Thicker Than Water

There’s nothing about it you could love unless you were a dog looking for somewhere new to piss. But it has a feature I remembered from previous visits - somewhere just off it there’s an even narrower street that straddles the railway line before Denmark Hill station, and at that point there’s a flight of steps leading to an elevated pedestrian footbridge, narrow enough so that two people have trouble passing each other on it. Actually, maybe that’s where the place gets its name from: anyone you pass on the footbridge you’re going to get to know quite well, so maybe love has been known to blossom there.

I didn’t have love in mind: I just wanted me and my shadow to meet up in a place where there was nowhere to hide and where even turning around was going to be problematic. Then we’d see what we’d see.

Still walking briskly, I got to the wooden steps and went on up them at a jog. It was important that he shouldn’t get too much time to think about this: I wanted him to commit himself right at the outset and then repent at leisure.

I walked out across the wooden footbridge, my footsteps echoing loudly. Overhead was an arched tunnel made out of steel loops and torn wire mesh. Once upon a time it had been there to stop suicidal passers-by from ending it all, or at least to move them along a little way and make them someone else’s problem: now there were so many gaps and rents in it that it couldn’t even do that. I made as much noise as I could, bringing my feet down heavily on the wooden planks.

All part of the show: I wanted my tail to feel safe closing the gap, under cover of the racket.

Casting a furtive glance back and down through the gaps between the heat-warped planks, I caught a glimpse of his grey jacket and the top of his head as he climbed the steps in a hurry, trying to match my pace because he’d lost the line of sight. Great stuff."

"At the far end of the walkway I scooted down a second, identical set of steps. Then I just ducked to the side, behind a narrow parapet wall maybe three inches taller than my head, and waited.

Now I could hear him coming, because he was out on the bridge and there was no way to cross those echoing boards both quickly and quietly: and by the same token I was hoping that, because the noise he was making drowned out the noise I wasn’t, he didn’t know that I’d stopped.

I tensed, getting ready to jump him. He hadn’t looked too hefty, but it was probably still better to hit hard and ask questions afterwards.