Page 71 of The Wedding Proposal

‘Cool!’ breathed Kayleigh.

But Lucas was definitely unimpressed. ‘Charlie! Save it for a rail that isn’t over a ten-foot drop into water.’

‘Chill, Luke-arse, it’s easy. Left hand, left leg, right leg, right hand, left leg, right leg.’ Charlie demonstrated the move again, scissoring his long legs in a serious of flowing movements, over-over, twist, over-over, his boyish grin wide as Kayleigh burst into applause.

‘Charlie, you’ve had a lot to drink,’ began Elle.

‘Don’t be an idiot.’ Lucas started to get to his feet.

Charlie swung his left leg back for impetus and began the move for a third time. The left hand, left leg, right leg sequence went to plan. But something happened. Whether he hesitated or his hand caught on the gleaming chrome rail, Elle wasn’t sure. But somehow Charlie’s weight shifted and instead of revolving neatly in one place in the air, he wobbled and began to tip forward. His left hand released the guardrail on schedule but the catching hand, his right, flailed uselessly, inches adrift from its target.

For an agonised instant, Charlie hung in thin air.

He disappeared into the darkness with a yell. Crash! A splash. Then silence.

‘You fuckhead,’ bellowed Lucas. He wasted no time peering over the rail but raced to the steps, scrambling and sliding his way down, shouting over his shoulder, ‘Get ready to phone the emergency services! We’ll probably need an ambulance.’

Where was her phone? Their cabin. Elle had to force herself to start moving in Lucas’s wake but once down the steps her legs wanted to run, to move as fast as they possibly could. She flew through the saloon, jumped down the steps, bolted into the cabin and swooped on her phone. Spinning to reverse her route, she sprinted to the gangplank and onto the quayside. ‘Lucas?’ She couldn’t see him but could hear splashing from the black water. ‘Lucas!’

He didn’t answer.

Her heart thumped into the pit of her stomach.

She began to dial 999 but then stopped. She wasn’t in the UK and 999 wouldn’t work. What was the emergency services number in Malta? Joseph had ensured that she knew it but the shock of seeing Charlie vanishing helplessly overboard, and now Lucas out there battling the dark water, had wiped her memory. Whirling, she darted towards a Maltese woman who was approaching the line of cars on the marina access road. ‘Please, what’s the phone number for the ambulance?’

The woman put her hand to her heart and took a step back, as if fearful that Elle intended to mug her.

‘Please, I can’t remember the number!’

The woman frowned, probably mentally translating. ‘Er, one, one and two.’

‘Yes, 112!’ Elle stabbed at the buttons. In seconds a voice answered in Maltese. ‘Ambulance!’ she shouted. Instantly, the operative switched to English but Elle didn’t wait to hear the rest: she shoved the phone at the woman. ‘My friend has fallen off a boat. Please make them come quickly. He’s in the water and I have to see if I can help.’

Without waiting to see if the woman minded her services being commandeered, Elle pelted back to the edge of the quay. The sea between the Shady Lady and Fallen Star was unlit, but, with a heart thud, she thought she could see a hand trying to get a grip on one of the boat’s white fenders. Relief flooded through her when she realised that she could hear his voice, too, low and indistinct, but with calm and authority. ‘Someone’s getting help, Lucas,’ she shouted, hoping he’d be able to hear.

Kayleigh finally caught up with Elle, trembling her way over the gangplank like an old woman. ‘Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God, Charlie.’

From the shadowed water came a groan like that of an arthritic old dog.

‘What should I do, Lucas?’ Elle shouted, trying to keep panic from her voice. ‘Is he hurt? I called the emergency services and a lady’s giving them the details.’

But Lucas didn’t waste energy on a reply. The sound of his swimming neared slightly and Elle, with a sickening roll of her stomach, realised he was hampered by lack of space between the two hulls, grabbing at fenders and saving his breath for saving his brother. What she’d considered small movements of the boats on the swell suddenly seemed like looming threats, as if the boats might jostle together and crush Lucas and Charlie at any moment.

Recovering her faculties, she swung around. The quayside was a busy area. There must be help nearby.

A family strolled towards her from the gardens, several men watched the television at the kiosk. She sucked in all the breath she could muster. ‘HELP US!’ she bellowed with the full force of her lungs. ‘A MAN IS HURT AND IN THE WATER AND WE NEED HELP GETTING HIM OUT.’

She was vaguely aware of people beginning to run from the kiosk and from other boats. The lady with Elle’s phone spoke more rapidly to the unseen operative in Maltese, no doubt reporting what she saw.

As men began to reach the scene, Lucas finally came into sight, on his back in the traditional lifesaving position, swimming with one arm and towing Charlie along, moving slowly but steadily in the confined space.

Elle croaked, ‘We’ve got help to get him out of the water.’ Then she found herself surrounded by men, jostling for position, giving instructions, making suggestions, some in Maltese but also in English. ‘Is he breathing? Shouldn’t you be giving him air?’

Lucas didn’t relinquish control. He trod water as he caught his breath, keeping Charlie’s head above water while he assessed the crowd on the shore. ‘He wasn’t under long but he’s unconscious and he’s banged his head so I’m not taking any chances with his spine. Who’s on to the emergency services? Tell them we need an ambulance. Tell them that he’s weak and barely responsive. He’s received a head injury. No way of telling about spine. He’s breathing without help.’

‘Yes, yes, I tell them,’ called the woman with the phone.

‘In these temperatures he’s not going to get hypothermia in the next few minutes, even if he’s in shock, so I want to stabilise his spine before we get him out. I need something flat and firm to put under him.’

---