‘The patient’s name is Joel.’ Tim speaks now, his voice imitating the calm tones the paramedic used. ‘He’s seventeen. On his way to being a pro footballer with the Dolphins. At least, he was.’

The man flinches. ‘Right. My name’s Roger. Who are you?’

‘Tim.’

‘All right then, Tim. I will take over after the next fifteen compressions. My colleague Jeff is coming with a defibrillator from the ambulance. You’ve done a brilliant job.’

Roger shoots me an impatient glance as he pushes in between me and Tim. I shuffle backwards as the paramedic takes over. Tim looks shell-shocked, even though he’s done less than a minute of CPR. I did ten, or longer.

A hand reaches for mine, steadying, pulling me up.

‘Is he going to be all right?’ Ant’s hand is strong but his voice is small. ‘Kerry?’

I’m surprised he remembers my real name, after years of calling me nasty nicknames. ‘I hope so.’

Ant is still looking at me, but his hand has dropped to his side. ‘What were you doing to him? I feel like I’m in an episode of Casualty.’

‘I was . . .’ It seems unbelievable already, what I just did. ‘I was making sure Joel’s blood kept circulating. To keep the oxygen reaching his brain.’

Ant nods. ‘On telly, they wake up. Why hasn’t he woken up?’

My hands are starting to shake. The paramedic continues CPR. A second crew member runs towards Joel’s prone body, carrying a bulky bag.

‘The cardiopulmonary resuscitation can’t wake anyone on its own.’ Tim brushes his hands against his jeans. ‘They need to shock his heart back into the correct rhythm, using a defibrillator.’

I don’t think Ant will have understood Tim’s answer.

‘Everyone move back, please,’ one of the ambulance men calls out.

‘You heard them!’ Tim shouts, shooing the other kids away.

‘How did you know to do that?’ Ant asks me, shaking his head.

‘I do first aid. For a hobby. Tim and I both do.’

‘Weird hobby.’

I hear an electronic beeping, followed by a robotic female voice. There’s a gap where the other kids have broken the circle and I move so I can see Joel again.

Analysing . . . analysing.

Shock advised.

Stand clear.

It’s impossible not to look. Will this work? If it doesn’t, am I to blame?

Joel’s body buckles upwards from the grass as the shock is delivered. How many thousand volts is it? They told us in cadets. It’s enough to create movement where there was none. As he crashes back down to the floor, I hold my breath.

Analysing . . . analysing.

Shock advised.

It hasn’t worked. Joel is still dead.

For the first time, I hear sirens. They must have sounded before, but I was too preoccupied to hear them. A second ambulance and a police car mount the pavement and drive across the grass towards us.

Stand clear.