Damage

Chloe pressed the phone to her ear and raised her voice. “I can't hear you.” She gesticulated wildly to Dean who was, as usual, immersed in a text argument with his friend Billie over the new Star Wars film. She'd tried to settle the argument two days previously by pointing out all three of the latest films were almost shot-for-shot remakes of the original three, just with different characters and robots for toy marketing purposes.

Between the traffic and his concentration, there was no room in his consciousness for his sister's frantic signals and he walked on, oblivious to his surroundings. He was probably still sulking she hadn't bought him a KitKat in the supermarket.

“What?” She shouted at the phone again choosing to ignore the caustic comment about her size from the bloke in the blue denim shirt ( Honestly! Was this the seventies?). “Thirty two what?”

She paused to turn the volume up further, wishing she hadn't caught her earbuds on that mannequin in Marks and Sparks and by the time she looked up again, Dean was several yards ahead. “The thirty-two bus? What about it? It goes to Insley, not Torstairs.”

She looked up at the screech of brakes and the bang. She couldn't see Dean anywhere.