Trust Me - Sheryl Browne Page 0,19

Jameson had to be the owner of the email address beginning ‘nja123’. She was one of the female patients Tom had mentioned who had transferred from his list to Jake’s, clearly preferring to disclose her most intimate details along with her anatomy to someone young and good-looking. Recalling how she’d turned up for her last appointment wearing much the same look-at-me outfit she was wearing now, Emily felt her green-eyed monster unfurling dangerously inside her again.

She watched as Natasha pulled herself away from the bridge to head along the road and pick her way precariously down the slope to the riverbank in her high-heeled leather boots. And then laughed in disbelief as, acting more like one of the children she’d squeezed in between than an adult, the woman clapped her hands gleefully and shouted, ‘Oh well done, Jake!’, as if he were herding wild buffalo rather than inanimate plastic ducks.

Feeling miserable and dowdy by comparison, Emily moved from where she was standing on the road just before the bridge. It was possible Natasha wasn’t aware she was here, watching her. Deciding to make sure she realised, she followed her, heading down the slope after her in her unsexy rubber flip-flops.

She was almost at the foot of the slope when her ankle turned over, a sharp squeal of pain escaping her as she pitched helplessly forwards. It was a squeak compared to the shriek Natasha let out as Emily lurched into her, sending her plunging into the icy-cold river.

Assaulted by a petrifying sense of déjà vu, Emily stared, horrified, down at the woman. And then it was as if the world had slowed down, the alarmed cries of those around her receding as she was sucked back to another time, another place, standing waist deep in murky water, another woman frantically thrashing before her; floundering as her muscles cramped and her efforts grew weak. There was someone there. Memories she’d pushed to the deepest recesses of her mind crept back. A figure darting through the foliage.

She heard herself shouting, ‘Help! Help!’ Over and over she shouted, wading further out, mud sucking at her feet, twisted metal tugging at her clothes. Minutes later, minutes lost, she saw someone on the canal bridge. A glimpsed silhouette. A man, backing away. Was he coming down? Why wasn’t he coming down to help? Where was he? ‘Help her! She can’t swim! Please …’ She heard someone screaming, a terrified, heart-jolting scream that came from the soul. Emily wasn’t sure whether it was her. Had it been? Her mind hovered somewhere between then and now. She tried hard to remember, snapped her gaze back to the water.

Natasha. She wasn’t moving.

Emily’s chest constricted with confusion and fear. She wasn’t flailing. She was floating, face down. Seeing the thin trickle of crimson bleeding into the water, a tight lump clogged her throat. She wasn’t conscious. The jagged rocks …

She’d hit her head. Oh dear God! ‘Someone help her!’ she cried, her stomach knotting with panic as the man next to her scrambled into the river. Get her out, Emily prayed silently as another man plunged in after him. Please get her out.

Instinctively she limped forward, her feet teetering on the edge of the bank, and then faltered, relief crashing through her as she realised Jake was there, wading towards the woman. Efficiently he took control, crouching beside Natasha, quickly assessing the situation. Checking the alignment of her body. Emily’s blood froze as she guessed he was checking for spinal damage. A beat later, he moved around to support Natasha’s head.

‘We have to get her out. We need to roll her,’ he said, his face taut, his voice calm. ‘Can one of you take hold of her torso and someone else take her legs?’ He glanced at the men in the water. ‘Ready?’ He checked everyone was in position, then, ‘On my count,’ he said, his face set with grim determination.

A minute later, she was lifted onto the bank. People were milling around, trying to help, getting in the way. ‘Has anyone called an ambulance?’ Jake yelled.

‘On its way,’ Edward answered, stepping forward, and then turned to the gathering crowd. ‘Come on, everybody, let’s move back, shall we? Give the doctor some space,’ he suggested, herding people away as Jake focused on Natasha.

‘Natasha?’ he called, feeling for a pulse. Turning his attention to her face, he scanned it, looking for signs of life, and then brushed her bedraggled hair aside to apply pressure to her ear. The woman didn’t