‘We need an ambulance,’ said Pearly urgently. ‘Shit, my phone’s with Helen.’ Stephen took his mobile from his coat pocket and held it out, but Pearly ignored him, and driven by a need for action rushed into the night without saying anything more. He was aware of running in a strangely ungainly manner, but couldn’t break from it. He could hear his own panting, feel the jacket constricting the movement of his arms, see the harlequin lights of the marquees dancing as he ran. Jesus, poor Gumbo. What had happened to him?

The ambulance was able to drive right up to the gym door. It didn’t sound its siren in the school grounds, and people continued to talk and laugh in the tents without knowledge of what had happened. Warwick, Helen, Nancy and Stephen’s wife came over, though, and also Dr Mulvey, a youngish GP quietly shoulder-tapped by the principal. Pearly was relieved when the professionals took control. After examination, Gumbo was carefully placed on a stretcher and put into the ambulance. Dr Mulvey rode with him. The group remaining stood in subdued conversation for a time. Warwick tied the climbing rope back to the wall and said he’d arrange for the gym to be locked. ‘What a hell of a way for the night to end,’ said Stephen Hollister.

He didn’t say anything to blame Pearly, but he must have described the events to his wife because as they left she said to Pearly, ‘You shouldn’t have egged him on, you know.’ It was the truth, but he resented it. What did she know about the long comradeship between the two? What did she really care about what happened except as an incident that she could talk about to others and pronounce judgement on? Pearly didn’t reply to her. No one had much to say: the night had made a sudden change of direction, and they hadn’t caught up with it.

‘I’m going to the hospital,’ he said, and he picked up Gumbo’s shoes with their unevenly worn heels and his jacket, and he and Helen went quickly through the summer darkness to their car. There were still people in the marquees, and Pearly and Helen could hear the voices at a distance and see the lights, dulled through the canvas but bright shafts from the doorways.

‘I think he’s pretty bad,’ said Pearly as Helen drove. He was thinking of Gumbo’s jaw, the ugly way his left leg had been twisted beneath him, the eyes rolled back.

‘He’s in the best place now. They’ll take care of him.’

‘I blame myself. I should’ve stopped him.’

‘He’s an adult,’ said Helen. ‘No one made him do anything. People do silly things all the time and just occasionally something goes wrong.’