The lad on the chopper bike seemed to appear from nowhere. One minute, Cassie was walking down Fircombe high street, about ten feet behind an elderly lady, the next, the youth had swooped past Cassie and grabbed the old lady’s handbag, which was looped over her right arm. The brakes squeaked as he stopped sharply and he yanked at the bag, breaking the strap. He tucked the bag under his right arm and pedalled away quickly, turning left at the end of the street. Cassie had a glimpse of a silver bike, a dark top, and a Norbridge United blue and yellow bobble hat, then he was gone. It was over so quickly, and was so surprising, that she had no time to do anything to stop the assault.
The momentum of the bag being pulled away had sent the old lady flying. Her walking stick rattled to the ground as she fell awkwardly on her side. Cassie ran and crouched down beside her. The old lady was whimpering, ‘oh no, oh no.’
Cassie looked around for help. The street was largely deserted. A couple of people walking some yards in front of the old lady seemed unaware of the drama. A mother behind, with a pram, was pre-occupied with chastising a toddler who, apparently, would not ‘walk properly’. There were a few cars travelling up and down the high street, but none stopped.
‘I’ll go and phone for help,’ Cassie said with a confidence she didn’t really feel. ‘Don’t move.’
The phone box was on the opposite side of the road. Cassie crossed quickly and, with a trembling hand, dialled 999. While she spoke to the emergency services she kept an eye on the old lady, observing the dark brown coat, gold headscarf and the brown lace-up shoes that reminded her of her grandmother. A middle-aged man emerged from Liptons, the nearest shop to the incident, and bent down to talk to the old lady. He took off his jacket and gently placed it under her head. Cassie’s heart was pounding hard in her chest as she crossed back over the road. She felt sorry for the victim and hoped she wasn’t badly injured.
As if reading her mind, the man greeted Cassie with ‘Mrs Broughton here says her hip hurts.’ He was patting the old lady’s hand reassuringly.
‘The ambulance is on its way,’ Cassie told them.
‘Did you see what happened?’ the man asked.
‘Lad on a bike nicked her bag,’
‘It had my pension book it in,’ the old lady cut in. ‘I’d just collected my money from the Post Office.’ She paused, grimacing with pain.
‘Lads like that ought to be strung up,’ the man offered.
Cassie nodded. ‘The Police are coming, too. I just hope they catch him.’
***
OUTCOMES FOR THE PLOT
- Cassie is on work experience at the local newspaper from her secretarial course and goes with the reporter to interview the old lady in hospital. Cassie is closely involved with the development of the story and decides she would like to follow a career in journalism.
- She is more suspicious of people and no longer takes them at face value – this will prove useful in her chosen career!
- She becomes more aware of the vulnerability of the elderly, and is more considerate towards her own grandmother.
Clearcut narrative that carried me along. I liked the buildup to the robbery and the solid detail about the rider and bike. A clever link between the victim of the crime and the changing attitude to Cassie's own grandmother. I'm looking forward to the sequel. PETER.
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed ( if that's the correct word!) the build up of the narrative.It's good strong writing. I did sense however, that you may not have been particularly comfortable with the situation that Cassie had to experience because of our homework. WOuld this have naturally been a part of your story Julie?
ReplyDeleteYes, following on from what Hilary said, the consequences are not necessarily that major, but some sort of development could still be useful/interesting plotwise. She might imagine she sees the boy and accosts him, but it's a case of mistaken identity? Anyway I enjoyed the way you pointed out that violence may be so brief and sudden that it may simply be absorbed by an environment, so that people don't notice it or get on with their everyday lives. I was reminded of WH Auden's short poem The Musee des Beaux Arts - have a look if you don't know it.
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