Rites of Spring

81

Thea breaks into a run, pushing aside people on the steps to get through.

Jan-Olof is lying on his back. One leg is bent at an unnatural angle, and a pool of blood has begun to spread beneath his head. He’s semi-conscious; his eyelids are fluttering and one arm is twitching. His breathing is rapid and shallow.

‘I need something to stop the bleeding!’ she shouts.

People crowd around her. She catches a glimpse of David and Nettan, with Sebastian and his girlfriend diagonally behind them.

‘Give me something to stop the bleeding!’ she yells again. ‘And call an ambulance!’

Someone gives her a handkerchief. It’s much too small, but it’s better than nothing. She feels at the back of Jan-Olof’s head, searching for the wound. Presses the handkerchief against it.

Jan-Olof’s breathing is becoming more laboured. His chest rattles, he opens and closes his eyes. People are crowding in from all directions, Thea hardly has room to move.

‘Stand back!’ a man bellows in English. He pushes away those nearest to her and kneels down beside her. It’s Philippe. Where has he come from? What’s he doing here?

He hands her a scarf. ‘What can I do?’

Thea gently lifts Jan-Olof’s head, presses the scarf to the wound as hard as she dares.

‘Hold this,’ she instructs him. ‘Try to keep the pressure even while I check if he has any more injuries.’

She gently runs her hands over Jan-Olof’s chest and stomach.

‘I’ve got emergency services on the phone,’ someone says. Thea looks up; it’s Sebastian’s girlfriend, Bianca. ‘What shall I tell them?’

‘We have someone who’s fallen from a height of between eight and ten metres. Severe head trauma, multiple fractures and possible internal bleeding.’

Jan-Olof’s chest rattles again. His breathing becomes shallower.

‘The ambulance is on its way,’ Bianca says. ‘There’s one nearby.’

Jan-Olof’s face is turning grey. Thea checks his pulse; it’s faint and uneven. She lifts his chin, tips back his head and opens his mouth. Gently pinches his nose and blows two slow, long breaths into his lungs.

His chest rises and falls, then nothing.

‘What shall we do?’ Philippe asks.

At that moment the crowd parts to let Dr Andersson through.

‘Head trauma, broken bones. Faint pulse, breathing compromised.’

The doctor kneels down beside Thea with some difficulty, then helps by holding Jan-Olof’s head while Thea breathes into his lungs again, more deeply this time.

Jan-Olof’s chest rises and falls as before, but suddenly he coughs, takes a deep, hacking breath, then another. His eyelids flutter, open.

He stares at Thea, then Dr Andersson.

‘Can you hear me?’ Thea asks. No response. ‘Can you hear me, Jan-Olof?’

His eyes are wide open. He takes another shuddering breath. His lips move as if he’s trying to say something.

‘Tell Leo . . .’

Thea leans closer; Dr Andersson does the same.

‘Not him,’ Jan-Olof whispers.

‘Not who?’

He half-closes his eyes; he looks as if he’s fighting to remain conscious. He raises one hand and points over her shoulder. She hears the sound of fast-approaching sirens in the distance.

‘Not him. It was me.’

Thea follows Jan-Olof’s finger. Realises he’s pointing straight at David.