Bright Fires Burn Fastest

by Unknown

  Bright Fires Burn Fastest

  Rory Duncan Garden Forsyth

  Part One: London

  Chapter 1

  “Parasites”, Lucas spat.

  Other club members briefly turned their heads before returning to their discussions. Even spiders, solitary in their webs, at least had to spin before the strike. Parasites though were merely bottom feeders, and from where Lucas sat the rest were terminally infected.

  Such angry feelings had been building for months. The people who wore backpacks on the London Underground always annoyed him, as did a foamy latte being slurped too loudly by a chubby tourist. These though were mere fragments making up an entire manifesto of frustration of where London thought it was headed.

  ‘Become a key person of influence’ read the banner in the gallery to Lucas’s left that had reminded him where London was playing foul. It was a members club, designed for anonymity, not unjustified self-aggrandizement.

  He had winced, sat and listened to ‘figures of influence’ clucking in a coop waiting for their next serving of bullshit to satiate their egos.

  For the next hour he could only gawp at the endless stream of poorly made name badges being handed out and pinned on hollow suits for yet another corporate day. ‘Name, Company, Rank’, why not just add potential wealth as the fourth category and be done with it. ‘Build your brand’, ‘Attract opportunity’, ‘Make more money’, the list went on. Lucas was not unrealistic enough to know there were flaws in his views. He also knew he was in a place where his views would never change. Change had to be made, and for good this time.

  *

  Eventually the rest of the London Underground carriage could do nothing but stare. April looked back at the subject of such interest as the man pulled his woman close to him, her eyelids fluttering. He put one arm strongly around her and squeezed the tender muscle above her collarbone. She in turn responded by resting her weary head on his shoulder despite it being first thing in the morning.

  April watched this couple peck at each other whispering eternal words of love simultaneously. April was still too hung-over to contemplate breakfast let alone that kind of behaviour. Other’s watched on in hope praying that one day they would be held so close.

  It wasn’t hot that day it was late summers close, last orders at the bar for the autumnal sun.

  “Mmmm”, the girl being so lovingly caressed said deliberately loudly. The couple only added to the pallid stench with sex oozing off them as their tongues met in front of so many.

  ‘God’, April could see everyone thinking, ‘Did they do it this morning?’ The women in the carriage imagined him to be French for his prowess.

  As the couple’s lips met again their hands disappeared beneath folds of jackets and Samsonite laptop bags. He pulled her closer, eager to show the world just what a real man he was. He could get an erection at this time of the morning and he hadn’t even had his protein bar.

  She parted her lips and gave them a little lick and with that came plenty of other men also eager to show they too could be so virile. She had no need though, she had her city living Tarzan, he swung on share prices not vines.

  “For Christ’s sake”, said April.

  Instant confusion reined as the couples hands were back by their sides as the whole carriage stared at April.

  April smirked looking at the couple, “They’re fucking it up for the rest of us!”

  There was no retort offered from Juliet and her suburban Romeo. To the uninitiated this couple were utopia, the flag bearers for the next generation of prams and pushchairs. To the practised like April these two were downright disturbing and worst of all they knew just what they were doing.

  The couple still stared at April until her sapphire eyes locked on them with such distain they both had to look at the abandoned copy of The Metro on the floor. April would not back down. So many in that carriage were so happy of that couple, so jealous, and that was the problem.

  The tube rattled to a stop somewhere in the belly of the City of London. As rats scurried away, April alighted first. As she swung up the steps she caught a last look at the couple baffled that their morning routine had not ended as normal. A thin smile spread over April’s lips. This city reeked.

  *

  “Please mind the gap”.

  Days came and days disintegrated. The shrill crackle announced that they were almost ready to board. Boarding perhaps too grand, that suggested a plane which suggested a holiday, this was not.

  Lucas could still taste the acrid ash from the cigarette half smoked discarded and still burning somewhere at the foot of the steps to West Brompton station. The ignominy of having ones Oyster card rejected had passed despite the balding, bearded gatekeeper of commuters finding it just fantastic that someone wearing a suit should not pass.

  “Need more money”, he had venomously sniggered.

  “Please mind the gap”, came back.

  This was about stage three of the jigsaw of the routine. One was self-loathing refusing to shift as easily as the duvet soaked in sweat. A shower was followed by the selection of the least crumpled shirt. Alighting was upon Lucas and he must have been distracted as unready as he was. He blamed the Merlot but not the first bottle, the second. It made sense really, why not have another bottle on a Sunday night? Mondays were shit anyway so why not suffer that bit more.

  “Good morning”, beamed ‘somebody’, the Starbucks name tag being worn away from that many millions of coffee’s made. Lucas was about to order when one of the women behind who had been screaming blue murder down her mobile phone pushed past.

  “Sorry”, she said in a stage whisper, “Such a rush”.

  Eventually his time came when to his right a man dressed in a shining suit with all the buttons done up like a weather man was asking the barista if he could add his own milk ‘due to a severe lactose intolerance. He had even brought milk from home and was cradling in a bottle. That was quite enough.

  ‘That feeling’ certainly altered Lucas but he didn’t want it turning out like the last time. That had ended badly indeed. Now here he stood with the traffic passing by and the endless stream of people he disliked walking past. The sad fact being that though thinking himself better, he knew that they were happier. More balanced, more predictable, more mundane.

  Lucas had taken the road less travelled by indeed but there was no mention that perhaps one day these different roads would meet again. Did that mean you had to be old, dead and grey to appreciate your choices? Or just regret a lack of them.

  Lucas cackled through the butt of the cigarette between his teeth. Forget waiting for life to catch you like a cold. Life was better like a rollercoaster, at least there were always people queuing up to ride you.

  *

  The 7.17 bus from Putney had actually meandered into view at about 7.15. Sarah was spying on it whilst drinking her instant coffee with two and a half sweeteners. These little routines were important, otherwise she never would have survived the metropolis.

  She grabbed handbag, lunch and coat in one movement and a quick clip in her TK-Max heels ensued and the bus doors wedged shut behind her with a hiss. She made her way up the steps to the top floor of the bus, careful to press her mid-length skirt down against the back of her legs. You never knew who could be behind you, London was full of perverts.

  “Excuse me”, she said to the old man with headmaster glasses on engrossed in his paper.

  “Would you mind if I sat there?”

  The man looked up at her then turned his head and scanned the rest of the empty bus.

  “Sorry”, Sarah squeaked, “I sit exactly there every morning”.

  Following the awkward bum in bum out pass of his knees she landed with a thump in her u
sual spot. Immediately she began the inevitable untangle of headphones and reached for ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ that she had diligently slipped an old cover of a Jodie Picoult on for appearances sake. She thought of texting April but thought better of it.

  ‘Why do I think I deserve this promotion?’

  After reading the same line over and over Sarah succumbed to the inevitable question that had plagued her for nearly ten days. Sleepless nights, no spinning classes and not even her usual one night out with April and the girls on a Friday. Today was that day that she had prepared for, days came no bigger.

  ‘Well’ she thought, ‘Since I arrived at APN Events I have personally overseen the winning of two new clients who now provide regular work though they have been somewhat dormant recently. I am also very much a team player and I think my colleagues are really nice.’

  Somehow that didn’t seem enough. ‘I am also a key member of the company netball team’. No, still more needed.

  Then it struck her. Of course, the Menton account. She hadn’t brought it in personally but without her support of the lovely Dicky Denton they would never have agreed for APN to run their event. It had been a fraught but altogether fantastic affair with canapés, champagne and a DJ in the Menton head office. People in London drunk so much, she was learning fast.

  Satisfied she was now ready for anything she put the book away next to her low fat turkey sandwiches on granary bread. A quick check of Facebook was earned.

  Sally from home had put up new pictures of her dog and made a Facebook page for the dog himself, how cute. She even had a friend request from said canine, which took her total to 419 friends, 83 of those she had made since moving.

  Pressing play her earphones lurched to life with the immortal and truly inspirational Enrique Inglesias, ‘If I could be your hero baby, I could kiss away your pain’.

  *

  The cyclist, without a helmet, cut up the inside of the bus and that split second was enough. A screech of breaks punched through the calm September morning and an audible gasp whistled around Victoria station.

  David began to run, his Nordica walking boots clomping across the chewing gum spattered pavements.

  “Everybody back”, the bus driver screamed.

  Eventually the cyclist whom was heavily muscled and practically naked he wore so little opened his eyes. David was one row back but could still see the cyclist’s hands rise to his face and push his long shaggy blonde hair from his face. David could sense the general disappointment he wasn’t dead, it would have been a better story for the office.

  “Fucking pommy idiot,” the cyclist screamed in a thick Australian accent leaping up and bouncing the driver against the broad red side of the Number 9 bus.

  People were tempted to intervene but stopped short such was the frame of this brooding beautiful gorilla.

  “Ik noo ma faylt, ek noo ma falalt” the bus driver stammered.

  “Who else hit me then? Why don’t you use your fucking mirrors?”

  “Nok min faylt” the driver gasped getting weaker.

  Accidents happened and David remembered the highway class code he took in Acton despite the fact he couldn’t drive, cyclists should always stay on the outside. The driver’s eyes rolled back and forward to the large crowd now gathered. He was pleading.

  “Go on, do him!” shouted a cab driver complete with anchor tattoo on his forearm stopped behind the bus.

  “Yeah he deserves it the bloody foreigner!” screamed another from the masses.

  It was like the last days of Rome. No one meant to do it and it was bound to happen such was the maelstrom of commuters in so many forms of transport descending on the big smoke daily. David looked down at his feet and his tummy protruding over his suit trousers, what could he do?

  This was his moment, the kind of moment he could only beg for to come around again. There were girls in the crowd, they would see. Besides, Lucas would love it, ‘stand up for yourself’ he was always saying. He would be his very own Robin Hood defending the poor bus drivers of the forest against Australian bullies in their barbeque castles.

  David took a deep breath and pushed his glasses up on his nose. He took off his Dakine backpack and set it on the floor.

  “Hey”, he said quietly at first.

  No one moved.

  “Hey”, a little louder as the crowd started to turn, there was a new player in the commuter’s battle royale. The Aussie began to turn, his tanned and chiselled face rotating. David took another deep breath and then suddenly wretched audibly he was so nervous. He had to fight to keep his porridge down and covered his mouth with his hand.

  ‘Bleurrgh’, again came from the back of his throat and then the crowd began to realise what had happened. They began to laugh as he continued to wretch and gag.

  ‘Oh god’, David thought.

  The Aussie let go of the bus driver and began to chuckle immediately. Laughs began to ring around the circle and David felt his eyes welling up.

  “Fuck me are you crying?” the Aussie boomed, now suddenly the peoples champion.

  David wheezed and fought back the lump in his throat. He must not cry. Even the bus driver was laughing for Christ’s sake. David fought back the tears and gave one more wretch just for good measure so the onlookers now in hysterics would never forget the prize story of their lunch breaks.

  The Aussie picked up his bike, patted David on the top of his head and had the audacity to wave at the dispersing crowd like a rock star leaving before the encore.

  Within seconds the scene returned to normal and the bus moved off. David groaned and turned back to where his backpack had been. It wasn’t there. He couldn’t hold it back and threw up on the pavement splashing porridge up onto his trousers. David merely looked to the skies and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. A tear rolled down from behind his glasses.

  “No” he said aloud, he mustn’t cry.

  *

  The park was almost deserted but there against the red leaves beckoning winter closer April sat, as she often did, under a tree in solace with her mind wandering. Lunch was no extravagant affair, merely the sandwich. She didn’t buy in for the Taki-Taki Bon from Itsu complete with smugness that you were culturally diverse.

  It was just so odd the way a man, supposedly the lion, could complain quite so much as the most recent one had. The constant mind games, parlour snickers and time wasting were hourly apparent.

  “Are you going to that festival thing in Reading?” he had said.

  “Yes, but….”

  He never let her finish, “Well you invited me!”

  Anything else could have been happening that day.

  “I know I did but plans have changed”.

  “Well now I look bloody stupid, I have told loads of people we are going as a couple.”

  Well you are a desperate fool she wanted to say. He had been an option only when there were no other options.

  “And that’s it then is it?”

  She was so bored of it, the drama, the tension and the tears. Yes she had said she would go with him. Now she didn’t want to. Why was that so wrong? Plans altered and people changed their minds.

  He had looked at her blankly with his head slightly cocked to one side.

  In reality he should have been perfect. Rich, well, rich enough. Good looking, though in a traditional way and a bit smug. Good in bed, very giving, though April had often mused that giving good head and being subservient to her came hand in hand.

  “I’m sorry”, April had said.

  “Well why bother?” he had spat.

  Again with the melodrama. Why bother with it all indeed? Another perfectly amiable and delicate twentieth century man who could cook, clean and not go out with his friends more than once a month. It wasn’t enough though. Perfect for the coffee shop brags and the inevitable family Christmas judgement but not for her.

  “Look, its no big deal”, April had said little caring if he thought it was. “I said I would go with someone else ages ago who
can now come. You can still come of course?”

  He had thought long and hard leaning back against the counter, his perfectly formed stomach from all the pre-dawn pilates classes pressing against his shirt.

  “Ok I will.”

  He had no shame.

  The inevitable ending of a passage of time came slowly, a blunt sword not a bullet. He watched April closely and the realisation dawned upon him that she really didn’t care.

  “But…” he stammered.

  Colour drained from him and the last moments of hope ebbed from his eyes as he knew she was lost to him.

  Time had run its course for them, well, for April.

  She had been looking for an excuse for weeks. He had lost that part of him that made him intriguing, that being he hadn’t seemed that interested. Perhaps it was her nonchalance that made men act so, perhaps it was because she was approaching thirty and men and women alike realised that they had to get married to fit in. Jokers were never welcome in a pack of 52.

  Silently he had grabbed his coat turning one last time.

  “Really, all of the dinners, the fucking, the wine.”

  “Yes”.

  “Well fuck you”, was the last thing she heard as the door banged.

  If anything she had made it easier for him. It was much easier to hate someone than to miss someone.

  Her lunchtime sandwich disappeared as she watched groups collected in small circles eating their own lunches from tupperware’s taking photos as they did.

  Why were newspapers dying out? Simple, everyone believed themselves their own investigators, journalists and broadcasters all in one.

  The world seemed so lost but so was April. Perhaps the world was right and she was the one with the problems.

  *

  Sarah checked her phone again beneath the spreadsheet she had hidden it underneath on her desk, it had been seventeen minutes.