Magic and Mr Tomkins

 One day Mr Tomkins discovered he could fly. It happened as he was taking his Sunday constitutional on Primrose Hill one glorious day, the first warm day of Spring with the sun shining and a mild breeze ruffling the daffodils. The famous landmarks of the City came and went in and out of view as clouds scudded across the sky. Mr Tomkins had that soaring feeling one gets when released from the prison of continuous rain into the first rays of sunshine. He stretched his arms to the sky and quite naturally, without effort or alarm, he rose into the air.

They say people rarely look up and it seemed to be true. Once Mr Tomkins was above the heads of the other walkers, no one noticed him. He circled around like a human kite looking down on heads and trees, rising higher until the greenery of Regent's Park stretched out underneath him. As he rose higher he could recognise the pattern of streets and buildings, rivers and canals in his neighbourhood. He could see London Zoo to the south with its famous aviary, Camden Market in full swing to the east, Lord's Cricket Ground to the west and in the distance to the north lay Hampstead Heath with its ponds.

People, now tiny, were walking in parks and along streets, boats were sailing on waterways, streets were full of traffic, cars and lorries like dinky toys, trains like square snakes slithering along shining rails, all going about their business unaware of Mr Tomkins hovering above them.

At a certain height, Mr Tomkin's progress upwards seemed to stop. In retrospect, he was grateful for that. Of course, he knew that the air grew thin the higher up one went but he had been so exhilarated by the experience he had not thought of the dangers. It was also colder up here and, although he didn't mind it at the moment, he wondered how long he could stay without an overcoat. He was still a little below the flight path of aeroplanes on their way to Heathrow and the clouds floated above him so that he could see the earth in detail below. It was time to think of where he might go.

The river Thames was clearly visible by now, with the Houses of Parliament glowing orange in the sunlight. Mr Tomkins pointed himself in their direction stretching out his arms in front of him and kicking his legs like a swimmer. It seemed to work. He moved across the sky in his chosen direction and pointed himself downwards a little when he saw some people on the roof.

It was rather tantalising. He could see clearly who they were, having recognised two prominent ministers from television, but he could not hear what they said. He floated down as close as he dared but the sun cast his shadow on the roof and he was afraid of being detected. He could have landed behind a chimney and maybe listened in to what they said but an unsettling thought occurred to him. What if he could not fly off again? What would he do? He had no business on the roof of the Houses of Parliament and it would probably be assumed that he had climbed up there. He would almost certainly be arrested. No, perhaps not. Mr Tomkins pointed himself upwards and flew away. He flew towards Downing Street and lowered himself to fly past the back windows of number 10. He would surely be spotted if he flew past the front, but he had to fly quite low even to look through the first-floor windows and was in danger of becoming entangled in a tree. He was gratified with a brief glimpse of the Prime Minister in conference with a group of people one of whom, a red-faced man, was throwing his arms about in a highly excited fashion. But Mr Tomkins could not stop and most definitely did not want to land in the garden.

Somehow this was not quite working. He could see the whole world below him, inviting him to go where he pleased and see whatever he wanted from a new and unrestricted view but he could not stay long at any point for fear of landing and not being able to escape. Besides, he had flown some distance and was beginning to feel a little tired.

He pointed himself towards the City since he had been fascinated by all the new modern buildings. He flew past the Shard and waived to the tourists on the top floor. They nudged each other and pointed at him and laughed and took pictures and it felt like fun again. He wished he had brought his own camera with him because his friends would never guess how he came by such unusual views but, since he had wanted a quiet walk when he set out this morning, he had not even brought his phone with him. Pity, he had a really long-focus zoom lens on his camera so he should have been able to see in detail right inside the offices.

Mr Tomkins flew over the Tower of London, past the Sky Garden but was more interested in the offices in the Gherkin. He twirled around its narrow top but since the day was sunny many of the blinds were drawn. In others, he could see people sitting at computers. One room looked like a conference room with someone giving a presentation to a group of people around a table but he could not read what was on the screen. What had he expected? He was becoming bored.

As he flew back towards his home Mr Tomkins suddenly thought of Maisy O'Reilly who lived a few doors away. It must have been all the peeping in windows that made him think of her since she had a reputation for conducting a vigorous and varied love life. One of his neighbours had remarked: “I'd like to be her window cleaner!” and had guffawed obscenely. Mr Tomkins just wondered... Well, he had to fly by her house to get home.

Her garden was a similar size to his own but it had a tree, not yet fully in bloom, which stood in the middle of her lawn right outside her bedroom windows. A big black car was parked in front of her house suggesting she had a visitor, so the tree would be an ideal spot to conceal himself and, since his own love life was currently non-existent, he might gain some satisfaction from observing hers. He floated thoughtfully over her house assessing the tree. It had some big strong branches that met in a V-shape where he might be able to position himself and remain unobserved. It was difficult to calculate from above how far his favoured spot was from the ground. What he was able to see was that there were no branches on the lower trunk of the tree. His chosen branch might be ten feet or more off the ground, a bit far for someone who did not regard himself as an athlete.

It occurred to him to check a few other things. The house was in a terrace which meant there was no access to the garden from the street. The gardens on this side backed onto the gardens of a parallel street with no alleyway between. If he could not fly away again Mr Tomkins would have to climb over neighbours' fences until he reached his own garden. Then he would not be able to get into his own house because his back door was locked and he had with him only the front door key.

Mr Tomkins was by this time becoming very tired and quite frankly feeling less than amorous. He was cold and his one desire was for a cup of tea. He floated gently down onto the pavement outside his own house and let himself inside with relief. Once or twice after that, Mr Tomkins tried waving his arms about and jumping up and down but he never again left the ground.

During the week Mr Tomkins worked on the twelfth floor of an office block near Victoria Station. If he stayed late, until after dark, he was always impressed by the view. His office block was slightly higher than the surrounding building so he could see out over the night lights of the city to the eerily illuminate tower of Big Ben and the spectacular ring of light that was the London Eye.

On Monday night he stood looking out across London with a colleague.

“I never tire of that view,” he said.

“Me neither,” replied his colleague. “You know I really wish I could just float out of the window and fly over it all. Don't you wish you could fly?”

“No, not me,” said Mr Tomkins. “I reckon it's overrated.”