She waited at the traffic lights, watching the world through the filth of her unwashed windscreen.
There were some things left - a blonde hair on the seat cover, an elusive hint of scent. Not much, all up. And they'd disappear into the disorder of her life soon enough.
It was not a mundane pain.
She had had something within her grasp and lost it. Had been unwilling to spoil it by asking for more, fearing the answer. And as a result, there was no more that she received.
Reg had been there when they'd left. She'd ignored him almost completely, having eyes and time only for one more, two more kisses with Jo, and the unspoken words that went with it: I really haven't finished with this yet.
And then…nothing. Literally nothing - Jo had slipped into the police box and closed the door, and Ramani had held onto it with both palms flat against the blue panels. Then it simply melted away beneath her hands, and it was gone.
Reg had nodded at her - sadly it seemed today - and left without a word.
The traffic light changed to green, and Ramani turned the familiar corner of Canley Road and Limehouse. The traffic was shite today.
No one else had seen it. There were no witnesses who knew it happened, who heard the hum and the words, who felt the ripples. She had to remember it all herself, and she had already forgotten some things. What colour was the stone in the ring on her thumb? What pattern was the weave of her stockings? How exactly was it again that her voice changed when she smiled? It was disappearing with the minutes, and if she didn't speak it, it would go.
Terry wouldn't want to hear it - of that she was certain.
But there was Reg.
Reg, she thought as she drove into her parking spot ten minutes late (again). Reg, as she checked her lippy in the mirror (missing the clump of hair sticking straight up at the back of her head) and got out of the car, banging the door shut with her hip and then opening it to lock it again because it didn't close properly the first time.
Talk to Reg.
The End.
