Page 76 of The Cornish Christmas Book Clu
‘Me too,’ Tamara said.
He knew that tone. Arguing would be pointless. Depending on the situation they found, they might need her strength and agility.
They skirted the crowd and picked their way around piles of roof shingles to reach the back of the building. Gage yelled at Rocky through the broken kitchen door.
‘About bloody time. Come and give us a hand, mate. The missus will wonder where I’ve got to. I promised I’d be home after I stuck the turkeys in the oven.’
‘Hang on a minute while we see what’s what.’ He pulled one of the broken boards away to make the hole larger. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘Me right ankle isn’t too good and I’ve had a bit of a bash on the head. Apart from that I’m good. It’s a bugger, though, ‘cause I’m stuck under the table and the thing’s too bloody heavy to lift. If I had a few more muscles, it’d be useful.’
At least the young man’s sense of humour was still intact. ‘Don’t move. I’m coming in.’
‘You want me to try first?’ Tamara said.
‘I think I’ll be okay.’
The tendon around his bad knee protested when he bent his body in half to clamber in. He stopped to assess the situation. The roof was almost completely gone, so the kitchen was covered with roof slates, insulation and broken rafters. The thick dust filling the air made it hard to see. In his mind he mapped out a path and started edging closer to Rocky. He spotted the young chef’s head and could see his red hair was grey with dust.
‘We need to shift the table off you, but I’m not sure if we should try to move you out of here. Might be best to wait for the paramedics.’
‘Don’t be daft, mate.’
‘You could end up paralysed if we’re too hasty.’ He shouted back over his shoulder. ‘Tamara, we need you in here too. Sorry.’
In the old days, he could’ve lifted the stainless-steel table by himself.
‘No problem.’
A touch of envy sneaked in as she picked her way nimbly through the debris, but it was wiped away by admiration for this wonderful woman.
‘We need to lift the table off Rocky and put it over there.’ He pointed to the front wall and the shattered window.
They each grabbed one end and on a count of three, hefted the table into the air. Tamara took an unfair share of the weight, but Gage wasn’t in a position to argue. This was no place for pride.
‘Stay still, Rocky,’ he said firmly. ‘Answer a few questions for me first.’
It was clear Rocky knew who he was, where they were and what’d happened, so concussion shouldn’t be an issue. Gage rattled off some standard questions about whether Rocky had any numbness or tingling in his limbs, any trouble breathing and if he could move his arms and legs. All the answers were negative, and the chef’s only real pain came from the ankle that had caught the brunt of his fall.
‘What do you think?’ Tamara asked.
‘He’s probably fine but—’
With an ominous groan, another rafter crashed inches away from Gage.
‘We need to get out of here now,’ he said decisively.
‘I need a hand up.’ Rocky sounded worried now.
‘I’ll get you.’ Tamara reached across and stuck her hands under the chef’s armpits before heaving him out. ‘I’ll carry him.’ She threw them both a firm look. ‘No offence, Rocky, but you’re hardly a muscle-bound hunk. I’ve single-handedly carried boats that are heavier than you.’
As if the chef weighed no more than a sack of potatoes, she hauled him up in her arms and left Gage to follow behind.
‘Couldn’t you at least let me have a quiet Christmas Day without any patients?’ Judy’s cheerful voice and wide smile were a welcome sight when they reached the door. ‘Next time you can call the emergency GP service. Joke! If you could put Rocky down, I’ll take a look at him.’ She gestured to an old wooden chair Gage recognised from Vernon’s shop.
Tamara did the honours.
‘Mum! Are you hurt?’ Toby ran towards them, his eyes bulging with panic.
