Breathless

John lay on the bedroom floor, on his back. Next to him was an open
door which led out to a small balcony, platted with autumn sunlight.
John was naked. Some of the light fell across his face. Children were
playing in a garden, somewhere. John's eyes were open. He wasn't
breathing.

Sue said, 'Come on, breathe for me.' She was straddling him, wearing
grey knickers and a white t-shirt.

John exhaled suddenly and said, 'I thought you were supposed to be
listening for a breath?'

'I am, but let's take that as read.'

'So you're assuming that your unfortunate victim will always be
breathing?'

'Just shut up and lie down,' she said, and pushed his chest with her
palm.

John lay back on the floor, and flopped his arms next to his body,
self-consciously. He dropped his head back and to one side. Sue leaned
forward and put her ear close to his mouth again. He breathed warmly.
Slowly. His lips were almost touching the delicately moulded shape of
her ear. He could smell her clean hair. To be so close to the fragile,
magical spot between her ear and her neck... so close without touching,
without his lips being allowed to kiss... the closeness was giving him
an erection. It was unbearable.

She said, softly, 'Right, you are breathing. I am going to apply a
tourniquet to your wrist.' She lifted his arm across his chest, so that
his hand was near his opposite shoulder, and placed a triangular piece
of calico onto it. Then she wrapped it underneath, leaning over so that
her mouth was near to his face, almost nuzzling into his neck, so she
could tie the ends together at the shoulder.

She knelt back, facing him, and said in a matter-of-fact way, as if
reading out the TV listings, 'You've had a heart attack. I'll put you
in the W position.'

'I am in the wars today aren't I?' he said. 'Am I supposed to be
conscious?'

'Yes.' She moved off him and knelt at his side. She slotted her hand
between the floor and his shoulder blades, then moved it up to the back
of his neck to coax him forwards. 'Bend your knees,' she said. 'Put
your arms over your knees. That's it.'

'What about my broken wrist?'

'Don't worry about that. We're doing something else now.'

After carefully checking his joints she leaned back, satisfied with her
work.

The top half of her face was illuminated by shimmering light passing
through the lime tree. It looked like reflected water. She had to hold
her hand up to stop the glare. In the distance, a child was screaming.
It was a sprawling scream, painful and breathless.

'I hate hearing children cry,' she said. 'It turns my stomach
over.'

'How about the kiss of life?' said John. 'Don't you need to practise
that?'

'I've already done the exam for that.'

'Oh great.'

'It was really stupid,' she said. 'They make you do it on a rubber
dummy while the examiner watches. The dummy's only the top half of a
body because you don't need the legs. They're not allowed to give you
instructions. So I walked in and the first thing I said was "What's
happened? What's the state of the victim?" I didn't know -- they might
have had a heart attack or whatever. And the examiner said "The body is
as you find it." That's all they're allowed to say. So I said, "Well I
wouldn't bother then. There's not much chance of survival - it's only
half a body."'

John laughed. 'So what did the examiner say to that?'

'Nothing. I failed.'

'Oh.' He smiled at her. She smiled back. 'Well I think you'll make a
damn fine police officer.'

'So do I.' She pulled his tourniquet away and pushed his chest so that
he was back on the floor.

'What now?' he said.

'Now I'm going to fuck you.'

'Yes officer, anything you say.'