City Surgeon, Small Town Miracle

CHAPTER SEVEN

SHE was right. He needed to move on.

He didn’t hear from her for six weeks. He put her right from his mind. Or he tried to.

Work was his salvation but he extended his operating schedule to the point where Anton, his anaesthetist, finally said cull it or find a second anaesthetist to share the load.

‘That break was supposed to do you good,’ he said morosely. ‘Instead you’ve come back ready to work the rest of us into the ground. You know what? We were hoping you and Fiona might have worked something out. You could both do with a love life.’

‘I don’t want a love life,’ he growled.

‘But you need one,’ Anton said bluntly. Anton had a wife, a three-year-old and one-year-old twins, he was permanently sleep deprived and he thought the rest of the world should join him in his glorious domestic muddle. ‘A good woman and half a dozen kids would take the edge off your energy and protect us all.’

‘You do the procreating for both of us,’ Max growled. ‘You’re good at it. I’m not.’

‘Practice, man. Just find the right lady. I’ll admit Fiona’s not perfect-I can’t see the chief radiologist of Sydney South having much time for diapers-but there must be someone to suit you somewhere.’

There was, Max thought grimly. He’d found her. He just didn’t have the courage to take it further-to step into the abyss of commitment.

So he’d stay clear of entanglement and he’d work.

But like it or not, as he worked he realised he was feeling the same roller-coaster of emotions he had felt in the months after he’d lost Alice. There was an abyss in front of him, only he didn’t know where. If he put his foot down he wasn’t sure the ground would still be solid. The feeling left him even more sure that the only way forward was to keep right away from Maggie.

But his thoughts weren’t staying away from Maggie. A dozen times a day he wanted to get in his car and go to her. Only the fact that his workload was horrendous saved him. He was always needed in Theatre, in the wards, in his consulting rooms.

The situation wasn’t sustainable. He’d thought the inexplicable magnetic attraction he’d felt for her would fade but if anything it strengthened. And then, at the end of the sixth week, he had a phone call from John at the farm.

‘How’s Maggie?’ he demanded before he could help himself.

‘We’re all fine,’ John said jovially. ‘It’s working out brilliantly. There’s so much work here, and it’s a great little community. But, hell, Max, the place is the epicentre of a medical desert. I’m run off my legs already, and the moment Margaret put up her plate she had so many teeth coming through her door she was tempted to take it down again.’

‘Yeah, but Maggie…’

‘She’s fine, too. Except…That’s why I’m ringing.’

‘Except what?’ He was right back there again, feeling the terror he’d felt when Alice had shown the first signs of pre-eclampsia. Leaning against the wall for support. Knowing this was illogical and emotional, but there was nothing he could do about it.

‘Margaret’s worrying.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she’s alone,’ he said, and Max’s world righted itself again. Alone. That wasn’t terrifying.

It wasn’t great, though. Alone? Why the hell was she alone?

‘She can’t have the baby here,’ John said. ‘The only doctor’s me, and I’m not prepared to give obstetric support without back-up. All the women from around here need to go to the city to have their babies. Mind, if we had a really good obstetrician…’

‘Get on with it,’ Max growled. Damn, he’d sussed John was good, but he didn’t appreciate him being this good-not only helping Maggie but starting to put pressure on others to help. Namely him.

‘Okay,’ John said, chuckling, and Max thought briefly through jumbled emotion that Zimbabwe’s loss was Maggie’s gain. ‘It’s just Maggie’s organised herself an apartment at Coogee for the next couple of weeks until she has the baby. She chose Coogee because it’s a beach location where she can walk and swim, and it’s close to the hospital she’s booked into. Which also happens to be our hospital. I mean, your hospital.’

Coogee. A suburb of Sydney not ten minutes’ drive from where he was taking this call. Max drew in his breath, suddenly feeling trapped-pulled towards the abyss. ‘She’s coming here?’

‘She’s already there. She left on Sunday. So I thought I’d give you a heads up so you could look out for her.’

The implied responsibility rattled him further. ‘She’s not a friend, John,’ he said, before he could think about it, and there was a moment’s stunned silence from the end of the phone. He could almost see John’s brows snap down in surprise-and disapproval.

Fair enough. Maybe he even disapproved of himself.

Maybe what he’d said had been stupid. And cruel?

But would Maggie think of him as her friend? Maybe not, he conceded. She’d been so angry the last time he’d seen her…

‘She’s my friend,’ John said at last, gently chiding, and Max caught himself.

‘Sorry. I mean…I was just thinking…Why did she book herself in here for the birth? There are many hospitals in Sydney.’

‘I believe she booked herself into Sydney South before she even came to Australia,’ John said, growing more disapproving by the moment. ‘I don’t believe she did it to annoy you. But if you don’t think of yourself as her friend…’

‘I do.’ He raked his fingers through his hair. ‘Sorry, of course, I mean I guess I do. It’s just that I hardly know her.’

‘You came to her grandmother’s funeral. The locals said you held her up all afternoon. Physically.’

‘She needed holding up.’

‘Well, maybe she needs holding up again now,’ John said brusquely. ‘She’s left here and gone to stay in a hotel apartment until the baby’s born. She doesn’t know anyone in Sydney and we’re worried. So worried, in fact, that Margaret says if you won’t promise to keep an eye on her then she’ll leave me here with the kids and go and keep her company herself. So I’m asking you to check on her.’

‘She’ll want solitude,’ he said, clutching at straws.

‘You’re kidding me, right?’ John demanded. ‘She’s not like Angus. She’s a sociable, chirpy, intelligent colleague. The girls and I are already half in love with her. We can’t bear to think of her being alone. But if, as you say, you don’t see yourself as her friend…’

‘All right,’ he said, goaded, and then heard himself, heard his anger, and felt small. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve had one hell of a morning. I’m run off my feet.’

‘Yeah, I’m hearing that, too,’ John said. ‘So why are you running yourself into the ground?’

‘There’s work…’

‘And there’s delegation,’ John said. ‘You ever heard of it? Yeah, I know, it’s none of my business, only Margaret and I worked in that place ourselves and gossip travels fast. We still hear things. So you met Maggie, you hugged her all through the funeral but you haven’t phoned her since, you’re working yourself into the ground and now you react like a scared wimp when I suggest you keep tabs on her.’

‘Why would I be scared?’

‘You tell us and we’ll both know,’ John said cheerfully. ‘Okay. Margaret wouldn’t let her go without giving us her address. You want it, or do we have to figure some other way of taking care of her?’

Max raked his hair again. Did he want her address?

Short answer, no.

Long answer? Long and very complicated answer?

Of course he did. Yes.

The beach was glorious and she had it almost to herself.

It was early September. There were lifesavers watching her with lazy care, and she liked that. She also liked it that she was almost the only one in the water apart from a couple of German tourists whooping it up in the shallows.

It was Wednesday. A working day. Even those not at work thought it was too cool to swim. Too bad for them, she thought, backstroking lazily along the backs of the waves. She’d swum this morning and now, in the late afternoon, she was swimming again. After the rush of the past few months this was bliss. She had nothing to do but swim and float and watch the expanding bump that was her daughter.

She was so-o-o pregnant. Her belly button had turned inside out. She felt the size of a small whale. A whale’s natural environment was water, she thought, rolling happily over and over in the surf. This was where she was meant to be. Wallowing.

Ooh, it was lovely to be off her feet. Ooh, it was lovely to be here, even if she was alone.

She wouldn’t be alone for long, she told herself. She had a week to go, give or take a few days. Very soon now she’d have her daughter.

It wouldn’t stop her being lonely.

Now, that was crazy talk. She gave herself a mental scolding, as she’d been doing a lot since she’d left the farm. She wasn’t alone in the least.

John and his family had moved into the farmhouse. They were lovely and they were giving her all the support she needed. Angus was happy, with his tractors and his calves and his dog. So she had John, Margaret, Sophie, Paula and Angus, plus the community of Yandilagong. After Betty’s funeral she’d learned just what belonging to a small community really meant. She had enough tuna casseroles and jelly cakes and cream sponges in her freezer to last her a lifetime.

Her future looked far less isolated and a lot more calorie laden than she’d ever dreamed possible.

So why was she lonely?

It’s because I’m alone right now, she told herself, in the manner of one talking to someone being deliberately dullwitted. Lonely means alone.

You’ve been alone since William died.

I haven’t felt alone. Not for a while now. Or not achingly alone.

Not until I met Max.

And there it was, the crux of the matter. One drop-dead gorgeous doctor and her whole world had been thrown out of kilter.

So put him out of your head, she told herself for about the thousandth time since Max had left. Just swim and don’t think of him.

She did a couple more laps of the patrolled part of the beach, then watched the German couple decide it was time to call it quits. Maybe it was time for her to do the same. Reluctantly she turned toward the shore-and saw a man striding down the sand toward her. A man who looked vaguely familiar.

Really familiar.

She stared in disbelief, thinking she was dreaming.

She wasn’t dreaming.

Max.

For a moment she thought wildly about swimming out to sea. The last time she’d seen him she’d been so angry. So humiliated. She tried to dredge up that anger now-and failed.

She floated and watched him greet the lifeguards, haul his shoes and socks off, roll up his chinos and stroll down to the shallows. He was shading his eyes with his hand so he could see better.

She was doing the same. Treading water, shading her eyes, trying to watch him.

Max.

A wave, bigger than usual, rose behind her. Acting on impulse, she caught it and let it carry her all the way to the beach. Or almost all the way. Her bump grounded her about twenty feet before the rest of her would have.

She surfaced, wiped the water from her eyes, pushed her curls back and he was about six feet away.

‘What are you doing here?’ she managed, and he looked down at her for a long moment without replying. As well he might, she thought.

She’d decided buying a pregnancy swimsuit was a waste of time-who was there to appreciate it except her? Her modus operandi was to wear a sarong to the beach, tug it off at the last minute and get into the water fast. She was wearing a faded pink bikini. The top was respectable-well, almost, though her bust had grown considerably bustier in her pregnancy. She couldn’t see her bikini bottom. It was somewhere under her bump.

Max, on the other hand, looked cool, collected and casually fabulous. Business shirt without a tie and the top buttons unfastened. Rolled-up sleeves. He was carrying shiny black shoes, socks tucked inside.

Very neat, she conceded. Whereas she…

She didn’t want to think about what she was.

‘John said I should check on you,’ he told her, and she winced. Of course. It wasn’t like he was here because he wanted to be.

‘I’m good,’ she said. ‘John should have called. I would have told him I was okay and spared you the trouble of making the trip.’

‘I wanted to see you.’

She stood up, awkwardly because of her bulk. He made an instinctive movement to help-and then stopped.

She saw it. He didn’t want to help. He didn’t want to touch her.

Okay, then. She stood knee deep in the shallows and shook herself like a dog, her curls flying every which way. She’d braided her hair but it refused to stay braided in the surf. She looked whale-like and wild, she thought.

Not Max Ashton’s sort of woman at all.

‘So there you go,’ she said tightly. ‘You’ve seen me. Okay?’

‘Maggie, can we talk?’

‘If you get any closer you might mess with me.’

‘That was a dumb thing to say,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I said it.’

She glowered, but then she thought, no, this was childish. She could be the grown-up here. Maybe it’d even make her feel better to act magnanimously. ‘It’s okay,’ she conceded graciously. ‘I was acting a bit needy. I needed to be pulled up.’

‘You didn’t. I was out of line. I’m sorry.’

Was this what happened when you were magnanimous? You got someone feeling nicely off balance and guilty in return. Excellent. ‘Thank you,’ she said, still attempting grace. ‘Apology accepted.’ She didn’t move, though. Walking forward, out of the water, seemed a bad idea, and walking closer to him seemed worse.

Not to mention the fact that her walk was now more like a waddle. Not a lot of grace there.

‘You swim amazingly,’ he said, still sounding stilted.

‘For an Englishwoman,’ she finished for him, eyeing him with caution. Trying to figure where to go from here. ‘William spent most of his summers at Yandilagong. Betty taught him to surf and he taught me. Just after we finished medical school we did a rotation at Durness in Scotland. Do you have any idea how cold the sea water is around Scotland? This place is a sauna in comparison.’

Was she gabbling? Maybe she was.

‘This still looks winter-cold to me,’ Max said, and, yes, he was looking at her as if she was gabbling. He still seemed wary.

Did he still think he had the capacity to get to her?

However true that might be, she refused to be got to.

‘You’re dreaming.’ She eyed him challenging. He looked so collected. So not part of this beach scene. She desperately wanted to get things on an equal footing. ‘It’s not cold,’ she lied. ‘Come in and try it.’ She raised her brows in mock challenge.

‘I don’t have swim gear.’

‘Are you wearing boxers or jocks?’

‘I…’ He seemed thoroughly disconcerted, as well he might be, she thought. Even more excellent. She wanted him disconcerted and she wasn’t backing off.

‘Well?’

‘Boxers,’ he conceded reluctantly.

‘Then where’s the problem?’ she demanded, amazing herself at her effrontery. What was she doing? She didn’t care, though. What was there to lose? ‘Your audience would be two male lifesavers and me. You’d hardly be playing to a packed gallery, Dr Ashton.’

He’d never do it. Or would he? She stayed right where she was and watched the cool, collected, man of the world, his expensive jacket flung over his shoulder, his Italian brogues in his hand, think about his dignity.

Saw the exact moment when he decided to lose it.

He gave her a long, considering look-then walked twenty yards up the beach, dropped his jacket and shoes on the dry sand and then dropped everything else except his boxers. Taking her breath away.

The first time she’d seen him she’d thought he did serious gym work. Stripped to his boxers she was sure of it.

This man was a doctor. He spent his days in hospitals with sick people. What was he doing having a body like this? It was all she could do not to gape.

Maybe she did gape, but luckily he was already hitting the water, running into the waves as if he was a man decided on a mission and determined not to let a little thing like icy water stand in his way. She saw the first shock as he hit the water, and she saw his determination deepen. She watched as he launched himself into the surf by diving head first into the first wave, swimming out past the breakers and then body-surf back in again. She watched, and she thought there were serious things going on here, serious things in her head that she didn’t know what to do with.

He was worried he’d mess with her head?

He already had.

She had to get herself together. He surfed back to her, right to her feet, then stood up. Water was streaming down his face. His hair was flopping wetly onto his forehead. He looked ten years younger, ten years more…more…

Whoa. This seriously pregnant woman does not need complications, she told herself, and knew she already had complications in droves.

‘You lied. This is c-cold,’ he muttered, abandoning bravado, and she grinned and sank back down into the water and rolled herself over and over in the shallows.

‘Wuss. I’ve been in for half an hour.’ Then she relented. ‘Okay, at first it’s cold. You need to swim to warm up.’

‘You’ve been swimming that long?’

‘And loving it. I’m getting wrinkly now-it’s time I got out-but if you want to keep swimming I’ll join the lifesavers on guard duty.’

‘Maggie…’

‘Just swim,’ she advised him kindly. ‘You look like you’re a man who needs to get something out of his system. I don’t know what it is but, whatever the problem, I’ve always found exercise helps. Off you go and enjoy yourself.’

‘You’re not going to swim with me?’

‘Closeness isn’t a good idea,’ she said, and she knew that she was suddenly sounding stiff and formal but she couldn’t help it. ‘You said it yourself. You get the gremlins out of your system, Dr Ashton, but you need to do it alone.’

It was a weird, almost out-of-body experience. He swam the length of Coogee Bay and back again, twice, then a third time for good measure. Up on the beach Maggie was wrapped in what looked like an enormous beach towel-bright blue with yellow splodges. She was sitting on the sand, chatting to the lifesavers, watching him.

He was too far away to see their faces, to have any idea what they were saying, but they looked cheerful. Maggie was waving an expansive arm in his direction. Was she talking about him?

Did it matter?

Maybe it did-but that thought wasn’t going anywhere. He put his head down and swam some more.

He’d checked on her. She was obviously coping splendidly by herself. There was no need for him to have come.

There was no need for him to stay.

So finally he surfed to shore and strolled up the beach. Maggie was laughing at something the lifesavers were saying and they were laughing back. They seemed at ease together, like old friends, but then he got close enough to watch the guys’ faces and he knew that, pregnancy or not, they were totally aware that this was one attractive woman.

Was he jealous?

Yes, he conceded. Yes, he was, which just went to show how dumb this whole set up was.

Get out of here, he told himself. Get out of here fast. But then Maggie rose to greet him and he stopped thinking about anything but Maggie.

Her towel was amazing. It was vast, sky blue and dotted with brilliant yellow sunflowers. Draped around her very pregnant body she looked…she looked…

‘Like an elephant,’ she said before he said a word, and he blinked.

‘Pardon?’

‘That’s what these guys here say I resemble. An elephant with sunflowers. Elegance-R-Us.’

‘You look cute,’ he said lamely, and the lifesavers looked at him like he was a sandwich short of a picnic. Which maybe he was. Cute didn’t cut it.

Sexy did, though.

‘I don’t think anything this big can be classified as cute,’ Maggie retorted. ‘But I’m going for whale rather than the elephant. A cute little sexy mama whale. You say I’m cute? The guys here say I’m sexy. I say I’m just enormous.’ She twirled around, full circle, grinned and unwrapped herself, then proffered her towel. ‘Meanwhile, would you like to borrow this? You need to dry yourself or you’ll get cold.’ And before he could stop her she’d handed her over her sunflowers.

He was dripping. He had no other towel, so it’d be churlish to refuse.

But her towel smelled of her. There it was again, that faint citrusy thing, mixed now with the salt from the sea. She must use it in her washing powder, he thought. Or maybe it was just Maggie. Maggie exuding lemons and limes, tangy, clean and beautiful.

She was smiling happily at him as if she was really pleased he’d dropped by, and she was really pleased that he’d seemed to enjoy the swim she’d persuaded him to take.

Yep, beautiful. And sexy. And cute. The whole lot wrapped together.

But she was reaching into her bag, fetching out a sarong and wrapping it round herself. Sliding her toes into sandals. Preparing to leave.

‘That was wonderful,’ she said. ‘It was great to see you again, Max, but it is getting cold. Thank you for coming. Goodbye.’

So there it was. He’d been dismissed. His duty was done; he could leave.

‘You’re not going to ask me back to your place for a drink?’ he said before he could stop himself, and she looked him up and down, appraisingly.

‘Risky,’ she said.

‘Risky why?’

‘You know why.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ he said. ‘And I’d rather not drive back to my place covered in sand. Your apartment’s just over the road. It was your concierge who told me where to find you.’

That was what his mouth was saying. Was he out of his mind? He needed to leave, yet here he was, arguing.

Something was driving his tongue that wasn’t his head.

‘You’d be second in line to the shower,’ she said cautiously. ‘It’s my shower. I get to go first.’

‘Deal,’ he said, and that was that. The lifesavers looked almost disappointed as Maggie turned to them and waved.

‘See you tomorrow, Craig, Simon,’ she said happily.

‘Unless you’re in hospital tomorrow,’ one of the men said, and for a moment a shadow flitted across Maggie’s face.

Was she worried about it, then? The birth?

Of course she would be. How many pregnant women had Max cared for? Every single one of them worried.

But Maggie was putting on a cheerful front and he watched her deliberately put the shadows aside. ‘I’m not due for a week,’ she told them. ‘And first babies are always late. I’m guessing there’s two more swimming weeks to go.’

‘Well, good luck if there’s not,’ the same guy said. ‘And let us know what happens. We’re starting to feel like we know your daughter already.’

They walked up the beach together, slowly. Max had tugged on his clothes but he still felt…different.

Maggie had introduced the lifesavers to her daughter. She’d made them her friends. This woman could make friends with anyone.

She was beautiful. The word was echoing over and over in his mind. She had the sunflowers draped over her shoulders. She was a huge blue and yellow whale.

Gorgeous!

‘I wouldn’t mind an ice cream,’ she ventured as they neared the street, so Max bought two ice creams and in silent consent they sat on a park bench and ate them.

She was a very neat ice-cream eater, Max noted. Methodical. Cute.

‘And you’re a biter,’ Maggie told him, and he stared.

‘Pardon?’

‘You bite your ice cream. I’ve never been able to figure why people do that. You risk freezing your insides. Licking’s much more sensible.’

‘How did you know what I was thinking?’

‘I just know,’ she said smugly and then relented as she saw his look of bewilderment. ‘You have a very readable face.’

‘Gee, thanks.’

‘My pleasure. I practise reading people’s faces,’ she explained. ‘So much more dependable than palm-reading-and I like doing it.’

‘I don’t like you doing it.’

‘Whatever,’ she said happily. ‘But biting ice-cream cones is nuts. You’ve finished already, and mine’s only quarter way down. So…do you always take your pleasures this fast?’

She eyed him sideways, her eyes twinkling, deliberately appraising, deliberately teasing, and he felt himself respond-maybe exactly how she hoped he’d respond. Trying not to blush like a schoolboy!

First the boxers, now this. She was enjoying herself at his expense.

He’d found her expecting her to be lonely, maybe anxious, maybe depressed. Maybe she was all those things, but she was making a good job of hiding it.

‘When did you last have an antenatal check?’ he demanded, trying to get back to sounding businesslike, but instead sounding like he was feeling, out of his depth and flailing.

‘Yesterday-Doctor,’ she said, raising her brows, still laughing. Still teasing. ‘I’m being very good.’

She had him off balance and she knew it. All he could do was flounder on. ‘So what did he say?’

‘She. A lovely obstetrician called Helen.’ She says my baby’s head’s not engaged yet so I could be at least a week.’

‘So what are you doing with yourself?’

‘Reading,’ she said, and looked virtuous. ‘Reading, reading, reading. And no-Doctor-not a romance or a thriller or even a trashy magazine. Medical journals. If I’m going to be a family doctor I’m going to be a good one. Did you know bed bugs are on the rise?’

‘Bed bugs,’ he said faintly.

‘World travel’s getting so common that the little pests are spreading,’ she said. ‘Apparently, if a patient comes in covered in red welts I should check if they’ve been in a hotel recently. And if a local hotel gets infected then there’s a whole list of things that need to be done. I’ve been reading Health Department Guidelines. As district medical officer-that’s me now-I need to know what to look for. Did you know they hide in the seams of mattresses during the day? And you can’t just spray the place with an insecticide bomb and move on either. There’s serious health implications. I need to know what to do-and I get to close the place down if they won’t comply.’

‘Really,’ he said faintly.

‘Really,’ she said, sounding reproving. ‘And don’t sound dismissive. You get bitten by bed bugs and you’ll be the first to complain to the local health officer. There’s so much to learn.’

‘I see there is.’

‘Don’t belittle it,’ she said, even more reproving, and stood up. He looked up at her-wrapped in her sarong and towel, balancing her ice-cream cone-and thought there was no way he could belittle this woman.

And suddenly the focus was no longer on bed bugs. Or ice creams. Or even mischief and teasing. Suddenly he didn’t know where to go from here.

‘Look, I’d better go,’ she said, as he rose to stand beside her. ‘That shower…Maybe it’s not a good idea.’

‘Maybe it’s not.’ What was going on here?

But he knew. What he was feeling was an irresistible attraction to a woman who represented everything he didn’t want. Commitment. Giving himself. Emotional entanglement.

Everything he didn’t want?

How many doctors did he know that’d take bed bugs on as a commitment? But he knew that Maggie would take on everything she cared about as a commitment.

The farm. Angus. The community of Yandilagong.

Him?

See, there it was. He looked down into her eyes and thought he could read her. If he wanted her…

He did want her.

No. To leap into that abyss…

‘Maggie…’

‘No,’ she said softly. ‘You don’t really want…what’s between us. Not now, maybe not ever. It’s better you go.’

‘John wants me to keep checking.’

‘You can ring me at the hotel. John can ring himself if he wants. Come to think of it, he does already, so you needn’t bother.’

‘Is there anything at all that you need?’

‘No.’

‘So that’s it, then.’

‘Yes,’ she said, and turned away.

And then…

They were standing near where pedestrians were streaming over the road from the beach-side park to the shops beyond.

The traffic lights across to the shops didn’t appear to be working. At some subconscious level while they’d been eating their ice creams Max had been conscious of confusion, cars slowing, honking at each other, pedestrians scurrying between cars.

The car came from nowhere, overtaking others that had slowed to a crawl. Its tyres were screeching into acceleration where others were braking. It was bearing straight down on the intersection like there was no question it had right of way. It was travelling way beyond the speed limit, a crazy speed, even if people weren’t there.

Only, of course, people were there. Families were leaving the park. Tourists were holding ice creams and cameras, chatting to each other as they headed to the shops. A couple of office workers, their suits at odds with the casual crowd, looked like they were heading home. A young mother was pushing a stroller.

All were frozen by the noise of a car out of control.

There was no time for screaming. Just the roar of the car’s engine.

It didn’t even slow. It came straight through.

There was a flash of yellow, a sickening thump, a crash of breaking glass. A body flew high, above the car’s bonnet. All the way over.

It crumpled to nothing on the road behind.

The car didn’t pause; indeed, the scream of its engine increased. The bright yellow motor with huge wheels and about a dozen exhaust pipes behind simply kept right on accelerating, screaming along the esplanade, through the next set of lights-also not lit-around the corner, up the hill and out of sight.

Leaving behind mayhem.