’s questions. His touching concern about Rachel. His banter with the middle-aged man on the soccer field. The chocolate muffin he bought her from the hospital cafeteria.

They leave the building together, pausing in the shadowy car park, their cars on opposite ends of the bitumen.

‘Want to go for a quick drink?’ he asks suddenly.

‘Can’t, sorry. Seb arrived this morning. Need to catch him before he crashes for the night.’ The day has been so jam-packed, she’s barely had time to think about her brother.

Lucas moves closer to give her a hug. ‘See you around,’ he says, his breath in her hair.

She pushes him away. ‘Yuck! You smell of vomit.’

He’s laughing as she walks towards