Free Christmas Wishes by Katie Flynn Page A

noticed, for the first time, that her knees and the palms of her hands were covered in blood.
    She and Joy had attended First Aid classes at the village school, but now that she could have done with their advice she could recall nothing about injuries caused by glass. All she could remember was that in some circumstances it was dangerous to move an injured person. She stood up and, after another look at her sister, dragged the patchwork quilt from the nearest bed, which happened to be Joy’s, and tucked it round the inanimate form. She remembered something about hot drinks for shock and gently smoothed a hand across her sister’s cheek, hoping to bring her round, but Joy neither moved nor spoke, and looked so ghastly that Gillian’s fear redoubled. She must get help, she must ! The old lady would undoubtedly do her best, but she had not come right into the room, could not possibly realise the extent of Joy’s injuries.
    The neighbours on the other side of No. 77 were old and would be little help in an emergency, Gillian thought, but further down the road there was sensible Mrs Clarke, and further still Mrs Finnigan, whose eldest daughter was training to be a nurse; she might know what to do. Yet suppose Joy comes round and finds herself alone and tries to come downstairs, or simply gets into bed, pressing the glass even further into the cuts, Gillian asked herself. Oh, I must do something, I can’t just sit here while Joy bleeds to death! I remember reading in a novel once that pressure stops bleeding, but I dare not press on any of Joy’s cuts because of the glass.
    Irresolute, she hovered in the doorway and was just turning to descend the stairs, deciding that she would simply go into the street and knock at any house which had a light showing, when she heard the sound of an ambulance approaching, its bell ringing loudly.
    Gillian could not have said how she got down the stairs. She simply found herself outside the front door, with the sleet lashing her face and the wind seizing her tangled curls and whipping her white winceyette nightgown up above her knees. Two uniformed men came towards her and she saw Mrs Lubbock’s fat, nightgowned figure approaching at a run from the direction of the telephone box. The foremost man caught hold of her arm and lowered his head until his mouth was on a level with her ear. ‘What happened?’ he asked, pushing her into No. 77 ahead of him. ‘Something about window glass … it’s to be hoped, young woman, that you’ve not called us out because your window’s broke.’
    Gillian jerked her thumb in the direction of the stairs and the men began to mount them, Gillian close on their heels. ‘Our dad’s a fireman; he’s answering a shout,’ she said briefly. ‘Me sister heard the bells go down and opened the window to wave to the fellers, only the wind caught it …’
    They reached the landing and in the dim light from the small electric bulb, which was all Alex considered necessary in the bedrooms, the two ambulance men took in the scene at a glance. The foremost sucked in his breath, then turned to Gillian. ‘Fetch a brush and dustpan,’ he ordered. ‘Bring them to the door here, then get yourself some warm clothing – got any slippers? Good. Put them on and stay out of our way whilst we take a closer look’ – he gestured to Joy’s motionless form – ‘at your sister.’
    Infinitely relieved by their mere presence, Gillian nodded meekly, took her dressing gown from the back of the door and scuffed her feet into her slippers. Then she went downstairs but did not immediately fetch the brush and dustpan the ambulance man had demanded. First, she went into the kitchen and opened the front of the stove, riddling it briskly until the fire, which had been little more than a smouldering lump of coals, burst into flame. Then she put the kettle over the heat and went out of the kitchen, up the hallway and out on to the pavement. As she had guessed, Mrs Lubbock was standing