“Now, Charles, take this lucky coin and carry it wherever you go.”

The final words from the fortune teller as she left the caravan at the funfair. Slipping it into his pocket, Charles ambled off heading towards the exit. It had been a lovely day, reminiscent of his childhood, one day a year as a child with his mum. Now an adult he was there alone. His wife couldn’t quite understand him, but it was his strongest link to his past, and gypsy Sara Lee has given him guidance every year. He kept each lucky coin safe in a box at home, they now numbered over 30 and he had always simply taken them home and put them in the box. Still the lights, the stalls, the noise enthralled him, drawing him every year to remember days gone by. He watched, as he wondered, the children with the cheap oversized “Nemo” or “lion king” toys, held tightly as they walked with the parents guarding them and herd in them away from the candy floss and toffee apples for the fifth time in the day. No more goldfish in plastic bags.

He walked down the road, long straight and busy with traffic, towards the bus stop. Crowds were building up. The football match had recently finished too and this only filled the streets with more people trying to get home. Spirits were high, the home team must’ve won.

Chanting and songs from the drunken crowd. It was a sight that made the rest of the public nervous, crossing the road quickly to avoid them, dodging between the cars, horns tooting as the drivers were just as eager to get away from the fans.

As he neared the bus stop, Charles reached into his pocket and grabbed the coin between his thumb and forefinger. It felt warm to the touch and smooth. All the others were rough, cheap looking, poorly cast copies of an old penny. This one felt different. Charles pulled the coin from his pocket to examine it further. He held it up towards his eye to look more closely. Now the coin felt hot – burning. A shoulder crashed into his own, knocking him sideways. The coin fell from his hand bouncing three times on the pavement before coming to rest. Charles followed its movements and went to retrieve it. More people pushed past him before he could get to it.

Safely recovered the coin was now cooler in his hand and returned to the safety of his trouser pocket, covered by his hand. He continued, joining the back of the queue for the bus. The 365 was quite full when it arrived. People in front squeezed themselves onto it.

As Charles went to step all up onto the bus, the driver shouted, “Sorry, we are full. Next one in 15 minutes” Charles withdrew his foot and the bus door closed before pulling away.   Sure enough, bang on time, the next bus arrived.  

Charles boarded and found a seat on the top deck towards the front. He was sitting next to an older lady, who smiled at him. She looked vaguely familar, so he smiled back. When the bus reached the roundabout by the bridge it took a different turn. Charles could see the bridge was closed and the blue flashing lights of police, fire and ambulance all over it. The bus driver shouted through the bus, “Sorry folks, the bridge is closed, a little detour but we will have you back en route in 10 minutes.”

Charles arrived home to be greeted by his wife running down the driveway to hug him tight. Very tight. Forcing the air from his lungs tight. Then the teenage kids, grabbing at him to squeeze oxygen from him further. He pushed back, gasping for air, “Hey now, what’s all this?” His wife looked at him, “We were so worried about you. The news. The number 15 bus went off the bridge into the river. They don’t think there were any survivors.“

Charles put his hand in his pocket and grasped the coin – still cold, “Thank you gypsy Sara Lee”.