His face was frozen and an awful groaning sound gurgled up from his lungs. In a single moment, Christmas was over.There was a beat of stunned silence then the room erupted into full-blown chaos, voices rising in uncontrolled hysteria, the children bursting into frightened tears. Trish and Sophie rushed to Jim’s side. ‘He’s not breathing,’ Sophie cried urgently, putting a hand on his chest and finding it unmoving. Her dad’s face was shockingly white and lifeless. Had they lost him, just like that? Was it already too late?Trish looked terrified. ‘What should we do?’ she gulped. ‘Jim! Can you hear me, love? JIM!’Sophie thought frantically. Back when she’d worked at Val Thorens, the staff had all undergone an obligatory first aid course. She and her friends had been squeamish about it at the time, not wanting to try mouth-to-mouth on the course leader’s plastic dummy with the grotesque face; more interested in making plans for that evening’s drinking session. But thankfully – miraculously – some of the information had stuck, filed away in a crevice of her brain under ‘Might Come In Handy One Day’.She put a hand on her dad’s breastbone and pumped hard, twice, remembering that sometimes this was enough to start the heart beating again.
