Page 57 of A Very Irish Christmas
He nods and goes back to his survey, looking out in a westerly direction.
‘I think I know the one you mean. Come on, it’s worth a try.’
It takes us another twenty minutes to reach the pond, and we shout Georgie’s name as we go, me keeping an eye on my phone.I’m hoping for a message saying she’s been found, but when nothing lands, I start to feel increasingly worried. Georgie has seemed in good spirits recently, but I know she has issues that lurk beneath the surface.
The rising sense of panic is of no use to me, so I try to breathe through it as we climb over snowdrifts and check beneath every dense tree and hedge we pass.
As we get nearer to the pond, I hear a faint cry. I stop, hold Ryan back and gesture for him to be quiet. We stand still, and I shout: ‘Georgie! Are you here?’
‘Yes! I’m in the pond! Please, please help me!’
Ryan takes off, his big boots eating up the distance, scurrying through the long, frosted grass and coming to a stop at the top of the steeply sloping side. I catch up, and stare on in horror at what we see.
Georgie is in the middle of the pond, which is coated in thin shards of shattered ice. She’s keeping her head above the water, and has Jasper held high in her arms, trying to keep him clear of it. The puppy is whining and wriggling, pawing at her face in distress.
‘My foot is caught!’ she yells. ‘I can’t move at all, and I’m f-f-f-freezing!’
Ryan doesn’t hesitate – he strips off his fleece jacket, unties his boots, and gallops down the steep bank of the pond, kicking his way through the snow and the vegetation. He leaps right in, and I hear him gasp as it soaks through his clothes.
‘It’s okay, Georgie, I’m coming!’ he cries, splashing through the frigid water, pushing aside chunks of ice to get to her.
I can see that her lips are blue, and her skin is pure white. Her hair is a drenched trail spread out behind her, and every part of her is shaking.
Ryan takes a deep breath and dives down beneath the surface. I hold my breath with him, tense until he emerges again.
‘Cassie!’ he shouts up towards me. ‘She’s proper trapped, one of her feet is basically tied up by the weeds. Look in my jacket pocket, there, find my Swiss Army knife!’
I’m not sure what that is, and my fingers fumble uselessly in his pocket. Eventually I just tip everything out – car keys, a wallet, and finally a little portable tool that seems to combine a knife, screwdriver and corkscrew. This must be it, I think, and I turn back to Ryan.
He’s standing shivering in the water, talking soothingly to Georgie, then taking Jasper from her grasp. Her arms immediately slump down, splashing onto the broken ice. He clutches the fretting puppy close to his chest, and strides to the side, water splattering around him. As soon as he puts the dog down on solid ground, Jasper starts running around in a circle, shaking his coat, and barking. The poor thing is terrified, but still doesn’t want to leave Georgie.
Ryan holds up his hands, and gestures for me to throw the knife. I’m worried I’ll mess up, that I will miss, that it will sink to the murky bed of the pond and never be seen again. He lurches nimbly to one side and catches it in both hands, heading straight back to Georgie.
Another deep breath, and down he goes again. More heartbeats, more worry, more fear – for both of them. The pond is not deep enough for them to drown in, but the cold could kill them, I know.
Eventually he comes back up, spluttering and sucking in air, telling Georgie to try and move her foot now.
‘I don’t th-th-think I can!’ she stammers. ‘My whole body is dead. I can’t feel anything at all!’
I can hear the terror in her voice, and Ryan acts immediately. He puts his arms around her, and physically hoists her towards his body. She’s a tall girl, but he manages to scoop her up, theeffort obvious on his face as he grimaces and starts to take slow, waterlogged steps back towards the edge of the pond.
‘Call Charles!’ he shouts up to me. ‘Tell him to get as close as he can in the car, and to bring blankets and hot drinks!’
I do as I am told, cutting Charles off when he tries to keep me on the phone, because Ryan and Georgie need me. She can barely move, and the steep climb back up is beyond her. Ryan shoves her upwards, and I lie down on my belly and reach out for her. When I finally grasp her hands, her fingers are blue from frost, dangling lifelessly in my grip. I pull and Ryan pushes, and eventually, inch by agonising inch, we have her out. Jasper races up towards us, trembling and licking at her face. It’s covered in scratches where he panicked and clawed her.
I start to rub her hands, pull off my own jacket and slip it around her shoulders. She gazes up at me, eyes bleary, and says: ‘I’m so s-s-sorry…’
‘No need to be sorry. Just stay with us now, okay? Your dad’s on his way, everything’s going to be fine.’
She nods as the dog nuzzles her, and Ryan lays his fleece on top of her. He’s soaked through and his teeth are chattering, and he really needs to warm up – but I know there’s no point in telling him this. I know he won’t listen, and neither would I.
I hear the sound of car doors slamming, and sigh in relief as the cavalry arrives. Charles runs towards us, followed at a slower pace by Roberts, and both men are carrying bundles of blankets. Charles pushes us aside, kneels in the snow by his daughter, and immediately starts to wrap her up. Roberts passes him a flask, and she manages a few sips of whatever is inside.
‘It’s okay, darling, you’ll be okay… we’re here now. What happened?’
He sits her up and wraps his arms around her, sharing his body warmth, her wet hair plastered across his chest.
She looks up at him with slightly more alert eyes, and says: ‘I fell in the bloody pond!’
