Now You See Me

Fifteen: Heart Attack

"D'you reckon he's alright?" Chris nudges me and points at a man standing across the road from us. He's standing under a streetlight, shivering visibly even from where we are. He lights a cigarette and glances up and down the road as if waiting for something.

"He's probably just waiting for someone," I reply. "And he is standing under a bus shelter."

"Buses don't run this late, do they?" Chris asks, but he's starting to move off. "He's been standing there ages, since you went into that shop. I'm tempted to ask if he wants help."

"You can't just go up to random strangers and ask them if they need help," I say crossly. If he doesn't hurry up, we'll get caught in the early-morning empty-out of the bars around us. "You do that when they're hurt or something, not when they're minding their own business."

"Ah, don't get your panties in a wad, D." He leans in and pecks me on the cheek. "I'll just check and come back, okay?"

Before I can grab him, he's crossing the road and heading towards the man, who doesn't realise his intention until Chris stops to talk. I watch them for a moment, shoving my hands in my pockets and shivering. My breath billows in front of me in a large cloud. A London taxi with a passed-out student pressed against the window rumbles past.

"He did need help," Chris says, and I look up from my feet. He's standing in front of me again, tucking his phone back into his jacket. "His phone ran out of credit and he needed a taxi." He smirked at me, smug. "Now we can go home."

We begin to walk down the path. I look back once, just as the stranger climbs into a taxi that just pulled up – as I watch, he holds up a hand in thanks and closes the door.

"He seemed nice enough," Chris remarks, and I feel my guard shoot up despite myself. If he was going to continue his polygamous habits – with men this time – I was going to give up on him completely. Chris glances at me, and seems to sense it's the wrong thing to say. "But not my type," He adds. "Or yours."

"You're feeling perceptive tonight," I remark. He grins at me.

"I'm always perceptive."

"What makes you think that?"

"I lasted more than five minutes in a relationship with you. Gotta know the signs." He taps the side of his nose. "Gotta be able to dodge raindrops."

"I'm not really sure whether to be offended or not."

"I would advise you to go for the no option."

"You would."

Chris smiles as I roll my eyes at him. Something cold hits my nose and makes me jump, and I groan when I realise it's beginning to rain. I hate getting wet.

"I don't suppose you've brought your umbrella, have you?" I ask Chris, whose face is upturned to the sky. He doesn't look any happier about this than I am, and he shakes his head before pulling up the zip on his jacket. It's leather, so he's the fortunate one – it's a damn sight more waterproof than my jumper is.

"I hate rain," I grumble, as the droplets get heavier and we begin to powerwalk down the street. My flat is only a few blocks away, but it feels like miles. By the time we turn onto my road, it's throwing it down, a torrential downpour that is both out of season and unusually sudden. I want to ask Chris what he thinks about it, but the rain's too loud for him to hear me. We slosh across the pavement, through swarms of ricocheting droplets of water, and the visibility is so bad that I walk into the

woman walking the other way before I notice her.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry," I shout, trying to flick my hair out the way so I can see if she's injured or not. "I didn't see you. This weather is crazy."