A Poisoned Mind Read Online Free Page A

wrenched it away from her body. She twisted it into a rope. The cold puckered the skin of her small breasts, but she couldn’t think about that now. Her helper’s strong black hands had reduced the bleeding to a trickle.
    Moving with terrified care, she slid her shirt-rope under Antony’s leg, trying not to joggle the rest of his body. At last she had enough cloth to use and drew both ends up and round his thigh. She twisted them as tightly as she could but knew it wasn’t enough.
    More memories trickled back and she tied a knot, then grabbed a tough biro from her bag and used it to turn her improvised bandage tighter and tighter, praying the plastic casing wouldn’t crack before it had done its work. At last, she could turn it no further, looked at the young man and said:
    ‘I think it’s safe to take your hands away.’
    She’d forgotten about breathing and couldn’t understand why she felt so light-headed. Then as he removed his thumbs she saw the tourniquet was holding and let out the pent-up breath in a single gust.
    ‘Yeah! It works.’ His tense face split in a triumphant smile.
    The crowd started to clap. Trish ignored them, knowing there was more to be done and scuffled through her bag again. There were no other pens and she didn’t carry anything useful like a lipstick. A shadow fell between her and the sun and a woman with an American accent said:
    ‘Use this.’
    Squinting upwards, she saw a small gold cylinder being held out, took it, uncapped it and scrawled a large scarlet T on Antony’s forehead, checked the time and added that: 2.55. Now no paramedic or doctor would miss the tourniquet or leave it on too long.
    ‘And you might care to borrow my jacket,’ said the owner of the lipstick.
    Trish put a hand to her thin chest, looked down and realised that she was squatting, half-naked in the middle of the street right outside the Royal Courts of Justice. Thank God she’d put on a reasonably respectable bra this morning.
    ‘Oh, shit!’ she said, grabbing the chestnut jacket she’d flung off, and the thicker, darker overcoat. ‘It’s OK actually. I’ve got my own here. Thank you very much.’
    A siren in the distance made her look up. The crowd hadn’t been as useless as she feared. Someone had done the sensible thing and called for an ambulance. She tried to stand and found she couldn’t get up. The young black man came to her side. With the American woman on the other, he helped Trish to her feet.
    ‘Thank you both so much.’
    ‘Trish, I don’t … I couldn’t … You were so quick,’ said Anna Grayling, at last coming to join her.
    ‘It’s fine. I—’ Trish wiped her hand across her forehead. It came away sweaty. Red, too. She must have just smeared Antony’s blood all over her face.
    The ambulance pulled up, and blessedly knowledgeable people took over all responsibility for him. Trish turned away from Anna to tell them what had happened and who she was, aware all the time of the biker, now sitting on the kerb with his head in his hands and his helmet by his side. Two uniformed police officers strode towards him. Trish
clutched her overcoat more tightly around her and looked back at Anna.
    ‘It’s OK,’ she said, recognising her friend’s impatient need to be elsewhere. ‘I know you’re busy. Don’t hang about. I’ll go with him in the ambulance.’
    Anna looked embarrassed but relieved as she backed obediently away. Trish peered around her, searching the crowd for the young man who’d helped her with the tourniquet. She wanted to thank him, but when she found him she lost all sense of what she wanted to say and just took his bloody hands and looked up into his face, letting the coat flap.
    “s OK,’ he said. ‘You did great.’
    ‘What’s your name? And your address. I know he’ll want—’
    ‘No worries. They want me now. See you later.’ He walked towards the beckoning police. Trish felt something hard in her hand, she glanced down and saw the gold