Finding His Wife, Finding A Son. Marion Lennox

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      And then there’d been his cousin...

      Don’t go there.

      ‘So you’ve always associated love with being needed?’ the psychologist had asked, but it was too close to the bone and Luc had ended the sessions.

      Did he associate dependence with love? There was a germ of truth, he acknowledged, and maybe that’s why he and Beth...

      But this was no time to think of his failed marriage. His pager was still buzzing.

      Don’t run in the hospital.

      His long-legged stride came close.

      * * *

      After the massive roar of the plane, the shock of impact, then the domino effect as the slabs of concrete smashed down around them, there was suddenly silence.

      And then the car alarms started, reacting to the fall of debris.

      Beth was on the ground—at least she thought it was the ground. Her back was hard against a pillar.

      There was rubble all around her, almost head-high.

      Something was across her leg. Something...

      The pain was unbelievable.

      But worse... Toby was silent.

      The air was so thick she could hardly breathe.

      Toby.

      She was still cradling him against her chest. His little body was curved into hers.

      His stillness...

      ‘Toby...’ Her voice came out as a strangled, dust-choked whisper. ‘Toby?’

      And he moved, just a fraction, to bury his face deeper into her breast. A whimper...

       Thank you. Oh, thank you.

      Her hands were moving over him, searching, pushing away rubble.

      No blood. No more whimpers as she ran her fingers over his body.

      She was good at this, assessing in the dark. Too good. But her skill was useful now. Her fingers were telling her there seemed no damage. Her arms had been around his chest and his head. He seemed okay.

      But for herself...

      There was no damage to her hands—maybe scratches but nothing serious. But her leg...

      She tried to pull it free from the rubble, and the pain that shot through her body was indescribable.

      But Toby was her priority. She was wearing a T-shirt, the one she’d changed into in a rush after treating Felix. Somehow she managed to put Toby back from her, enough to wiggle the hem of the T-shirt up to her neck. Then she pulled it down again, all the way over Toby, turning it into a cocoon to protect him from the dust.

      Still he didn’t move. The noise, the shock, the darkness must have sent him into panic and for most toddlers the reaction to blind panic was to freeze.

      ‘It’s okay,’ she whispered, but it wasn’t.

      Breathing seemed almost impossible. Her mouth was full of grit. The dust wasn’t settling.

      Toby was safe under her T-shirt, but what was the rule? In a crisis, first ensure your own safety. You’re no use to anyone if you’re dead.

      Okay, Toby had come first but now she needed to focus on herself.

      The leg... She needed to...

      Breathe. That was top of the list.

      She was cradling Toby with one arm. With the other she groped and found the canvas carryall she’d brought from crèche. The clothes she’d just taken off were in a plastic bag on the top. Maybe they were contaminated with meningitis virus but now wasn’t the time to quibble.

      Oh, her leg...

      Somewhere close by, someone started to scream.

      There was nothing she could do about it.

      First save yourself.

      She’d been wearing a blouse when she’d treated Felix and it was at the top of the bag. She tugged it free and a flurry of concrete rubble fell into the bag as she pulled it out.

      Was there anything around her likely to fall? How could she tell?

      The darkness was total. Her phone had a torch but her phone was at the bottom of her purse and where was her purse? Not within reach.

      No matter. She was used to the dark.

      Toby wasn’t, though. He was whimpering, his little body shaking.

      There was nothing she could do until she had herself safe.

      She had the shirt free. She shook the worst of the dust out, knowing more was settling every second. Then she had to let Toby go while she wrapped and tied the shirt around her face.

      The whimpering grew frantic.

      ‘It’s okay.’ And blessedly it was. The shirt made breathing not easy but at least possible.

      She took a moment to cradle Toby again, hugging him close, blocking out the messages her leg was sending her.

      ‘Stay still, Toby, love,’ she whispered. ‘I need to see if I can get this...this mess away from us so we can go home.’

      Fat chance. She wasn’t going anywhere soon.

      Oh, her leg...

      Was she bleeding? She couldn’t tell and she had to know.

      Carefully she manoeuvred Toby around to her side, though he clutched her so hard she had to tug. Thankfully the neck of her T-shirt was tight so he was safe enough in there. He wasn’t crying loudly—just tiny terrified whimpers that did something to her heart.

      But her leg had priority. With Toby shifted to the side she could lean down and feel.

      There was a block of concrete lying straight across her lower leg. Massive. She couldn’t feel either end of it.

      She was bent almost double, fighting to get her fingers underneath, fighting to see if there was wriggle room.

      Her fingers could just fit under.

      No blood or very little. She wasn’t bleeding out, which was kind of a relief.

      The pain was...was...there were no words.

      She went back to clutching Toby. If she just held on...

      She was awash with nausea and faintness. The darkness, the pain, the fear were almost overwhelming and the temptation was to give in. She could just let go and sink into the darkness.

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