Running Late

By twenty to nine, Amy had given up pretending to read the departures board. She stood at the station entrance with two tickets in her hand, checking the clock above the barrier every few seconds and wondering, not for the first time, why her brother treated punctuality as a suggestion. Having reminded him twice the night before, she felt entitled to be annoyed.

When her phone finally rang, she answered before the first ring had ended. “Where are you?” “Nearly there,” said Dean, in the tone of someone who was nowhere near. “I’m just crossing the road.” Behind his voice she could hear traffic and something that sounded like a bag being dragged along the pavement. “Are you running?” “Walking briskly. This bag weighs a ton.”

“Hurry up, the train’s pulling in!” Amy said. There was a short silence, followed by a groan. “You’re joking. It’s started to rain.” “What are you doing now?” “Fighting an umbrella,” he said. “It’s winning.” Amy pressed her lips together to avoid laughing into the receiver.

She walked onto the platform just as passengers began to board and a guard raised his arm towards the doors. Scanning the street beyond the barrier, she spotted a tall figure beneath an enormous red umbrella, lurching in her direction at a speed that suggested both urgency and exhaustion.

“Wait!” Dean gasped, skidding to a halt, his umbrella turned inside out and water running off his nose. Amy, who was smiling in spite of everything, handed him his ticket. “Come on, we’re leaving.” They scrambled aboard a second before the doors slid shut, and Dean collapsed into a seat, drenched and triumphant, announcing that next time he would simply set two alarms.