Page 51 of The Alpha Escort Agency
“Grandad, what’s wrong?”
“Rory, is that you.” His grandad speaks loudly into the mouthpiece.
“Yes, it’s me.”
“It’s your grandad.”
“Yes, I know, Grandad. Is something wrong?”
“Nothing to worry about, but your nan’s had a bit of a fall and I’m struggling to get her back up into bed.”
“What?” The box is slipping from his grasp and he drops it to the ground, clasping the phone and holding it closer to his ear. “Where is she now? Is she okay?”
“She’s on the floor and in a bit of pain. Would you come over, Rory?” His voice is full of anxiety and Rory's stomach lurches.
“I’m coming now, Grandad. Right now.” He spins around, takes a pace in one direction and then back to the box. “But you need to call an ambulance.”
“She doesn’t want a fuss. Just get here, would you, lad? See if you can convince her,” the old man says with urgency.
Rory squeezes his temples between his finger and his thumb. “We need to get her checked out. Call the doctor now, okay? I’m on my way over. Put a blanket over her and keep her warm. I’m not far away. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
“Thanks lad.”
Shoving the phone back in his pocket, he grabs the box and sprints to his truck, throwing the photos in the back and speeding away, cursing the slow-moving traffic and leaning heavily on the horn when the car ahead stops mid-road to let a passenger out. He can feel his heart rate increasing, anger bubbling on the surface. He needs to get there. Why can’t these people move?
He blares his horn again, then swings the truck out into the oncoming traffic, overtaking the parked car and swinging back into his own lane, receiving a string of gestures from a car on the other side of the road. He ignores it, slamming down his foot on the accelerator and zooming up the street only to come up behind a bus, crawling along, pausing every few meters at a stop.
He bangs his fists on the steering wheel, and swerves off into a side road, taking the maze of residential streets to reach his grandparent’s place, and swinging into the disabled spot outside their door.
He still has a key. He never usually uses it, not wanting to barge in unannounced, but now he fiddles with it in the keyhole, the adrenaline crashing through his body, making his hands shake. He grips his left with his right and focuses on sliding the metal key into the hole and twisting the lock open, slamming his weight against the door as soon as the lock clicks and rushing down the hallway to their bedroom.
He can hear tiny whimpers and he thinks he might vomit, needing to take a deep breath before he can step inside.
Their bedroom is exactly the same as the one they’d had in the house he’d grown up in. Pink flowery bedspread with matching curtains and bedside tables covered in white doilies. The room is small, not much space around the bed and the one wardrobe, and for a minute he doesn’t spot his grandparents, his nan lying out in the tight space between the bed and the wall, his grandad kneeling down beside her.
“Rory!” the old man says, looking up and then twisting back towards his wife. “It’s Rory, Mary, okay? Rory’s here now.”
“How is she, Grandad?”
There’s a pained sob from the floor and he crouches down beside his grandad. His nan’s eyes are screwed shut, her mouth puckered up and her skin so pale it’s almost translucent.
“Where does it hurt, Nan?” he asks, taking her free hand in his own and stroking the thin skin over her knuckles.
She doesn’t answer, just moans again.
His grandad leans towards him, speaking quietly by his ear. “Doctor said we shouldn’t move her. He’s sending an ambulance. Don’t know how long they’ll be.”
“Is she warm enough?” Rory rests the back of his fingers against her collarbone. “I’m going to get an extra blanket and call the ambulance, see where they are.”
He turns to his grandad, seeing for the first time that his face is equally drained. “You need anything, Grandad?”
“I … I ….”
He’ll make him a cup of tea with a shit-ton of sugar in it to help steady his nerves. It looks like he needs it. Rory could do with one too.
First, he fetches an extra couple of blankets from the airing cupboard in the bathroom and lays them over his nan before he goes to the kitchen to switch on the kettle. It’s barely rumbling when he hears the distant siren, knowing by the way the noise falls and grows that the truck is weaving through the backstreets towards them, and he goes to wait by the front door.
The vehicle swerves into the street, blue lights rotating on its roof, and swoops up onto the pavement. A young man jumps out from the passenger seat with a large pack on his back and Rory waves him over.
