Gavin paused in the doorway and looked out at the rain. He glanced at the watch on his wrist but already knew he couldn't afford to wait, not if he wanted to make his train. Judging by the dark clouds in the sky it wasn't going to ease off anyway.
He stood for a moment and watched as what seemed like thousands of people rushed past, heads down, shoulders heavy. One man collided with another, glanced up, reproachful, and then continued on his way disappearing rapidly in the crowd. Gavin frowned, tired of it all. He wedged his briefcase under his arm and turned the collar of his coat up, then stepped, grim-faced, out onto the pavement where he was swallowed within seconds by the throng and swept along towards the underground.
His mind drifted to Penny again. He wondered what she’d be doing now; not that long ago she'd have been waiting for him at home, offering a kiss as he came through the door, the appetising smell of their dinner and the subtle scent of her perfume hanging in the air. His heart rose to the back of his throat and seemed to stick there, heavy as a stone.
He walked past the traffic lights and then side-stepped, deftly leaving the steady flow of people to head for the tiny grocery store where he did most of his shopping these days. There was a sign above the door of the shop: OPEN – 20 hours a day, 7 days a week. As he walked inside he nodded hello to the faded old man behind the cash desk, and came to the conclusion that this was no empty promise.
He could get most of what he needed here, and what he couldn't, he did without, only going to a supermarket if he absolutely had to. All those multi-packs of chicken breasts and two litre bottles of coke, those screaming children and distraught mothers, all cruel reminders that he was alone. No family, no wife… no exes in the wings, and no children tagging along behind, wretched by-products of previous marriages. Just a single, forty-four year old bachelor - a kind of modern day social outcast, misunderstood and rejected.
As he walked around the shop he did what he could to ignore the voice of his conscience, nagging at him to cook a proper meal; even if he bought what was needed, he’d never actually muster up what it took to put the damn thing together. When push came to shove, there was absolutely no point going to all that bother for one. He threw a wedge of cheese and a tin of beans into his basket - not exactly haute cuisine, but it would fill the pit in his stomach. He took a bottle of whisky down from the shelf too, and looked at it in his hand. He was drinking too much, too often, and knew it. The bottle went back onto the shelf, but felt no better for it. Just empty at the idea of spending the evening without its comfort. He picked it back up again, paid, and left, his dinner now hanging from his hand in a blue plastic carrier bag.
The rain had eased off while he’d been inside. It was spitting now and the sun even looked like it was trying to break through.
Gavin stepped back onto the pavement, and into the crowd.
Maybe she'd found someone else? The thought made his heart sink, and his grip tightened slightly on the handle of the bag. He could do with a drink. They'd have been married by now if his mother hadn’t fallen ill. If that damn doctor hadn’t diagnosed her cancer quite so quickly. Or, at least, if he hadn’t given her just six months to live.
His mother, having decided she didn’t want live-in help on the grounds that it was too impersonal, had said she wanted to move in with them… she only had six months to live for Christ's sake, what else was he supposed to do?
Penny had stuck it two months, and then moved out. They didn’t get on. His mother had wanted her son to herself, and had made damn sure Penny knew it; shouted loud and clear that a mother deserved more at the end of her life. Penny left. His mother stayed on. Seventeen months. Then she’d left too. And now he had no one.
His underground station was looming ahead and the crowd on the pavement before him began to disappear down the stairs as if swallowed by some gaping, toothless mouth. He fumbled in his pocket for his pass and descended with the others, then filed meekly through the turnstiles and on to the trains.
The platform was already crowded.
He pushed his way towards the front as a train rushed through the station, whipping up the rubbish on the lines and temporarily drowning out the general hubbub. He glanced up at the screen: four minutes. He dropped his briefcase and bag onto the stone floor between his feet and thrust his hands deep into his pockets.
'Gavin?'
A whisper, and he turned his head expecting to see someone from the office. There was no one he recognised, but people were beginning to look at him and he turned back again, embarrassed. Losing his damn mind on top of everything else.
'Gavin!'
Louder this time. Still hard to say where it was coming from though. Probably some practical joker. He cursed quietly and looked over his shoulder. Behind him were two young girls talking shop and absorbed in their own conversation. A dumpy middle-aged man with pale grey skin stood to the left reading a paper. He didn't look much like a comic, and he didn’t look familiar either. But he couldn’t see any other likely candidates.
'Excuse me, did you say something?'
The grey man stared at him over the top of his paper. He didn't reply at first. Gavin supposed he was busy trying to decide if he was dealing with a nutcase or not. Eventually the man shook his head, and then went back to his paper - as effective a way as any of discouraging further communication.
Gavin's hands played with the loose change in his pockets. He was feeling a bit stupid. And a bit claustrophobic too. He could’ve done with a bit of fresh air. Or a drink. He looked at the bag on the floor at his feet, searching comfort in the knowledge that he'd be home soon and able to unwind.
His train was approaching. He could hear it in the distance, and he turned his attention to the tunnel, impatient to leave the station. To leave the crowds. He noticed something on the tracks in the shadows at the entrance to the tunnel and peered more closely to get a better look. It was a person.
A man.
Gavin was aware of a fly landing on his cheek and he moved his hand absent-mindedly to swat at it. He realised his heart had started beating a little faster, although he hadn’t yet had time to figure out why… but there was a man down there on the tracks… and a train approaching. What did he have? A death wish?
The lines of the track were beginning their gentle murmur. Gavin scanned the crowd. No one appeared to have noticed. He shuffled his feet and squeezed his fists in his pockets. He wanted to do something, but wasn’t sure what. He couldn't bring himself to open his mouth - there were too many people. And maybe he was supposed to be down there. He'd look a bit damn stupid if he started screaming for nothing.
He moved closer. His bag, forgotten, slumped noisily onto the floor behind him. The man - and it was a man - was approaching the platform. One slow step at a time. He had to have heard the train, but he was in no apparent hurry. And he wasn’t wearing a uniform either… Gavin felt uncomfortable. He didn’t like this. It was getting dangerous. He glanced around him, nervously, before speaking.
'Hey!’
Too quiet. He cleared his throat and tried again.
‘Hey! You, over there!… Hurry up and move, there's a bloody train coming!!'
He looked around him. At the others on the platform. Some were staring, suspicious. The grey man was staring too. Then he bent to pick his briefcase up and moved towards the back of the station and all of a sudden Gavin felt angry - the bloody idiot thought he was mad. He could feel himself sweating now and apprehension was rising up from his toes and through to his scalp. He looked up at the screen. One minute to go. One bloody minute to go. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. And he could feel panic rearing its ugly head.
'Hey! Someone do something for Christ’s sake!’
He realised he was searching the crowd for a friendly face.
'What's the bloody matter with you all?!'
He felt penned in, the platform so crowded that all movement was hampered. His eyes were drawn to the screen: Train Approaching.
'Someone get down there and save that man for Christ’s sake?!!’
He was addressing those nearest the tunnel and pointing wildly at the tracks. He realised he’d begun moving across the platform.
'What's the matter with everyone?! Someone do something!'
People were beginning to turn, asking neighbours what was happening - but no one was actually doing anything. It was as if they hadn’t seen what was going on, and for the first time it occurred to him that maybe they hadn’t. Maybe he was seeing things? But he dismissed the thought. He couldn't be. He didn't do that kind of thing. There was definitely someone down there… so why the fuck wasn’t he moving out of the way of the train?… What if he couldn’t hear it? What if he was deaf or something? Or injured, and unable to run? Gavin swore out loud and jumped down onto the tracks - others might, but he couldn’t just sit and watch the man die.
'They can't see me, Gavin.'
There was that bloody voice again. Inside his head. Clearly audible despite the din in the station. Confusing him. Making him nauseous. He’d nearly reached the stranger now, but that feeling of things not being as they should was stronger than ever and he slowed as the man’s face came into the light. Then he stopped completely, and stared… it was him… only different. The same mouth, the same nose. The same eyes… but not quite. He could feel bile rising quickly in the back of his throat and had to lean over to retch onto the line, and the stinking foulness of this act seemed to drag him from his reverie for all of a sudden the sound of the train was deafening in his ears and he had to clap his hands over them to block it from his brain. He stumbled and fell to his knees, unable to make any sense out of what was happening to him any more - he was finding it hard to breathe and could feel tears falling onto his cheeks. His head had begun to hurt and white noise was deafening him: a multitude of angry bees hurling themselves at his skull. He wanted to run, to escape the noise, sure his head would explode, but his legs were numb and so he knelt, terrified, and prayed to a God he’d lost faith in years ago. When he looked up it was to see the train rushing around the bend in the tunnel, its silhouette glowing in the dark, the screech of its brakes echoing through the hall, drowning out the shouts from the platform as it roared into the station.
And his screams went unheard.