Page 82 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
‘Dad? Daddy speak to me!’
He looked at her calmly. ‘I’m all right, I’m all right.’
She wept with relief and put her arms about him. He moaned. She leant back, her arms sticky. She was covered in his blood. Jay was there beside her, pulling her away.
‘He needs me.’ She fought him off. ‘He’s bleeding.’
Jay began shouting orders. He pulled off his turban and attempted to wrap it around Wesley’s gaping stomach, retching as he did so. Adela could think of nothing to do but hold her father’s hand.
‘You’re going to be fine, Dad.’
As they waited for the men to bring a makeshift stretcher of poles and torn-up clothing, she felt his grip weaken. Her shoulder burned with pain.
‘Send to the camp for help,’ she cried.
‘I’ve already done that,’ Jay said, his eyes dark with horror in the moonlight.
The pole bearers ran with Wesley along the dried-up riverbed, Adela keeping up. She could hear his groans as they bumped and jolted him in their haste.Please, God, let him live!She repeated the words in her head like a mantra. A few minutes from camp, Rafi came out at the head of a rescue party. She ran to him.
‘Help him! He’s lost so much blood,’ she sobbed.
Rafi put his arm about her and steered her back to camp. As soon as he saw the extent of Wesley’s injuries, Rafi took control. ‘The nearest doctor is at the mission hospital an hour away. I’ll drive him there myself.’
‘And I’ll come with you,’ Adela insisted.
The Raja hovered anxiously, his face haggard. ‘How did it happen? Tigers don’t attack elephants. The tigress must have been maddened. Your poor father. So brave to take it on.’
Jay steered Kishan out of the way. ‘Let them go, Uncle. They mustn’t waste a minute.’
Adela half hoped that Jay would offer to go with her, but he didn’t; the Raja sent one of his guards to help.
‘Please can someone fetch my mother,’ Adela pleaded as they laid Wesley on the back seat of one of the Raja’s cars and she climbed in beside him.
‘Of course,’ the Raja promised.
She glanced back, but couldn’t read Jay’s expression. Her last sight of the camp was of workers scraping flesh from the hide of the first tiger by torchlight. She ground her teeth to stop herself being sick.
As they rattled along the track, Adela crouched on the floor, gripping her father’s hand and forcing back tears. The temporary dressings they had hastily bound on top of Jay’s turban were already soaked in blood. The putrid sweet smell of her father’s gored innards made Adela want to vomit.
‘You’re going to be okay, Dad, you’re going to be okay. The doctor will fix your wounds. He’ll make you better.’
He stared at her. She stroked back his hair; his forehead was clammy. Before they left the rutted tracks for the asphalt road, he was shaking uncontrollably.
‘I think he’s in shock,’ Adela hissed at Rafi. ‘He’s cold and shivering.’
Rafi accelerated, bouncing them roughly. Wesley didn’t groan. ‘Talk to him,’ Rafi urged. ‘Keep him conscious.’
Adela gabbled at her father, talking about anything she could think of: his plans for the tea garden; whether they should get another dog; what she could bring back from England for Harry’s fifth birthday.
Abruptly Wesley struggled to sit up. His eyes were clouded with pain. He sank back with an agonised groan.
‘Don’t try to move, Dad,’ Adela said, a hand on his shoulder. ‘We’re taking you to the mission doctor. You’re going to be fine.’
She picked up his limp hand and pressed it to her cheek. ‘I love you,’ she whispered. ‘I love you very much. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.’
Reaching the surfaced road, Rafi turned the car uphill towards the mission, revving the engine hard.
Wesley murmured something so faint that Adela thought it might just be a laboured breath.
