Derek sat inside the window of McDonagh's Fish & Chip Bar and looked out onto Quay Street. His half-finished lunch - a piece of battered cod and some chips splashed with dark brown vinegar - lay on the counter in front of him. He had stopped eating when a flake of cod had separated to reveal a filigree of tiny blood vessels within, stark black against the pure white flesh. He slid the polystyrene plate aside and took another sip of his soft drink. It was another half hour before he needed to report back for work. His job was to sell sensible shoes to a mostly elderly clientele in a nearby shop. For 15 years, he had knelt before varicose-veined legs and gnarled feet; not once had he attended to an elegant feminine foot at the end of a shapely calf. That sort of customer went directly to Brown Thomas.
Derek scanned the pedestrians vacantly through the glass. His eyes flickered to an idle alertness when a pretty woman walked by in a close-fitting cotton dress. He focused on her buttocks moving under the thin material, and watched until she disappeared into the crowd. He sat back and continued to scan.
No-one of any interest passed by for some time, and Derek began to see the pedestrians only as a slow moving uniform blur. His eye was gradually drawn by a static figure on the other side of the street. A thin man was seated cross-legged on the ground with his back against the wall. He had an unkempt grey beard that reached to his chest, and bony shoulders that poked through his dirty cable-knit jumper. He seemed to be engaged in lively debate with someone seated to his right, but there was no-one there. He would appeal with palms held upwards, listen intently to a response, and then shrug pragmatically or shake his head vigorously before appearing to re-state his case from a fresh angle. At other times, as if interrupted, he would hesitate for a moment in mid-sentence before impatiently waving his imaginary companion down or chuckling wryly at a wisecrack they had made. And so it went on. The debate seemed to involve a particularly complex and irresolvable issue, but it was essentially good natured.
From his window seat, Derek watched the man's silent mouthing and gesturing for a while. He then stood up, wiped his chin with a paper napkin, and tossed the used napkin into the leftovers. After putting on his coat and adjusting his trousers, he walked out of the shop and through the pedestrian traffic to stand, arms by his sides, looking down on the seated man. The man paid Derek no attention, and continued on with his private debate. Derek stood for a few moments and listened. He could hear the man’s voice, but could not make out any of the words. He hitched up the fabric of his trousers above his knees slightly and squatted down on his haunches to get closer. Even though his face was now almost level with the man’s, he still could not make out any words. He was surprised to see that the man’s eyes were a fervent blue. The man continued to ignore him. Derek glanced to the man's right a few times whenever the man did so, as if the invisible companion might suddenly be revealed to him.
Derek extended his index finger, touched the man gently on the shoulder, and said: “Hey.”
The man’s imaginary universe seemed to dissolve around him. Somewhat startled, he looked into Derek’s eyes.
“Who are you speaking to?” said Derek.
“The weather in April is very unsettled,” the man replied pleasantly. Derek frowned.
“Who are you speaking to?” he said again.
The man looked pleased. He grinned and said: “The lobster pots will be full by tonight.”
Derek looked left and right. The only people in close proximity were an elderly American-looking couple wearing matching caps and jackets. They had their heads close together and were looking into a shop window a few metres away. Derek drew back his elbow and punched the seated man sharply under the rib cage. It was a quick and inconspicuous movement. He felt the man's diaphragm compress like a soft football. The man exhaled with a loud grunt and sagged forward from the waist, his head nearly touching Derek's knee. The American couple turned.
In a loud voice, the woman said: “Oh my God.”
A watery string of green saliva slipped out of the man's mouth and pooled on the ground between Derek's feet. Still squatting, Derek placed his hand on the man's shoulder to steady him. The American couple walked over quickly and stood above the two men. Derek noticed they were both wearing Claddagh rings.
“Oh my God,” said the woman again, “is he going to be OK?”
“He seems to have taken ill,” said Derek.
Derek pushed the man gently upright. The man's mouth opened and shut as he fought to draw breath. His face was grey.
“We have to help him,” said the woman, but neither she nor her husband moved.
Derek placed his hands on the man's shoulders and guided him slowly down to lie on his side. He then drew up the man's knees so that they were tucked under his chest. The man's eyes had begun to flicker shut and, just as he appeared to be losing consciousness, he began to take his first shallow breaths.
The small group was beginning to attract other curious bystanders. Amongst the unremarkable pairs of shoes and legs that had gathered around, Derek noticed a tanned pair of female legs that were bared to the knee. Before he could look up to see who they belonged to, the man began to retch drily and noisily, his eyes closed. All feet shuffled quickly backwards except the tanned woman’s.
“Oh my God,” said the two Americans in unison.
Derek remained crouching. The tanned woman's legs stepped forward and, crouching down too, she placed her hand beside Derek's on the man's shoulder.
“You'd think he was a piece of dirt, the way people won't come forward to help,” she said. Derek looked at her and was surprised to see tears in her eyes. She took out her mobile phone and dialled for an ambulance. The man now lay breathing softly with his eyes closed. Derek and the woman remained crouching beside him, their hands on his shoulder. The crowd began to disperse. An ambulance arrived. After a brief word with Derek and the woman, two paramedics placed the man onto a stretcher, loaded him into the back, and drove away. Derek and the woman were left standing alone together in the street.
“Don't worry,” said Derek, “he'll be fine. They'll take good care of him.”
“I hope so,” she said, “it was good of you to help him.” Derek nodded. “At least there are some people on Earth who still care about others,” she said. She still looked upset and shaken, and didn't seem to want to go. A restless wind gusted down Quay Street. Cloud formations broke and re-formed.
“Look,” said Derek, “I have 15 minutes before I need to get back to work. Would you like to grab a coffee somewhere?”
“I'd love to,” she said, and Derek saw that her smile was beautiful.