A bloody mess!

It took three firemen to get Greg and Biggles out of the river. I could tell from the way Greg let one of them wrap a supportive arm round him that he had had enough. But he wouldn’t let go of Biggles and he didn’t take his eyes off him. Slowly, wading against the current they brought the big dog in. It was clearly a massive effort. He’s huge and his coat is thick and heavy. I had to let the rope go slack – there was no point in pulling – Greg could only go as fast as they could move Biggles. There was a painful silence as Suzie, the remaining firemen and I waited, our eyes peeled for signs of life. I wanted to ask, to shout out to Greg but I couldn’t bear to. From where we were standing, Biggles looked like a dead-weight. There was an uncomfortable lump in my throat and my eyes were smarting. Please God, please don’t let him be dead, please God, I was praying silently and then, And if he is, please don’t let me be useless.
And then Suzie gave a cry.
‘He rolled his eye,’ she said. ‘I saw Biggles roll his eye!’
‘Are you sure?’ I said.
‘Yes – watch!’
Suzie was right. Biggles was holding his own head up and yes, his terrified eyes were rolling. Moments later, we were all trying to beach him, the three firemen, Greg, Suzie and I. Stupid. Suzie and I should have stood back. We weren’t really needed. But we were so relieved and excited, we weren’t thinking straight. I reached out to grab Biggles’ collar and help haul him in – and that’s when it happened. Poor Biggles must have felt utterly threatened by the sudden hand looming by his nose – and he snapped, his huge jaws clamping my wrist in an agonising grip. I screamed – I couldn’t help it – and Biggles snapped again. Greg was too shocked and exhausted to help but the nearest firemen knew what to do. He rammed his fingers and thumb into the corners of Biggles’ mouth and his jaw dropped immediately. He was too tired to hang on anyway.
I looked down at my arm. Blood was seeping rapidly from four wounds. I could see they were deep and you know how it is – once you see the damage, the pain suddenly hits. My knees buckled, my head span and I would have landed in the river myself but for the quick reactions of one of the waiting firemen. The next moment, I was sitting on the bank with my head thrust between my knees and my arm held in the air. And then someone was saying, ‘Is this the casualty?’ and someone was explaining that there was another one as well and the riverbank suddenly seemed full of people, some of whom I recognised and some of whom I didn’t but my mind felt so woolly that I couldn’t decide what was what and when someone started lying me down and lifting my feet in the air, I didn’t complain, I was suddenly immensely cold and I remember thinking that I shouldn’t be cold, that I hadn’t fallen in the river – it was Greg who was cold, he and Biggles – and I remember trying to ask what had happened to them and whether Biggles was going to be OK and someone said, ‘Stop trying to talk, please, Kate. Your friend and the dog will be fine.’ And after that, I must have blacked out.

After that, it was all as you might expect – ambulance, hospital, stitches, blood transfusion – yes, poor old Biggles had nicked an artery – and eventually, home, wonderful home. I wasn’t long in hospital so I didn’t have visitors other than family. I really didn’t want them. I felt absolutely exhausted and I hated the bed, the noise, the food, the lights – and so I was determined to do as much as possible to get myself home as soon as the doctors would let me – and that involved sleeping while they dripped antibiotics into me from a bag. They were worried that I’d get something nasty both from Biggles and the river water so I was going to be on antibiotics for a while – but as soon as they could, they’d have me off the drip, onto tablets and I’d be allowed home. I never realised how much I love my chaotic house, so cosy and comfortable and easy to be in, until I was faced with the misery of being helplessly pushed around by other people in hospital. And there was another thing too. Mum and Dad both insisted that everything was fine. Greg had been checked over in hospital and sent home and Biggles had quickly recovered from his adventure. All the dogs had got home safely – Suzie and her dad had dealt with that. I wasn’t to worry about our new au pair (whose name, incidentally, is Veronique) – she was going to stay with the Petersons for a week instead of me – Mrs Charming could find plenty for her to do. All I had to worry about was getting plenty of rest and recovering as fast as possible. But I knew there was something else – something they weren’t telling me.
I found out what it was the day after I got home. I’d had visits from Chas and Mrs Peterson and Vicky – and Suzie had texted to ask if she could come round later that evening. Ben was being very attentive to my every need – he wanted me in ‘sorting it with Suzie’ mode as soon as was humanly possible. But I hadn’t heard anything from Greg. Well, fair enough. Before the crisis with Biggles, we hadn’t been on the best of terms. And although he was back in school, he must have been feeling pretty rough. I wasn’t really expecting a visit, was I?
Well, yes, I was actually. Of course I was. I’d taken a big part in rescuing his beloved dog. I’d stopped him from panicking, lent him my phone, found the life-belt, held the rope while he played the hero – yes, I was expecting something, a text at the very least. Or even a Get Well Soon card. I don’t want to over-dramatise but I’m told the paramedics did do that thing where they wrap you in foil because you’ve lost so much blood. And I know it wasn’t Biggles fault, he’s a lovely dog and he was just very distressed – but you’d think if your dog had bitten the girl you claim to fancy like mad, you might do something. Even if your head is fuddled by dunking it in the river. So I was surprised and, frankly, a bit naffed off that I’d heard nothing at all.
And then Mum came to talk to me. I knew it was serious by the look on her face. She sat down on the end of the sofa where I was lying watching ‘Friends’.
‘Can we turn this off for a minute?’ she said.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen it before anyway.’
There was silence. I suspected Mum was praying. She’s like that – always putting the odd word in when there’s something big going on.
‘What is it?’ I said. ‘Come on – put me out of my misery. What’s going on?’
Mum took a deep breath and began.