Karsten ran round the corner. He saw her contorted on the ground, and noticed the blood, slick and nearly black. He reached the pram in four steps, grabbed Margrete and held her against his chest. Shouted at Lily to get the car.
‘Go, Lily!’ he shouted. ‘Go!’
She moaned in response. He shouted louder. He roared like a wild animal, and the roar forced her, finally, to act. She rose and ran to the garage. Realised she needed the keys. Continued into the house and found them on a hook in the hallway. Then she was behind the wheel, backing out. With Margrete in his arms, Karsten yanked open the door and got in. He examined her body, looked under the clothes.
‘I think she’s bleeding from the mouth,’ he gasped. ‘I can’t tell. I don’t know how to make it stop! Can’t you drive any faster? Drive faster, Lily!’
Later, neither would remember the drive to the Central Hospital. Karsten had some vague memories of running past the reception desk and pushing open the glass doors. A wild sprint through the corridors with his daughter bleeding in his arms, searching for help. Lily remembered nothing. The world spun so fast it made her dizzy. She ran after Karsten, dashing like a hunted hare that knows the end is near.
They were stopped by two nurses. One of them took Margrete and disappeared through a door. ‘Stay here!’ she shouted.
It was an order.
Then she was gone.
The doors were made of mottled glass, the kind you can’t see through. Here, at the end of the corridor, was a small waiting area, and they sat on separate chairs. There was nothing to say. After a few minutes, Karsten walked to the water cooler by the window. He pulled a paper cup from the machine, filled it and held it out to Lily. She knocked it out of his hand with a scream.