Previously
He went to his door and opened it. He could hear talking down the hall, but only some of the words reached him.
"... a car accident ... called the ambulance ... intensive care ... nothing anyone could do ... so sorry."
Now
Third person POV
It was only hours later, sitting in the kitchen, watching as the grey light of morning bled slowly through the west London streets, that Alex could try to make sense of what had happened. His uncle - Ian Rider - was dead. Driving home, his car had been hit by a lorry at Old Street round - about and he had been killed almost instantly.
He hadn't been wearing a seat - belt, the police said. Otherwise, he might have had a chance. Alex thought of the man who had been his only relation for so long as he could remember. He had never known his own parents. They had died in a an accident, that 1 a plane crash, a few weeks after he was born.
He had been brought up by his father's brother (never "uncle" - Ian Rider had hated that word) and had spent most of his 14 years in the same terraced house in Chelsea, London, between the King's Road and the river. But it was only now Alex realized just how little he knew about the man. A banker.
People said Alex looked quite like him. Ian Rider was always travelling. A quiet, private man who liked good wine, classical music and books. Who didn't seem to have any girlfriends ... in fact he didn't have any friends at all.
He had kept himself fit, had never smoked and had dressed expensively. But that wasn't enough. That wasn't a picture of a life. It was only a thumbnail sketch.
A/n - I can see when I can update again. Otherwise I'll update only on Friday and Saturday NIGHT.
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