The underground train ferrying people from the soulless suburbs to the magnet of the city shuddered to a halt, brakes squealing as if in protest. It was one of the noisy old trains which ran in the middle of the day, for less important passengers. The doors opened slowly with a dull thud and hiss of compressed air, hardly loud enough to rouse the half-dozen passengers from their slumbers.
Then the carriage was invaded by a load of five-year olds with loud neon-yellow vests and even louder voices, like miniature road workers. They were shepherded on board by three tired-looking teachers, decked out in similar yellow vests. Half-heartedly they tried to keep the children seated, while attempting to count their flock, afraid they might have lost some on the way. The standard precaution, name and telephone number of their pre-school stencilled on the back of their vests, was no guarantee. This group apparently belonged to “Raspberry Hills Pre-school”.
A few passengers groaned at the rude awakening, as the kids behaved like five-year olds on an outing are wont to do. The noise level escalated as they started pushing and shoving to sit next to friends, or at a far distance from the bullies. Boys and girls did not share seats. The boys were more physical, and louder, switching places, fighting, jumping on seats and treating the carriage as a parkour obstacle course. A few blows were exchanged but without bloodshed. The girls were quieter, sitting close together, whispering secrets or comparing hairstyles. They kept a close watch on any boys who came too close, ready to defend themselves.
Two stations on, the class was herded off the train by one of the teachers, snapping at their heels like a sheepdog, while the other two battled to get them in line on the platform for the recount. A deep sigh like whales communicating under water could be heard from the remaining passengers. Two women hurried on board after waiting impatiently for the herd to disembark. There were now only five passengers in the middle section of the carriage, which felt strangely empty and quiet after all the commotion.
Leaning against the wall next to the exit was an oldish man with bushy grey eyebrows and ruddy complexion, dressed like a model for an outdoor-style store: heavy forest-green jacket with large pockets, checked cap, cavalry twill trousers, checked shirt and heavy duty brogues.
An ancient brown and white hunting dog lay spilled out at his feet. The children had pestered the man, wanting to know the dog’s name and if they could pet the dog. At first he tried to respond patiently: “his name is Blackie and no, he doesn’t like being petted”. They persisted so finally he told Blackie to growl. The dog was not in the mood, but did so reluctantly when the man poked him in the ribs with his left shoe. A bad move, as this just encouraged the kids to demand more growling.
Settling down again, the dog looked up at the man, eyes wide open, begging for consolation. The dog knew what the bulge in the man’s pocket meant – it could smell the musty pieces of dried chicken wings. Man and dog then followed a well-oiled ritual, like a jerky clockwork toy: dog looks at man, man dips hand in pocket, dog sits up, man holds piece of chicken, dog opens mouth, man drops chicken, dog catches chicken and flops down on floor to chew his reward.
The two latest arrivals, both women, sat on the seat to the right of the man, with their backs to him. A shortish, plump, middle-aged woman sat next to the window. She sported ginger hair still curled from a visit to the hairdresser probably not more than a month ago, white trainers, black trousers and a zipped-up maroon autumn jacket. A large carrier bag from one of the cheaper food stores rested in her lap. When she had made herself comfortable, she pulled out a large ice cream which she proceeded to slowly devour. Occasionally she glanced out of the window, but most of the time just looked straight in front of her. She was not the kind of person you would notice or remember.
The younger girl who got on at the same station sat down hurriedly next to the ice-cream woman, preferring to sit next to a woman rather than an unknown man or boy. Strikingly tall she wore a black burka, long black gloves and flat-heeled black shoes. The worn hem of pale blue jeans showed beneath her flowing robe. A small, black satchel-type bag hung across her shoulder and she also carried a large brown tote bag. She pulled out a black tablet notebook, which she immediately hunched over. She was probably on her way to school.
A non-descript man in his late twenties sat on the seat to the left of the two women, huddled against the glass window, uncombed longish brown hair and overdue for his weekly shave. He wore grey sweatpants and a grubby, formerly white sweatshirt. A worn bag lay collapsed at his feet, obviously empty.
The fifth passenger was a clean-cut youth, all of twenty, dark hair shaved back and sides, standing taller on top. He wore a popular national football jersey, tight black jeans and yellowish boots with thick soles. Facing all the other passengers, his dark brown eyes flicked nervously from one to another, often resting longer on the young girl with the tablet. She didn’t appear to notice, head down, absorbed in her studies.
Several times the nervous youth made as if to get to his feet and approach the girl. At last he made up his mind, moving quickly to sit on the seat opposite her. Nobody reacted, or at least showed any reaction, least of all the girl. Puzzled, the boy leaned forward towards her, staring aggresively. She ignored him. Apparently provoked by her way of dressing, the youth started waving and commenting on her long robe. She looked up, appearing startled. Unaccustomed to being addressed by strange men, she responded with a neutral, blank stare. He persisted. She folded up her tablet and looked around, in a silent appeal for support – which was not forthcoming. The pensioner dug into his pocket for more chicken, the woman by the window was finishing off her ice cream, the sleepy man didn’t stir. Realising she was on her own, the girl prepared to beat a retreat as the next station approached. Collecting her bags, she made her escape hurriedly through the nearest exit. The youth gave up and made his getaway through the forward door of the carriage.
Peace was restored and the three remaining passengers carried on as though nothing had happened. Turning her head, the woman by the window noticed the tablet notepad lying on the seat beside her, obviously left behind by the girl. The woman turned back to the window, considering whether to turn the tablet in at the left luggage office. She didn’t touch it.
The train pulled in to the next station, a busy junction with quite a crowd waiting on the platform. Picking up his bag from the floor, the sleepy unshaven man made a show of scratching his head and rubbinghis eyes. The doors flew open and in one unexpectedly quick movement he bent down, scooped up the tablet and ran out of the door, pushing through the crowd and off along the platform. Nobody reacted.
Later that day the following newsflash appeared:
“Earlier today a person was seriously injured in an incident near a busy city underground station, in what appeared to be some kind of explosion. Pending enquiries no further details can be given, according to a police spokesperson.”
A few days after this incident, four people sat round a table in an anonymous industrial building to the south of the city. A brown and white dog lay asleep under the table. “That went rather well, I thought”, said a tall young woman. They all agreed and then made their exits, followed by the dog.
*”Exit, pursued by a bear.” W Shakespeare in “A Winter’s Tale”.