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CHAPTER 24

Frieda is bleeding heavily on the ground. There is so much blood that it flavours the air around me and I taste its metallic undertones on my tongue.

The clarity of a whirring siren slices through the chaos and reaches crescendo. At first I think it's my imagination – but it's far too piercing, too realistic to be a matter of figment – it's real and it's bleeding louder in my ears until it is right behind me. Shuffles sound. Commotion, questions, and then I watch as paramedics shift Frieda's dead weight onto a stretcher. In my mind, I hear myself talking and begging but I hear no words emerge.

For a moment I forget Reece is nearby until I feel his warm grasp cradle my hand. He leads me blindly to a vehicle that speeds to the high road in a matter of minutes. I have no idea what he is saying and have no idea how I am responding. All I know is that his touch is grounding me to reality and keeps me company in the cab that drives us to the hospital. Traffic catches up with us so by the time we are at the hospital – Frieda has already been whisked to theatre for emergency surgery.

Something is wrong with the baby.

I pace in front of Reece for what feels like hours before a doctor finds us, tells us only one of us can see Frieda at a time. Of course I volunteer and Reece stays in the waiting area as I am led to the ICU. I venture behind the curtain that incubates Frieda view to see her body lying remarkably still, hooked up to machines and wires. She looks dead though the doctor assures me she is alive and stable, the regular beep of her heart rate on the ECG is confirmation of that. I am told nothing about the baby's welfare but I am promised hope: the fact Frieda was nearly in her third trimester means there is the slightest chance the baby could survive. In truth I know that the prognosis is just as dim as this doctor's affect, as the darkening sky.

The area of the hospital is isolated enough so we weren't the spectacle of other patients and their relatives. Unlike everyone else, Frieda has no next of kin to comfort her. I am the only one here.

I blindly sit in the plastic chair in the corner of her room, fearing that if I draw too close I will see the swelling pool of blood that leaked from her though I know she has been cleaned up. Still unconscious I watch her motionless body lie for what feels like ages. Though I am tired I don't sleep, thoughts of Frieda's vomiting, bleeding body blight even my wake eye. There is no change in her condition for the hour duration I am there and I can't help but feel guilt. After weeks of watching over her day and night, making sure she didn't drink or smoke or do anything reckless I'd relented. In my need to see Damon and Reece I'd slipped up on my duties of caregiver and left her to her own devices: she couldn't restrain herself from the temptation of alcohol and drugs despite her insistence that she could.

It's so hard to see her like this that I make an effort to keep an eye out for a doctor. Visiting hours are soon over and so I must leave anyway. On the way to another patient I flag the bustling doctor down and I am met with a hand to signal five minutes. I wait for ten and am immediately met with a sorrowful expression when I ask for an update.

"We're doing all we can."

The premature birth and other benefactors meant the baby was clinging to life by the thinnest of threads.

It takes all the strength within me not to look at Frieda's motionless body accusingly. I know this had been her plan all along – to induce a miscarriage and end her own pregnancy. For whatever reason she didn't want to pay for it so she'd taken matters into her own hands and went on a rampage of self-destruction. Booze, smoking, the lot.

She never wanted the baby in the first place.

I storm to the waiting room to breathe and nearly collapse when I see Tasha sitting alongside Reece like it's the most normal thing in the world. The breath I was looking for is quickly taken away from me and suddenly I feel like I am in need of medical attention. If I was white you'd have seen the blood drain from my face.