Free Ivy Lane: Autumn: by Cathy Bramley Page A

needs adrenalin fast.’ She pulled her phone out of her pocket and began to punch numbers.
    ‘I’d take him,’ said Nigel, ‘but I’ve been drinking.’
    ‘I’ll drive!’ I blurted. I took hold of Dougie’s hand again and squeezed it. I hadn’t been able to do anything for Alf, but there was still time to save Dougie.
    ‘You don’t drive!’ cried Gemma.
    ‘No time,’ said Karen, rolling Dougie into the recovery position, ‘we need an ambulance.’ She stood and turned away as she gave the information to the emergency services.
    ‘I can actually,’ I said in a shaky voice. ‘I just haven’t for a while, that’s all.’ Gemma locked eyes with me and I could see she understood.
    I didn’t drive. But I could. Our car had been a write-off and because I’d never replaced it, it had been easy to avoid driving. For a long time I was too traumatized even to be a passenger in a car.
    I looked back down at Dougie and made a pledge with myself. It was time to get behind the wheel. What if this happened again? What if Gemma went into labour while she was with me? I owed it to myself and to others to be in a better position to help.
    It must have been a quiet night for emergencies that evening because the ambulance reached Ivy Lane in record time. Two paramedics leapt out and within seconds Dougie had been given a shot of adrenalin. Karen had apparently been spot on with her diagnosis. Dougie was lifted onto a stretcher and hoisted into the ambulance. He’d regained consciousness, thank God. According to Christine, he had popped back to his shed to fetch a bottle of scrumpy because he didn’t like the Champagne. I bet he regretted that now. Christine offered to go in the ambulance with him and we stood back as it performed a three-point turn and sped off into the night.
    ‘How did you know, Karen?’ I asked as Shazza wrapped a proud arm around her partner’s shoulders.
    Karen rubbed a weary hand over her face. ‘He once told me he was petrified of wasps because he was allergic to their sting. He normally carries a shot of adrenalin with him, but he must have thought he was safe in October.’
    ‘Wasps are particularly vicious at this time of year,’ said Aidan, stepping towards us. ‘If Dougie stepped on their nest by accident in the fog, they would have gone berserk.’
    ‘Really?’ I said, feeling myself go all fluttery, the nearer he got. ‘Why’s that? I thought they’d all died or hibernated by now.’
    ‘Their queen will have abandoned them, flown off to start a new nest for next spring leaving the remaining worker wasps bereft and without a hierarchy.’ Aidan blew on his hands and tucked them under his armpits.
    ‘They make nests in the ground?’ asked Shazza.
    ‘Yup. And when there’s rotting fruit lying around, they gorge themselves, get drunk and start looking for a fight.’
    ‘Fascinating.’ I gazed at him, wondering how on earth he managed to make the antisocial behaviour of wasps so . . . seductive.
    We locked eyes and grinned foolishly at each other.
Now where were we . . .?
    Our moment had been well and truly ambushed. And it had been going so well. I did a quick mental recap. Oh yes. He’d just done a fantastic job of persuading me that he was an ‘all right guy’ and I’d successfully – I hoped – convinced him that there was nothing going on between Charlie and me. Now if everyone could kindly leave us alone maybe we could pick up where we left off.
    ‘Sounds like Kingsfield on a Saturday night,’ said Charlie with a sniff, joining our little group. ‘Well, that was all very dramatic,’ he said, grabbing me round the shoulders with one arm and planting a kiss on my cheek. ‘Just as well you two were out here, wasn’t it?’
    I tried to edge away discreetly, but Charlie held firm. He looked from Aidan to me. ‘What were you doing out here, by the way?’
    I felt my face heat up as Shazza, Karen, Charlie and Aidan all looked at me. Aidan raised his eyebrows,