Who on earth was he?

There was no time to ask. All she could do was move with him, fitting a proper mouthpiece now the trolley was here. Normally she wouldn’t have tried to breathe into a patient without a mouthpiece, but Charlie was special. Charlie was her friend.

Charlie…

She had to stay professional. There was no room for emotion if they were to save the old man’s life. With the mouthpiece fitted, she gave him four more quick breaths, then the deep voice cut in.

‘Move back. Now.’

He shifted away. She did too, and then it was the stranger’s hands that fitted the paddles over Charlie’s bare chest. He knew exactly what he was doing, and she could only be thankful.

Please…

The charge hit and Charlie’s body jerked in convulsion. Nothing. They both stared at the trace. It showed no heart activity at all.

They must keep trying! Em gave him four more deep breaths. Then…

‘Back again.’

The stranger’s hands brought the paddles down once more. A jerk-yet still the trace showed nothing.

She breathed for the old man again. Over and over. Still nothing.

And finally Em sat back on her heels and closed her eyes. ‘Enough,’ she whispered. ‘He’s gone.’

There was absolute silence.

Amy, standing behind them in white-faced horror, drew in her breath and started to cry, her tears streaming silently down her face. She was too young for this, Em thought wearily. And, aged all of twenty-nine, Em felt suddenly far too old. She rose stiffly to her feet and crossed to give her receptionist a hug.

‘Come on, Amy. This is OK. Charlie wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.’

That, at least, was the truth. Charlie lived and breathed for Bay Beach gossip. He was eighty-nine, he’d known he’d had a dicky heart for years, and to go out dramatically in the doctor’s waiting room, rather than by himself at home, was just the sort of ending he’d think fitting.