Strangers on the 16_02

by Priya Basil

  ‘I seem to have ended up with this in the scramble.’ He waves the gadget at her but doesn’t hand it over right away. They’re both aware of the thread-like piece of plastic hanging between them: a delicate connection. Helen makes no move to take ownership of the phone either.

  ‘Thanks again.’ At least she can talk properly now.

  Kerm bends down towards her. ‘How are you doing?’ There’s a little smudge of blood at the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Not the best.’ She’s sure she must look terrible. The right side of her face feels huge.

  ‘Are you sure you can see all right? How many fingers?’ He holds her phone up.

  She laughs, then quickly stops as pain shoots through her cheek and eye.

  ‘You’d best watch that smile.’ His lips press together in mock seriousness. ‘Normally it’s lethal for other people, but for the next few days you’ll be its victim too, so take care.’

  ‘When people ask me why I look so glum I’ll tell them it’s because of doctor’s orders: I’m under strict instructions not to smile.’

  ‘Good.’ Kerm nods. ‘I like obedient patients.’

  ‘How do you know if they really listen to you? It’s not as if you can check up on them.’ Helen runs a finger along her lips, which feel dry and cracked. God, she must look awful. She has no idea why this man is being so nice to her.

  ‘Oh, you can tell. You get better at it over the years. You can detect when there’s a self-destructive streak in people.’ He straightens up again. His back is hurting from all the bending and he’s starting to feel too hot. He shrugs off his coat, followed by his suit jacket.

  ‘So you don’t think I’m one of those?’ Helen’s eyebrows rise, only to fall the next instant. Her forehead creases and her free hand goes protectively to the aching spot.

  Kerm winces in sympathy. ‘This injury is going to give you good practice at keeping a poker face. As for what kind of patient you are . . .’ He scratches the dip between his nose and upper lip. ‘It’s actually too soon to say. It might be an idea for me to check up on you. I could do that if you give me the number of this thing.’ He thrusts her phone towards her. His eyes do that funny wink-thing again: first one eye shutting and opening, and then the other.

  Helen takes the phone from him and their fingers touch. A flush of heat spreads through her body, as if someone has opened an oven door deep inside her. She doesn’t know how to respond. She’s never given her number to a complete stranger. It feels . . . like gambling. Like putting all your chips on the roulette table in one go and then watching the wheel spin.

  ‘Think about it.’ Kerm stretches to his full height. His forward manner has left him surprised and he can tell she’s taken aback too.

  She fiddles with the phone.

  ‘Are you left-handed?’ Kerm asks.

  ‘Sort of.’ Helen can’t explain that the right one, which she normally uses, is occupied with hiding a lump of soiled tissues. ‘You can put in your name and number if you like.’ She passes the phone back to him.

  ‘I haven’t used one of these touchy-things before.’ He presses hesitantly on the letters visible through the screen. ‘It’s easy!’ He smiles as his name is typed out and then saved. He does the same with his number. ‘Nifty.’ He tries to get back to the main menu, but ends up in her text messages instead. ‘I’d better give it back to you before I delete something.’

  She takes it without looking. On the screen is the message she’s written to Jill. It’s asking whether to ‘send’ or ‘save’ again. As Helen’s fingers close around the phone, her thumb presses down on ‘send’.

  Innocent hits his fists together impatiently. He catches sight of an older woman nearby peeking at him and his friends. ‘Hey, what’s got your eye?’ He jerks his chin at her.

  She turns away quickly, clutching her bag closer. Her pearls are the same colour as her hair, and now both match the wan look on her face.

  ‘Hey, lady.’ Innocent steps up to her. ‘Why you holding that bag so tight? You think I’m gonna steal it coz I’m black?’

  She shakes her head, the loose skin at her neck flapping slightly. Her knuckles stand out around the strap of her blue leather handbag.

  ‘Check these people!’ Innocent waves over his friends. He doesn’t see how Comfort gives the doors one last shove only to have the blade of his knife snap and slip outside. He’s left holding the handle, which has two inches of metal hanging off it. Comfort curses under his breath and folds the damaged weapon into his hand. It’s so reduced in size that the broken tip of blade is hardly visible in his clenched palm, which he draws under the over-long sleeves of his jacket.

  ‘Just check them all!’ Innocent throws back his head and laughs. ‘See how shook they all are.’ His voice fills the compartment and then fades into the unnatural silence that follows. ‘Yeah, yeah, hide away your phones, people, the black boy might nick them.’

  Kerm recognises the voice. He stops talking to Helen and peers towards the far end of the carriage. Over the wave of heads he sees the boys. ‘It’s the same guys who got you,’ he says quietly.

  Innocent takes a good long look at everyone around him. The passengers who are standing, mainly school children, shift their weight from one foot to the other. Those who are seated are doing their best to be invisible. A few are fanning themselves with their hands. It’s hot inside and even the windows have steamed up slightly.

  Next to Innocent, a thin girl wearing large gold hoop earrings exhales loudly. Lots of thin braids line her head. They’re so freshly done that the tightness of each hair pinching at the scalp is visible. She reminds Innocent of his sister, Charity. The girl loops one braid round and round an index finger then sinks to her feet. She eases her bottom onto the floor of the carriage. ‘Man, I’m tired,’ she says. ‘How much longer do we have to keep waiting?’ A couple of other girls follow her example and squat down too.

  ‘You know what I think?’ Innocent raises his voice as if he’s addressing a big rally. ‘I think the white people should stand and let us blacks sit.’

  The girls on the floor start to giggle. In the rest of the train the atmosphere becomes even flatter, like the last bubble disappearing from a fizzy drink.

  Kerm can’t believe what’s he’s hearing. He glances at Helen. ‘They’re crazy,’ he whispers.

  She puts a finger to her lips, willing him to stay silent. The last thing anyone should do in such a situation is draw attention to themselves.

  ‘Give your seats to the niggaz!’ Blessing shouts.

  ‘Once upon a time you made us stand while you sat. It should be the other way now.’ Innocent runs his eyes over the stiff figures frozen to their seats.

  Kerm rises on to his tiptoes so he has a good view over the heads of the crowd. He sees what he hadn’t noticed before: that by chance many of those sitting are indeed white. He also realises that more than half of the students filling the standing space are black.

  ‘These white people,’ Comfort joins in, ‘they all scared of us blacks. You can tell. They go red. Jus’ look. Jus’ check how shook they all are.’

  It’s true. People are scared. Some of them seem to be holding their breath. Kerm can feel the fear crawling through the air. It fills him with anger. How can three teenagers have this effect on so many people? He too feels intimidated. It’s crazy. ‘Hey, you!’ Kerm calls out. ‘That’s enough now.’

  The boys can’t see who’s spoken. Innocent jumps up a couple of times, trying to work out who it might be.

  ‘Who are you? Some smart-ass white boy? Too scared to show your face?’ Innocent’s nostrils flare as he breathes out sharply.

  ‘Don’t.’ Helen grabs at Kerm’s trousers. ‘It’s not worth it.’

  Innocent starts to swagger through the carriage, checking everyone out. Comfort follows him. ‘Come on! If you’re so big, you can say it to my face. Be a man.’

  Innocent grabs the tie of a spotty schoolboy whose bag happens to bump his arm. ‘Was it you?’ He br
ings his face close to the boy’s.

  ‘Leave him alone!’ Kerm shouts. He’s so enraged he doesn’t notice the train start to move slowly. Helen tugs on his trousers again. ‘You’re just bullies.’

  As if by some miracle leap, the two boys are suddenly standing right near Kerm.

  ‘What’s this got to do with you? Whose side are you on?’ Comfort asks.

  ‘The side of decency.’

  ‘You got something else to say?’ Innocent’s jaw moves as though he’s chewing gum.

  ‘No.’ Kerm’s heart is pounding.

  Helen looks away and hopes they don’t recognise her.

  ‘Coz, if you have, please share it.’ Innocent’s tone is so over-friendly it can only be read as threatening. ‘No, really. You don’t have to be a pussy and shout your comments while ducking behind the ladies. Tell me, bruv, I’m here to listen.’ Kerm is almost a head taller than Innocent, but this doesn’t seem to faze the teenager.

  ‘I’ve got nothing more to say.’ Kerm keeps his voice hard, his eyes locked with the boy’s. He registers the metallic clack of the train in motion and hopes they pull up at the next stop soon.

  ‘You sure?’ Innocent presses closer, his chest almost touching Kerm’s. ‘Or you just a pussy?’

  Comfort steps up so he’s on one side of Kerm. ‘You look like you got a problem, bruv.’

  ‘Yes, I have a problem with your attitude. As does every other person on this train,’ he adds, hoping someone else might back him up. His arms are crossed protectively over his chest, holding his coat and jacket close.

  A space-y sort of buzzing noise starts, like the kind you get in science fiction movies when aliens are about to land. Helen sits bolt upright and pushes her left hand, which is holding her phone, under her thigh. Her mobile’s address book is customised, giving different ringtones to people so that she can recognise the caller. The sonic sound being emitted means that Jill is calling. As part of the ringing, a nasal voice starts to croak, ‘Earthlings have no fear . . .’

  Innocent looks in Helen’s direction and recognises her. His eyes zip back and forth between her and Kerm, trying to work out if there’s a connection. Then, looking through the window behind Helen, he realises the train is moving.

  ‘Fuck you, man.’ It’s a throwaway comment, a sign that he can’t be bothered any more. I need to get out, he’s thinking, make a run for it at the next stop. He takes a step back.

  ‘What right do you have to speak to people like that? What have I done to you?’ Kerm shouts.

  Innocent has already turned away. Comfort follows, but not without stamping hard on Kerm’s foot first.

  ‘Get off me!’ Kerm pushes Comfort and the back of his hand smacks him under the chin. Next thing a blow lands in Kerm’s stomach. He drops his coat and jacket and hits out, punching and kicking. He hears a woman scream. The boys are cursing, hammering him with blows. He feels a sharp jab in his side and cries for help.

  There’s a clatter of glass breaking as someone pulls the emergency alarm. Another person calls out in relief, ‘We’re at the station!’

  The boys charge towards an exit.

  Kerm sinks to his knees, breathing heavily. He keels towards the left, clutching at his waist. His jaw is clenched, his lips pulled back, baring teeth that grind against each other in pain. Now people offer help, prop him up, express anger. Helen clambers out of her seat and crouches down next to Kerm.

  She doesn’t notice the bloody ball of paper fall from her hand and roll between Kerm’s legs. She doesn’t realise that her palm is stained a ruby red. Without thinking, she places her hand over the arm Kerm has wrapped around his wound. Her eyes are fixed on his face, so she can’t see the blood leaking out of him so fast it drips onto the floor. Then she feels a warm wetness on her skin and pulls away, startled. She lifts up her hand and watches the blood run along the jagged cracks of her life and fate lines. Two fat drops roll off onto her suede coat.

  THE END

  About the Author

  Priya Basil was born in London and grew up in Kenya. She now lives in London and Berlin and writes full time.

  Visit her at www.Priyabasil.com

  www.quickreads.org.uk

  Also by Priya Basil

  Ishq and Mushq

  The Obscure Logic of the Heart

  TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS

  61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA

  www.transworldbooks.co.uk

  Transworld is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com

  First publication in Great Britain

  Corgi edition published 2011

  Copyright © Priya Basil 2011

  Priya Basil has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781409045823

  ISBN 9780552777056

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

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