Small Bob watched her. He felt listless, hopeless, angry, wretched.

Up the swingboat went, forward up, then down and back again.

'There must be something,' said Small Bob bitterly under his breath. 'Something that will let me out of here. How didst it go in that damn programme QuantumLeap? The hero had to change something. Save someone. Put something right. That's how it worked. And then he was free. Well, free to leap somewhere else, into some other time the next week. But that was how it worked.'

Small Bob watched Ann Green pushing the swing-boat.

Forward, up, then down and back again.

'Look at her,' said Bob to himself. 'Silly little girl, pushing that swingboat. She doesn't know. Alvy will end up in prison and she'll end up dead from that swing-boat. And she doesn't know…'

'Oh.' Small Bob's jaw dropped open. Quantum Leap. Saving someone. That was how it worked. Ann Green would die, hit in the throat by that swingboat. And only he, Big Bob, Small Bob knew that it would happen.

'Thou brain-dead buffoonican!' Small Bob shouted at himself. 'That's the answer.'

Up went the swingboat, up and forward, down and back. Up and forward, down and back and up and forward and…

'Ann!' shouted Bob. 'Ann, get away from the swing-boat.'

'What?' The little girl caught at the polished metal as the swingboat swung towards her once again. Caught the metal bar and pushed it forward.

'Ann, get away. Get away Ann. Please do it.'

'Who's calling me?' The little girl turned her head. 'Who's calling me?'

Small Bob saw the swingboat coming down.

'Ann!' he shouted. 'Duck! Duck!'

The little girl's mouth was open. Wet, with orange-juice stains at the corners. Her eyes were blue. Her hair a yellow swag.

'No!' cried Bob.

The swingboat sailing down caught the little girl in the throat. It knocked her backwards, sent her staggering, but she didn't fall.

Bob saw the face. The eyes. The mouth. The golden hair. He saw her expression. Puzzled.

Up went the swingboat, forward, up then back and down again.

As Small Bob watched, it hit her in the forehead.

Blood upon yellow hair, the blue eyes staring.

Ann Green toppled sideways and lay dead.

Crackle and thump, "went the paddles.

Big Bob's body jumped and shook.

'Any heartbeat?' asked the ambulance man.

There was a pause.

'No, give him another jolt.'

Crackle and thump and his body shook again.

'Any now?'

'No, do it once more, then we quit.'

And crackle and thump once again.

'Has he gone?'

'No. He's beating again. He's alive.'

'Well, he wasn't.'

'Well, he is alive now, let's get him onto the stretcher.'

Big Bob mumbled and grumbled and moaned.

'What is he saying? He's saying something.'

'He's saying "No, no Ann, no".'

'Who's Ann, his wife?'

'Who knows, get him onto the stretcher.'

The ambulance man and the woman driver struggled to move Big Bob. He was a big fellow and heavy with it, he really took some shifting.

'Ooooh,' mumbled Big Bob. 'Ann I'm sorry. I didn't mean to kill you.'

'God's golf balls,' said the ambulance man, struggling some more and getting one of Bob's legs onto the stretcher. 'He's killed somebody.'

'It's not our business,' said the ambulance woman. 'Our business is to get him to hospital. His nose is broken, he's covered in lacerations and look at his left foot. That big toe's fractured, best mention that to the medics or they're bound to miss it.'

The ambulance man got Bob's other leg onto the stretcher. 'Yes, but if he's murdered someone.'

'Not our business, tell one of the policemen. If you can find one who's still standing up.'

'Madness,' said the ambulance man. 'Are you going to haul out the cafe proprietor? I think the men from FART zapped him with some of that new Mute Corp nerve gas.'

'Then I'm not going in without a biohazard suit. Let's get this one into the ambulance. Then I'm calling it a day.'

It was certainly a struggle, but they finally got Big Bob on board. The ambulance, bells all ringing and hooter hooting too, swung away from the crash site. Leaving the tour bus imbedded in the front wall of the Plume Cafe, the assorted walking wounded, walking wound-edly, the Fire Arms Response Team, who were gung-hoing it with the singing of filthy songs, opening up cans of beer they had liberated from the fridge of the banjoed cafe, and the blond-haired beauty in the turquoise dress with the good-looking dark-haired young man, looking on.

The ambulance did roarings up the High Street. Strapped onto the stretcher, Big Bob's head slapped from side to side and up and down as the ambulance took corners at speed and bounced over numerous speed ramps.

'Ann,' mumbled Big Bob. 'I'm sorry I killed you. I didn't mean it to happen.'

'He's saying that stuff about murder again,' called the ambulance man to the driver. 'We've got a psycho here, you should call it into the station.'

'It isn't our business. It's nothing to do with us.'

'Look, he's alive and he's pretty much conscious and he's only got a broken nose and a twisted toe. We could drop him off at the police station. Let them sort it out.'

The ambulance driver stood on the brake. The ambulance man hurtled forward and so did Big Bob's stretcher. Big Bob's head struck the rear of the driver's cab.

'Is he unconscious now?' the driver called back.

The ambulance man examined Big Bob. 'Out for the count I think,' said he.

'Then he's going to the cottage hospital, he might have concussion.'

'I wouldn't be at all surprised,' said the ambulance man.

There are speed ramps as you enter the cottage hospital grounds, but if you drive slowly and carefully you hardly notice them. The ambulance passed over them at speed, bouncing Big Bob's body in the air.

'You want to drive more carefully,' said the ambulance man.

'You want to shut your face,' said the ambulance driver.

'Oh yeah, right. You're never -wrong, are you?'

'Of course I'm never wrong.' The ambulance driver stood on the brake once more and the ambulance man tumbled forward once more and Big Bob's head hit the rear of the driver's cab once more, once more, once more.

'Home again, home again, jiggedy jig,' said the ambulance driver.

It was a bit of a struggle getting Big Bob out of the ambulance. The stretcher he was attached to seemed to have become somewhat twisted during the journey and the drop-down wheels didn't drop down properly. Big Bob slid from the end of the stretcher and fell onto the tarmac right upon his head.

'And I suppose you'd like to blame me for that!' said the ambulance driver.

'Who, me?’ said the ambulance man.

They finally got the drop-down wheels dropped down and they finally got Big Bob back onto the stretcher. Then they did that comedy wheeling the patient through all those double hospital swing doors routine, where the patient's head goes bang bang bang against them.

'Do you remember the time', said the ambulance man, as Big Bob's head opened the doors into casualty, 'when you were put in charge of organizing the hospital dance?'

'Of course,' said the ambulance driver. 'The Sixties Hop, and what a success that was.' Big Bob's head opened the doors into the main corridor.

'Oh yeah, right,' said the ambulance man. 'And you booked "name" bands. Chas 'n' Dave, Peters and Lee, Sam and Dave and Peter and Gordon.'

'And?' said the ambulance driver. Bang went Big Bob's head.

'And you gave them all separate changing rooms and then you forgot who was in each one and got them all mixed up. How well I remember Dave and Dave singing on stage. And Peters and Peter, not to mention Gordon and Lee.'