‘But what about . . . when they arrive?’ She’s panting now. ‘How do I open the front door?’

I remember how lonely it feels, to know you’re the only one keeping someone alive.

‘Run – safely – to the door then go back to your dad to restart compressions immediately. They’re pulling up outside. One and two and three and four . . .’

A musical doorbell rings in the background: an Abba song. ‘Take a Chance on Me.’

Jane takes the phone with her and I hear her tell the crew, ‘Please. Don’t let him die,’ before she resumes her counting, one and two and three and four, and then one of the crew says, ‘We’ll take over CPR, love.’

‘Jane?’ I say, softer now that I don’t have to help pace her compressions. ‘I’ll leave you with the crew, OK?’

‘But . . . what am I meant to do now?’

‘You’ve done brilliantly. You’ve given your father the very best chance. Take care.’

‘Bye . . .’ Even though there are now two people with her, and more on the way, she sounds more alone than before.

I end the call, and exhale. My colleague nods: he knows about the comedown. ‘Textbook, Kerry. Nice work. We’re not that manic, so take a couple of minutes.’

I shake my head. ‘I’d rather get on to the next thing.’

He shrugs. ‘Your call.’

An hour later, the dispatcher comes over to my station. She’s smiling. ‘They got return of spontaneous circulation on your arrest, second time with the defib.’

‘Mr Purcell?’

She nods. ‘Woke up, too. Looks like he’s fully compos mentis. You did it.’

Jane did it. ‘That’s my first ROSC.’

‘You know how rare it is. Girl done well. He’s gone straight into the cath lab, they think the arrest was caused by a heart attack.’

The rest of the shift flashes by. The feeling is back, the one from after Joel woke up, that euphoria. Even though I never touched Mr Purcell, will almost certainly never see his face, I helped his daughter to save his life.

I can smell bacon frying as I walk up the path. When I let myself in, Tim appears in the joke apron my mum bought him for Christmas, with a six-pack torso and skimpy lifeguard shorts printed on the plastic. The radio is on; Kylie sings, ‘Can’t get you out of my head . . .’

‘One egg or two?’

‘Two. I helped get someone back last night, Tim. ROSC in under ten minutes.’

He comes closer, and gives me a bear hug. I can smell fresh coffee on his breath. ‘You’re getting an extra rasher of bacon for that.’