I gripped Archie's wrist when a blare of horns squealed through the air.
Suddenly there was no traffic in the near lane and we saw Doug clearly, standing on the markings between the middle and far lanes. Vans braked and veered from the middle to the near lane; a car and motorcycle thundered past him in the far.
There was a gap.
Doug stepped forward, then retreated hastily as a sports car shrieked and flashed before him. Lorries in the middle lane roared and hid him - and the next time we saw him he was standing on the central reservation.