The dirty light from the shabby neon strips in the ceiling
bit into her eyes as she tried to exert herself into a space. The smell of damp
material and stale sweat permeated the air and she forced herself to take
shallow breaths from the perfumed scarf she wore. This was her drudgery: every
afternoon Alice crowded onto the tube with thousands of miserable souls making
their way back from work. She could never work out why everyone seemed so
angry, sad or frustrated at the end of the day. Surely, they were going home or
to the pub to relax with family and friends? Maybe that was the problem, she
mused. She lived with two other people in a small flat in West Acton, not far
from the Central Line. How she wished she lived closer to the newer, swankier Elizabeth
Line with its air con and wider aisles.
On this particularly wet Tuesday afternoon in April, she
found that her own mood was at a low ebb. Her boss was on holiday (lucky him),
and she was doing her own job and quite a bit of his work to help out. It was
the right thing to do and mostly she didn’t mind her work at the projects’
office, but today she was feeling less than charitable towards her fellow
humans. The jolting carriage swayed its mechanical way through the pitch-black
dark of the tunnels, emerging every now and again into the startling light of a
station, where the merry-go-round of passengers would engage one another in an
awkward dance.
It was only 3 more stops to her station and by now they were
on the surface, grey afternoon light mingling with the stark lamination of the
carriage. She took the opportunity to look around at the grim faces of the
other passengers. That’s when she noticed him for the first time. He was stood
5 people away down the carriage, facing the peeling adverts and the grimy tube
may above the windows. Her breath caught in her throat. Had she known he took
this line? Was he usually on this train? Her mind was whirring and she had to
remember to breathe into her scarf to avoid inhaling the noxious fumes around
her. He shifted his position slightly and she suddenly looked down towards her
feet. Had he seen her looking at him? Had she been staring so hard he had felt
it? Her hand clasped the satchel she was carrying even harder and she tried to
make herself relax. It was fine. She always overreacted when she saw people she
thought she knew. She looked up again and her grey-green eyes locked onto his
burnished copper stare. Damn.
Suddenly, she was transported back 2 months and a million
miles away to an evening in a hipster pub in the West End, name forgotten in
the haze of hungover memory. She had been out with colleagues to celebrate the
end of a project with cocktails, food and dancing when she had bumped into a
handsome stranger at the bar. They had chatted for over an hour until her
colleagues had come to fetch her for the table booking and he had given her his
number. She had promised to call, at the very least to text. She had meant to
as well. It was hard finding people, even in a crowded city, so to have one
offer themselves up in front of you is a rarity. But life had overtaken her; days
became weeks and then it just felt too awkward and desperate to make the call.
She had let it go as “one of those beautiful things that could have been”.
Now he was here. 5 people away and looking right at her. He
surely couldn’t remember her. It must be because she was staring so intently at
him, she reasoned. Anyway, it was her stop, so she braced herself and left the
carriage with head down and shoulders squared. She looked up to see if he was
still looking, but was too late – the train had started to move off and there
was no hope of seeing anyone as the train moved away. Sighing, she walked
towards the exit. The dull afternoon sky was darkening now and the drizzle had
begun to fall with more force. A lovely Spring evening, she thought dolefully
as she turned out of the station and headed for her flat. Maybe she should stop
at T
he Greystoke on her way home and have a drink and some food. That would
help, even if it was only the fact she wouldn’t have to wash up. She swerved
towards the pub and already felt a bit better about her day. She might even
call in to say she would work from home tomorrow. That would avoid grubby
commuters and also any more awkward encounters with could-have-been men. She
was trying to remember his name as she stood at the bar waiting to be served.
Dan? Ben? It was short, she could remember that much. As the bar tender smiled
a greeting at her, she ordered her large glass of pinot and a classic burger,
but before she could pay and enjoy her wine, a voice chirped in from just
behind her, “I’ll get that.” Alice spun around, shocked and bemused. Standing
directly behind her, smiling placidly was a handsome face punctuated with a
pair of copper eyes.
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