Private Lives

‘Dad? What’s the matter? Tell me!’ he said.

Larry had now gone a pallid grey and was clutching at his stomach. Then, quite suddenly, he jerked and retched, spewing vomit over the starched white tablecloth. Someone at the next table let out a scream as he lurched forward in his chair, dropping his glass, which shattered on the floor.

‘Someone call an ambulance,’ shouted Matthew, catching his father under his arms and lowering him awkwardly to the floor. Larry was lifeless now, his eyes rolled up in his head.

‘I think it’s a heart attack,’ said Anna.

‘No shit,’ snapped Matthew. He quickly undid his father’s tie, trying desperately to remember what he’d learned about CPR in Scouts. He leaned down: no heartbeat, no breathing sounds. He had to do something, and do it quick.

I hope I’ve got this right, he panicked, clasping his hands together and raising them above his head.

‘What are you doing?’ gasped Anna.

‘Get out of the way,’ snapped Matthew. With every ounce of strength he punched down on to his father’s chest, smashing his fists on to Larry’s breastbone.

‘He’s killing him!’ screamed a woman’s voice.

But it had worked. Larry jerked on the floor, gasping out a strangled breath, his eyelids flickered and his eyes opened.

‘What can I do?’ said Anna urgently at Matthew’s side.

Larry took Matthew’s hand and gave it a small squeeze.

‘This will do fine,’ he whispered.

‘Okay, the ambulance is two minutes away,’ said Helen, calm and in control. She barked some instructions to the waiters and they moved a table out of the way.

As Helen began organising the restaurant, Matthew knelt, holding his father’s hand which had gone worryingly cold.

Please God, he prayed silently, closing his eyes, I know he’s been a sod, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t take this man just yet.

‘Are you praying?’ said Larry in a small but amused voice. ‘I hope you’re directing it downstairs. I think the big guy’s given up on me.’

‘I haven’t,’ said Matthew. ‘Not quite yet, anyway.’

Although the ambulance was there within minutes, it seemed like an eternity. Finally, the drone of a siren swelled louder and the doors of the restaurant burst open, two paramedics rushing in. Matthew stepped back, trying to work out where the nearest A&E was. UCL in Euston. Ten minutes if the traffic was good, longer if there were the usual London snarl-ups, his mind scrabbling to think of anything except the horrific, horrible scene in front of him, his own father lying on his back, fighting for his life. There were times when Matthew had wished his father dead, but presented with the possibility, he realised how much he would give to prevent that happening.

A wave of loneliness engulfed him. He had lost his mother; he was about to lose his father too.

‘Okay, old son,’ said one of the paramedics, lifting Larry on to a stretcher. ‘We’ll have you out of here in a jiffy.’

How can they be so calm? thought Matt as he followed, feeling stupid and powerless as the stretcher was wheeled out on to the street. He could see Helen and Anna standing outside the restaurant looking grim, obviously expecting the worst.

Larry squeezed his hand again.

‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered.

‘I’m not worried,’ Matthew said, trying to smile. ‘You’re as tough as old boots.’

‘Less of the old,’ said Larry.

As the crew pushed the stretcher into the ambulance, Matthew began to climb in beside it, but the paramedic stopped him.

‘Family only, I’m afraid.’

‘I’m his son,’ said Matthew, looking down at this frail old man. ‘I’m his son.’ And he realised this was the first time he’d wanted to say that in years.

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