Low Life

4 July 2009

Passing the time of day

Two police cars and an ambulance, sirens blaring, converged at disorderly angles at the traffic lights 50 yards away. An ‘incident’ of some kind seemed to be in progress. We leaned forward in our seats. ‘What happened?’ said Alf. ‘A suicide, I expect,’ said Sean.

And then from the other direction came the unmistakeable noise of thousands of people celebrating in the streets. The voice of the crowd strengthened to a triumphant, masculine roar, like that of a football crowd. Fireworks exploded. Car horns blared. The explanation for the tumult was supplied by a man driving past beating out a tattoo on his horn and swirling the national flag of Pakistan out of the window. Clearly, Pakistan had just won the cricket 20–20 World Cup.

‘Well, it’s good to see that somebody’s feeling positive,’ said Sean, rising from his seat. ‘I expect you’ll be itching to get up there yourself, Alf, and join in with the celebrations. Cheerio now. I might see you tomorrow.’

Out of every other car now, someone was displaying a Pakistan national flag. I stood up, drained the last of my coffee, and walked away also. As I waited to cross the road I looked back. Alf was staring dejectedly between his knees at his slippers.