Two Kinds Of Truth(55)

“We need to loosen his shirt and trousers,” I say, reaching over him.

“Do ye know what to do,” Jamie asks, and I glance up to read his expression. He’s scared, just as I am.

“No, not really,” I confess. “But I did live with a foster family once who had an elderly grandmother with a history of heart problems.”

“I’m not dead yet,” granda finally rasps.

“I’m glad to hear it,” I say, unfastening his shirt buttons and pulling open the collar. “And, I’d like you to stay that way if you don’t mind.”

He tries to laugh but breaks out into a coughing fit. I unclip the belt on his trousers.

“Calm yourself and take a deep breath,” I say. “Tell me: did the doctor say you suffered from Angina?” to which he nods.

“Och, why didn’t ye tell me?” Jamie roars. “Ye shouldnae have kept something so serious to yourself.”

I give him a hard stare. “Not now, Jamie. Just go and fetch a glass of water, please,” and I turn back to face the old man as Jamie heads over to the sink, from where I hear the gurgle of running water.

I squeeze Alasdair’s hand. “Think. Did the doctor give you a spray or something to help overcome these attacks?”

Again, granda nods, and I instinctively thrust my hand inside his trouser pockets. My fingers fight through curled up pieces of twine and round sticky objects that make me squirm. I search thoroughly, but there’s no spray.

I try to quell the panic that’s rising in the pit of my stomach by taking a deep breath.

“Where did you put it?” I ask.

“Maybe it’s by my bed?” he rasps.

“Jamie!” I say, and he rushes over, thrusts a glass of water into my hand and dashes out through the kitchen door. I hear his boots on the stairs as I offer Alasdair the water, which he guzzles down, but it feels like an eternity before Jamie returns.

He slaps a red and white bottle into the palm of my hand and I quickly read the instructions, then rip off the cap. Alasdair opens his mouth and I press two squirts under his tongue.

Alasdair lets out a long sigh.

“Does that feel better?” I ask, but when he shakes his head, my eyes fix firmly on Jamie. “I think we may need aspirin. Do you have any?”

Jamie nods. “Aye, somewhere.”

“Then find it!”

He doesn’t hesitate and rushes over to the kitchen cupboards, opening and banging shut several doors in his search of the tablets.

“Here,” he eventually says and throws a small glass bottle towards me. I catch it and unscrew the cap, taking out a white tablet.

“The spray should have worked by now,” I explain. “I’ll have to give him the aspirin, but then we must get him straight to hospital.”

When I look back at Alasdair, I can see by the colour of his skin that he’s deteriorating. “Go and bring the car around to the door,” I say, “we need to get him there immediately.”

Jamie dives out of the kitchen. My attention remains with Alasdair. “Please, take the aspirin,” I urge, and I wait for him to open his mouth again. I press the tablet onto his tongue and he sips the last of the water.

“Don’t go to sleep,” I urge. “Jamie will be back with the car at any moment.”

There’s a rustle of noise and Jamie bursts into the room.

“The car’s outside,” he tells me.

“Good. Come on, granda, let’s get you out of this chair,” and I place a hand under his arm, to support him, but in a flash, Jamie gently pushes me aside and lifts granda into his arms, as though he weighs little more than a feather.

“Get the car door open,” he says, and I nod and dash outside and pull open the back door, Jamie close behind. He gently lays Alasdair onto the back seat and I slam the door once I’ve checked he’s comfortable, then run around to the other side and climb in next to him. There’s a tartan blanket on the floor, which I quickly unfold and place across his knees and up to his chest. Once I’ve fastened my seat belt I glance across to see granda’s closed his eyes. He lets out a sigh.

“Alasdair, wake up,” I say, giving him a gentle shake. “Please, don’t go to sleep.”

Jamie hits the accelerator and the car lurches forward. He spins the vehicle around and speeds off down the drive.

“Oh, my God. I think he’s unconscious,” I rasp, and Jamie presses the accelerator even harder.

“Is he still breathing?” he asks as we hit the main road. I stare at him through the rear-view mirror. His eyes are round with fear. I lick my lips, nervously.

“Maddie, are ye listening to me?”

I unfasten my seat belt and slide closer to Alasdair. Stroking his silver hair aside, I put my ear close to his lips, but then shake my head. “It’s no use. I can’t tell over the noise of the engine,” I cry out.

“Then take his pulse,” Jamie urges.

I lift his hand out from beneath the blanket. His wrist is limp and his pulse is weak when I find it, then a sob escapes my lips. “I think we’re going to lose him,” I cry.

“No, not if I’ve anything to do with it,” Jamie affirms. “The hospital isnae far. It’s just a few minutes away.”

He takes a sharp left and zig-zags around several parked cars, the hospital gates looming up ahead and the sign for A&E. He drives over the speedbumps, the exhaust scraping across their humps, hits the brakes, snaps on the handbrake, and jumps out of the car. He heads straight for Alasdair as I get out and dash around the car to help him.