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the comments the best I could, even
though all I could think was: I’m breathing. I’m fine. Leave me alone. Go away. Please .
    But, they couldn’t hear my thoughts; they couldn’t leave a
girl in peace to lie on a pavement and flash her knickers – potentially – to
the world either. Whoever had told me London was an unfriendly city – a city
where people would leave you to die on the street – clearly they didn’t have a
clue.
    ‘Oh crikey.’
    There was that clear-cut voice again. I was almost tempted to open my eyes and sneak a peek –
who actually said crikey ? – but his
next sentence stopped me.
    ‘Do I need to give her mouth-to-mouth?’
    That snapped me out of my funk. I wasn’t having some
chinless wonder force his City boy mouth into mine, teasing me with his caviar
and Cristal breath. At that remark I figured it was about time to sit up, which
I did abruptly, not even bothering to open my eyes.
    Big mistake.
    If I had opened my eyes, I would have seen said City boy
leaning down to check my breathing. The resulting crack of our heads had me
back down on the floor quicker than I could say, well anything.
    ‘Oh my. I’m so sorry. Again.’
    It was that clear-cut voice. Again .
    This time I decided it would probably be best to lie back
and not move a muscle until the arrival of this ambulance. Only my body felt
numb now; my head was sharply pulsating from the second impact with the owner
of that voice.

Chapter Six
    ‘Out of the way people, out of the way,’ a voice boomed,
interrupting our conversation. ‘Give her some room to breathe. Don’t crowd
her.’
    The paramedics. Finally. In the past thirty minutes I had
become well-acquainted with the pavement and had managed to breathe perfectly fine despite the crowd gathered around me. If
anyone, it was the man with that voice who was sending me breathless.
    At first I couldn’t believe how many people would waste
their time watching someone lie injured on the ground, but anything to delay their return to the office was seen as an
acceptable excuse to stand around in the early autumn sun. Some people had left, muttering under their breath when they
realised I wasn’t a piece of artwork, but they hadn’t been the bored regular
worker bees.
    As one woman explained to me before she rushed off upon
discovering I wasn’t art, merely an accident, London’s art scene was thriving
with human interactive art scattered around the city and people had assumed I
was one of them. Move over Banksy. Part of the charm of this new-found craze
was that the locations were unknown. It was up to the art fanatic to emerge on
his or her own quest “to discover the hidden joys and self-satisfaction of
London’s next big thing” and it was proving immensely popular, generating a
new-found appreciation of art and it
was a form of exercise. This was according to the Time Out she had left behind for us anyway which deemed these as
marvellous plaudits to achieve in today’s cultureless, obesity-obsessed world.
It sounded pretentious to me. Sort of like Piers really.
    Piers, the man with that voice, the man who hadn’t left my side since he’d knocked me over. He’d kept my
mind off the pain by sharing his amusing anecdotes but I think he was afraid
I’d sue him or something for this – I suspected American relatives because who
really sues anyone in Britain? – and seeing as he’d lost a fortune on the stock
market that morning, heavens, he didn’t want to have to sell off one of his
vintage cars or holiday pads to pay me off. Not that he said that explicitly,
but he seemed the sort. Not that I’d ever met the “sort” before.
    What he did say though when I told him I could wait for the
ambulance on my own was that he was a gentleman. He couldn’t have left me especially after causing the accident
like he gallantly, and repeatedly, insisted he had done. Like I said,
pretentious, yet highly entertaining, considering the circumstances.
    I would later discover