Fear of Fear


“I won’t do it. I can’t. Please.”

He put his arm around her. “Really, Susan. It will be fine. This thing carries thousands of people across every day. There’s never been an accident. It’s safe as houses, as my Gran would say.”

“You don’t understand. It’s…it’s…”

She began to cry again.

“Look, darling. We’re nearly to the front of the queue. You won’t want to have wasted two hours of our weekend. Besides, we’ve reservations at the Docklands at one. You know how much you’ve been looking forward to that. They have creme brûlée.”

She scowled, her cheeks wet. “Don’t patronize me, Peter. Goddamn don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not trying to. I am only saying that we have a reason. We’d never make it in time otherwise. Look. The queue is moving again. We’re up soon.”

“Have you not listened to anything I’ve told you? I’m not fucking going.”

With that, she tore her arm from his and shoved her way through the crowd. He watched her head bob in the sea of people as she made her way back toward the Tube station, gold-red hair winking in the rare June sunlight.

He wondered if he ought to go after her. This was all so damned silly. It would have been a perfect day to see London from the cable car. Perhaps he would go anyway.




Sunday Photo Fiction