Distant Prospect

It was the way she moved her head that allowed him to recognise her from such a distance.

How could he ever forget? How long had it been since he saw her last? How far had he travelled? How little she has changed, at least from this distance.

“Hold this.” He turns, thrusting the packages roughly at his companion. Ignoring the one that falls to the ground, heedless of the musical tingle as it hits the pavement, shrugging off the wail of distress behind him, he strides briskly along the street, stepping on and off the kerb to avoid dawdlers.

A horn honks. He steps out of the gutter, bumping against a shoulders. “Pardon me.” A bus passes, red with gold letters, the huge diesel engine growling angrily.

He'll have to run. He is narrowing the distance but not fast enough.

Behind him a plaintive shout, “Harry. Harry, wait. Please Harry.”

He begins to jog. He steps into the gutter. “Parp parp,” a taxi, black, boxlike, snarling in a low gear, draws level. From his half open window the driver shouts, “Get off the road, you fool.” Then his foot mashes the accelerator and the taxi sways down the road to catch up the traffic jam.,
She is at a pedestrian light, waiting for the green man. He is nearly there. “Caroline.” She turns her head. He calls again, “Caroline.” He waves.

He falls. He stares up at the ring of faces looking down on him, prone in the road, flat on his back on the tarmac.

He hears a cacophony of voices.

“Don't worry, the ambulance is coming.”

“Don't move him, you may do more harm than good.”

“Silly bugger should have watched his step. Came out of nowhere.”

“Harry, are you all right? The glasses broke on the pavement.”

“I saw the whole thing, It wasn't your fault.”

He hears the ambulance siren, the wail drawn out as the vehicle negotiates the jam.

He shuts his eyes. He hopes they will take him to St Thomas's. He's fairly sure that Caroline still works there.