London Sketches – Look Now

I had a sheltered nook by a tree, with a clear view over the pub’s scrubby green – with my laptop open and the indulgement of a Guinness, I sat content beneath its oaky arms. A commotion distracted me from my work, I looked up:
“Urrrgh!” The youth was about as drunk as it is possible for one homo sapien to be; unfortunately, he had yet to come to that awareness. For reasons known only to himself,  he began swinging his arms, with the general effect of a chaotic windmill, nudging the cap of a man standing by a table. “Oi!” Exclaimed the older man, tall and healthy-looking, “are you having a lend. Mate?”  Said with an Australian twang, he turned to assess his assailant.
The youth was young, eighteen if even that, with flushed cheeks and bright, glazed eyes.
“Wah?” The youth look confused, swaying slightly as if to tune only he could hear. Then he dropped, with  a slight look of astonishment, to the ground.
“You should get home mate, before you hurt yourself,” the Australian advised.
The teenager lay on the grass, by now attracting the attention of the other drinkers. Our youthful sot attempted to right himself and get up – but slumped back and groaned.
“Mum?”
With a nod to his mates, the Australians lifted the fellow onto a bench, “better sleep it off Mate!” Soon after, they left and I returned to my work.
As is the nature of the weather in England, a sudden rain shower burst upon us – and anyone sitting outside fled. My immediate concern was for my laptop, but glancing up I saw that the youth on the bench was unmoving. Perhaps I should do something? He shouldn’t be left out in the rain, after all, he was no older than my own son.
Locating the publican inside, I explained about the youth, slightly irritated, he followed me out with an umbrella. “He’s technically on the street – not my problem!’ he grumbled.
We leant down over the boy, there was something not right about his stillness. I touched his clammy skin there was no response.
“Oh God! is he..?”  I hesitated.
“F*ck!” Growled the owner, “Are you kidding?”
Remembering the basics of my first aid, I went through the youth’s airway, breathing, circulation, all the while acutely observing his face, his closed eyes and the amplified sound of  the rain draining in rivulets down the kerb.
“Call an ambulance!’ I yelled.
What had been so important about my work that I had looked away? Why had I not done something sooner? I bent down next to the kid, and held him up in my arms as any mother would