by Sophia Bond
He sped through the streets and found himself on the tram line, running alongside the metro as it cruised almost silently on its rails. It had taken him a day or two to realise that he had seen Lily once before, on the Met, when he and his friends had been messing around. It wasn’t until one of them put the video online and he watched it that he realised it was her. He could see her through the window as he popped the wheelie. Ridiculous, he wasn’t usually so reckless on his bike. He respected the machine. Knew their power and what they were capable of. Too many of his friends had gotten hurt or worse on them. But for some reason that afternoon he was feeling playful. Who was he kidding, it wasn’t for any reason. It was because of her. Even through the glass of the tram carriage window she had this kind of pull on him.
He glanced through the windows of this particular tram, knowing he wouldn’t see her, but looking just the same. He got to the front and felt stupid for even trying, so he peeled off and parked the bike near a leafy park. He chained it up and wandered down a footpath, sitting on the first bench he saw. He had his hood up, track pants and trainers on. He knew he was the typical image of a thug, a yob, a kid up to no good, and could see the sideways glances from people walking by, but he didn’t care. If they thought that’s what he was, a thug, maybe it was true.
Jamie pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the screen. His heart raced. There was a text on the screen from a cell phone number he didn’t recognise. It just said “Tnks for saving my life xx”.
He smiled and read it again, stretching out on the bench. He immediately saved the number to his contact list. And then, just for good measure, emailed it to himself. He made a note to write it down as soon as he found a pen and paper.
On the ride home he was almost back to his flat when he hit a patch of broken glass on the street. Almost immediately the bike started to pull to the side and he knew he had a flat.
“Shit,” he muttered, and pulled the bike to the side of the street. He was only a block from an old acquaintance, but Liam wasn’t someone he liked to spend time with anymore. Not since he decided to turn his life around. But a quick visit to Liam’s shop was better than walking the bike nearly a mile home.
He walked it around the corner and into the yard of a garage tucked between the arches of an old railroad trestle.
“Liam,” he said, patting his old friend on the back, “I need your help mate,” he pointed to his bike, leaning against the door of the garage.
“No problem J,” he said and gestured toward one of the younger guys in the garage, “sort it.”
Liam led the way into the back and sat down on a torn and dirty couch. Jaime perched against the wall with his arms folded and watched as Liam rolled a cigarette sprinkled with pot, he didn’t want to make himself too comfortable.
Liam held the cigarette out to Jamie, and at first he refused, but then thought Liam is the kind to be easily offended, so he sat on a battered folding chair and took the cigarette and a light.
“Been up to much?” Liam asked, the cigarette pinched between his teeth as he lit it.
“Nah,” replied Jamie. “I got into some trouble a couple months back so I’ve just been keeping my head down,”
Liam nodded. He was about to say something else when there was a bang on the door. Both men looked up to see three police officers kick down the door and charge in, telling them to get down on the floor.
***
Jamie sat in his cell at the station with his elbows on his knees. He had been staring at the floor since he got in here yesterday afternoon, memorising the cracks in the old stained tile. He was waiting for his solicitor, who was, as usual, taking his time getting here.
It turns out Liam had been stealing cars and motorcycles and stripping them down in his shop, then selling the parts and metal for scrap. None of the cops believed Jamie when he said he wasn’t involved, he was just a customer. He’s not even sure his solicitor believed him.
Jamie held his booking papers in his hand and read over them again. He knew it probably meant jail time when it went to trial in a few months. Especially considering his past. The only thing that could potentially stop that is if one of Liam’s workers actually booked his bike in as if he were a cash paying customer. It would be enough for his solicitor to work with anyway.
Jamie folded one of the papers in half, running his nails along the crisp fold. He folded neatly, again and again, until a crisp white origami swan was sitting in the palm of his hand.
“Jamie Nash?” a voice from the door of his cell asked. He stood and saw a cop standing beside his solicitor.
“In trouble again Mr Nash,” his solicitor said wearily. More of a statement than a question.
Jamie held his hand up in self defence. “I’m innocent this time, sir,” he said.
The cop unlocked the door and gestured for Jamie to step out.
“It turns out you are,” the solicitor said, holding up the receipt which, by some miracle, had been taped to the seat of his bike just before the cops raided the shop. There was evidence he was a fee paying customer after all.
“The CCTV caught you wheeling your bike in as well, so it looks like you’re lucky. This time,” his solicitor said, walking him down a long hallway.
“You just need to sign some papers and you’ll be out of here,” he said, taking long strides toward a stuffy side room with a folder of papers on the table. Jamie signed the papers and followed the signs toward the exit of the building. When he got toward the front the beige institutional hallways gave way to carpeted offices and rows of desks. Jamie turned a corner and stopped. Across the office near a coffee machine was Lily. His heart sped up. She was wearing a navy flowered dress that ended just above her knees, low heels, and her silky dark hair was tied in a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was pouring coffee into a cup and reading something from a sheet of paper.
Jamie glanced around and saw to his right a door with her name on it. Below her name were the words “Behavioural Therapist”. He edged toward the door and pushed it open with the toe of his trainer. Inside was a desk, a wall of books, a window that looked out onto one of the more picturesque stretches of Manchester canal and two comfortable looking couches that faced each other. A few pieces of abstract art hung on the walls, and a few potted plants and lamps dotted the room. It was definitely a therapists office, but some of the touches seemed a little more personal. A pillow in the shape of an American state he couldn’t quite place was on the couch, and there was a bowl of sea shells on the coffee table. The room had the lingering scent of perfume.
On a whim, Jamie ducked inside and placed the swan he made from his booking papers in the middle of her desk. He knew this will give away his record, but she’d find out anyway.
He sneaked out of the building without bumping into her and walked back to his best friends flat. No one was home, so he crashed on the couch for a few hours, the scent of Lily’s perfume still lingering in his memory.
Chapter Three
Lily refilled her coffee mug and took a donut out of the box sitting on the table in the communal kitchen area. She had been in her new job just over two weeks and she was starting to feel settled in.
“How’s the donut?” Steve, one of the police officers assigned to the office asked, startling her.
“Fine,” she said, covering her mouth, which was half full of donut still.
“How are you finding it?” he asked.
“The donut?” she replied, jokingly.
“The office,” he said, his face serious.
“Yeah, I like it.” Lily smiled. “Everyone is very nice.”
“It must be different to America,” he said.
Lily shrugged. “In some ways. In others, it’s just an office,” she said and smiled again.
Steve reached out and put his hand on her arm. She wanted to back away, but the bar with the coffee maker was only inches behind her.
“If you need any help settling in, I’m here to help,” he said.
> Lily nodded. “I’ll remember that,” she replied, and sidestepped away from him, taking the mug of coffee back to her office.
She slipped inside and shut the door, as she did she saw Steve looking after her, leaning against the coffee bar and sipping his own coffee. The way he looked at her gave her a chill, and even though the glass in her door was frosted, she shut the blinds anyway.
On a shelf in the corner, sitting on a stack of books, was the paper crane she found on her desk earlier this week. She could tell it was booking papers after someone had been arrested, and she could only just made out the first few letters of the name. She hadn’t unfolded it, and didn’t want to. It was beautiful. At first she had wondered if it was a gift from Steve. It seemed like he was always around recently, lurking around corners, waiting by doors to walk out with her. He was nice enough, but she felt claustrophobic around him. Always like he was standing too close, like she couldn’t back away from him. And that made her uncomfortable.
The phone rang and brought her back to the present. It was the front desk. One of her first patients was here. She was a court assigned psychologist, and as part of her job she had to asses everyone before they stood trial. She was the first in a series of people who made decisions on if a person accused of a crime could and should stand trial. Most of the time that meant basic paperwork, trolling through medical and psychological histories. Brief interviews, and then a written recommendation. Then the case was passed on and she never thought about it again. In theory. Some of her clients stuck with her. Normally the young ones. A teenage girl who had murdered her older brother with the family shotgun because he was raping her. And another teenage girl who had murdered her family for no discernible reason at all. They were the cases that kept her up at night. She was hoping this move, to a relatively safe country, would change that.
“Please tell Mr. Warwick he can come in,” Lily said down the phone and composed herself for an interview. The man in question was arrested for assault and possession of a dangerous weapon. When he came in the door, Lily could feel the anger in him. It was penetrable, an electric current in the air.
“Hello Dylan, my name is Lily,” she said, stepping around her desk and trying to put him at ease. He was barely 17, his skin was tanned with a spattering of pimples across his forehead. He was wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. He sat down and put the hood up, disappearing into the shadow it cast over his face. He didn’t shake her hand.
Lily perched on the edge of the desk, her hands behind her back.
“Do you know why you’re here today?” she asked.
“Of course, they’ve made me come talk to you. Not that I want to,” he said indignantly.
“No, most people don’t like talking to me,” she said, trying to ease the tension. He didn’t return her smile.
“You American?” he asked. It sounded like an accusation.
Lily nodded.
He shifted in his chair and seemed to relax a little.
“What you doing in this shithole?” he asked.
Lily laughed, and she noticed the hint of a smile on his face. She found most people, no matter what their background or circumstances, just want to be liked. And everyone likes having a connection with another person.
“I don’t mind it. Its nice actually,”
“Manchester?” he said with disbelief.
“Yeah, it has character,” she replied.
This time he laughed and pulled his hood back a little. Not down, but halfway off, his hands now resting casually in his lap, elbows on his knees. Lily moved to the chair diagonal from him and copied his body language, leaning forward a little with her elbows on her knees. She started to tell him about where she came from when there was a smash against the glass of her door. Lily ducked, but she felt shards of the glass cut into her skin, pinching and burning like hundreds of needles. She had raised her hand and ducked, and looked up to see a young man, not much older than the one sitting on her couch, striding through the broken glass into the room. In his hand was a knife, raised and ready.
Dylan Warwick, who had been starting to relax and open up only moments ago, stood with his fists up. He was immediately wound and defensive. His attacker ignored Lily but went straight for Dylan with the knife, slashing and stabbing at him.
“Stop,” Lily shouted, reflexively reaching toward the young boy to defend him. The attacker turned then, as if seeing Lily for the first time.
“Stay outta this, bitch,” he said, and brought the knife down in a fluid swooping motion with one arm, and pushed her in the chest with the other. It connected with Lily’s arm, grazing her skin but it was sharp enough to cut. She landed hard on the floor, vulnerable and on her back. She thought for a moment that he was going to attack again, but he turned away from her and buried the knife in Dylan Warwick’s stomach. The boy looked surprised at first, and then his face paled and he crumpled to the ground. Lily screamed, and it seemed like hours had passed since the attacker had broken in her door, but it had only happened in a matter of seconds.
Soon there were police and paramedics swarming the room, taking Dylan away on a stretcher, trying to keep him responsive. Lily had backed herself against a wall and a young woman paramedic gingerly tended to the cut on her arm.
“Is he going to be okay?” Lily asked. The paramedic looked at her with tender eyes.
“They’ll do everything they can,” she said, finishing wrapping her arm and standing up. Lily was led out of the room and given a ride home. She called her sister halfway there and explained what happened.
“You must be in shock,” she said, meeting Lily at the door and draping her in one arm before leading her upstairs. Lily did feel in shock, and worried about Dylan. But she felt drained and like she needed to sleep. She crawled into bed and slept until he next morning.
When she woke up she saw there was a text from an unknown number. When she opened it she saw it was a message from Steve and winced. She wondered who gave him her phone number. It was a short text, just saying he hoped she was okay, but with a line of five x’s.
“That’s kind of excessive,” Victoria laughed when Lily showed her the message a short time later while the two of them were having breakfast. Lily had signed herself off from work for the week. She thought she might be okay to go back in a day or two, but she was still feeling rattled. And her arm was sore.
“Steve is a little excessive. He’s nice, but…” Lily hesitated. “He makes me feel a bit unnerved.”
Victoria sipped her orange juice. “You should trust your gut with these things, just keep it professional.”
“Yeah,” Lily agreed. She didn’t really have a desire to date. Not after what happened with her husband. She was still vulnerable. And hurt.
“How does your arm feel?” Victoria asked.
“Sore,” Lily replied. “And stiff. I can’t move it very well.”
“You should get it checked out properly today,” Victoria said.
“I will,” Lily said, smiling and indulging her. Even though she had no intention of visiting the doctor unless the cut got infected.
A few hours later after Victoria went to work Lily was feeling restless. She took another shower and dressed in her work clothes. It was 2pm, the day was almost over, but she could at least make an appearance.
At work the mood was subdued and quiet, people smiled at Lily politely and asked how she was. She tried to brush it off as best she could. It was, after all, a reality of working in an unpredictable environment. She wasn’t working in just another office. She dealt with unpredictable people on a daily basis. Many of them were just in tough situations and, she believed, meant well. But there were others that were on the fringes of society. Who were unstable and unpredictable. Who had fallen through the cracks and were violent.
Her office had been cleared, but she saw in the commotion one of her potted plants had been broken. It was a freshly rooted ficus, a broad leaf fig, and she wanted to put it on the floor by the window when it grew large
enough. She signed and brushed some potting soil residue off the table. She would just have to get another one.
The glass in her door hadn’t been replaced, so for now it was just an empty doorframe. But everything else was basically the same. She sat down behind her desk and started to clear some of the paperwork there.
“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” a voice from the doorway interrupted. She looked up to see the man from the other night, the biker who had saved her from falling down the stairs. He was leaning casually against the broken doorframe, his blue eyes shining in the light coming through the window. There was a crooked, cocky smile on his face. One that made one eye crinkle a little more than the other, and the dimples on his cheeks stand out. Lily’s heart raced a little. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so attracted to another person, just on looks alone. It made her feel shallow, but also excited.
“That’s a terrible line,” she said, leaning back in her chair and putting the pen down. She tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t help the smile from playing on the corners of her lips.
He shrugged and stepped into the room. She was again struck by how easily he moved. Confident, casual. She felt a dull ache start to twist deep in her belly and crossed her legs, trying not to blush. Her reaction to this man was ridiculous.
“I hope you’ve been avoiding stairs,” he said, crossing to her bookshelf. “And alcohol,” he winked.
Lily laughed. “I’ve been doing my best.”
“I wont always be around to save you, yanno,” he said the words ‘you know’ as one accented phrase.
Lily blushed, she wasn’t sure how to respond. People rarely made her feel this self conscious. So she didn’t say anything at all.
“This is nice,” he said, lifting the paper crane from the shelf.
“It was a gift,” she said, wondering why he had noticed it.
“Oh?” He smiled at her and cocked his head. “From a boyfriend?”
