Tag Archives: The Subway

The Subway. [Episode 2]

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This is the second and concluding part of the new, short fiction, The Subway, which began in last week’s post. Our narrator discovers something about her friendship with Cindy and about herself as the subway drama plays out.

‘I don’t have my phone’ I stammered. What an idiot I was! One or two of the bystanders trotted past me, back up the steps, phone in hand and I gazed after them, feeling like the last runner in a marathon to arrive at the finish line.

              The heroic coffee shop woman had the homeless person on their back now, covers off and she was pumping away on his chest as she knelt there amidst the grime and filth.

              ‘What can I do?’ I asked her and she told me to go and look out for the ambulance. The subway was becoming crowded now as more spectators gathered to watch the spectacle of fragile life hanging by a desperate, dangling thread. As I climbed back up, I could hear her scalding the rubber-neckers as she pumped away, telling them to keep out of the way.

              It seemed like a whole day of waiting, standing in the rain, straining for a sight or sound of the ambulance and it was a long time, too; but at last, the vehicle came careering around the roundabout, sirens wailing, pulled up and issued two paramedics. I led them down the steps and the hoard of onlookers parted like The Red Sea. The heroic coffee shop lady was still doing press ups on the man’s chest, which was astonishing given that the ambulance had taken so long. They did their stuff, the paramedics, checking the man over, giving him oxygen then manoeuvring him into a wheelchair before lifting the chair up the steps and into the ambulance. They closed the doors and one had a word with the woman who’d helped him. We watched the vehicle depart.

              ‘He’ll be alright, I think’ she said. The onlookers had dispersed and the rain was ebbing.

              ‘You were amazing,’ I told her.

              She laughed. ‘Tell you what- my coffee will be cold by now, so why don’t you come and join me in the café.’ I looked at her then. I hadn’t had a chance to before. She was about my age, I judged, but with grey hair and no make-up, not glamorous, just a pleasant smile. I was soaked and she had grubby stains on her jeans but I followed her back inside the café, which was now almost empty of customers, as most had been outside spectating. The café staff were kind enough to offer us towels to blot the worst of the wet from ourselves.

              We settled at a table and introduced ourselves. Greta, she was called. I asked her where she’d learned about first aid.

              ‘I used to work for the Red Cross before I retired,’ she said. ‘That was a while ago but every few years I get myself on a refresher course. It comes in handy sometimes. There’s nothing to prevent anyone from learning a few basic life-saving skills. You could do it, too, if you wanted.’

              I shook my head. ‘I’m hopeless in emergencies. I can organise things ahead of time but when I’m faced with a crisis, I’m no good at all.’

              She leaned across the table. ‘That’s not true, though, is it? You took control out there. You did what you could then went for help. It’s much more than most people would do. All those gawpers just stood there.’

              We talked. I discovered that she also lived alone and that she loved to visit new places, although sometimes found it difficult to find companions to travel with. We had a lot in common, Greta and I, including walking, theatre, cinema, cooking and literature. Before we left the café, we exchanged phone numbers and email addresses and made tentative arrangements to visit the cinema in the following week.

              My head was full of the mornings events and it was only as I turned into my street that I remembered Cindy. Not only was I now impossibly late but I was without biscuits. As there was no sign of her pink Fiat in the road, I had to assume she’d given up waiting and left. She’d be angry, I thought.

              I could hear my phone screeching as soon as I opened the front door and as I picked it up, I counted the text messages- eleven. Eleven! And five missed calls. I turned the phone off and went to change my clothes, then sat at my laptop and Googled ‘first aid courses’, of which there were several I could sign up for.

              Later in the evening I read a few of the messages, the first couple concerned then morphing through irritation and on to anger at being left waiting. When I rang her, she said she’d been worried about me, that I’d been in an accident. I explained everything but it was a mistake to mention Greta. She became very cold when I described our conversation over coffee.

              ‘You went for coffee with this…this stranger, when I was waiting outside your house?’

              ‘I’m sorry, Cindy. A lot happened. I just forgot.’

              ‘You forgot? What about our holiday planning?’

              There was a pause while I thought of what to say. I felt calm, detached. ‘Cindy,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I’ll be coming on holiday now. I’ve just signed up to go on a first aid course. I won’t mind if you want to take someone else though.’

              There was a further pause. ‘Oh, don’t you worry,’ she spat. ‘I’ll be taking someone else for sure.’ And with that, she hung up.

              That was the last I saw of Cindy, except from afar when she was browsing the make-up counter in Boots and I was searching for crepe bandages. I went to see a film with Greta and we’ve been on a few walks since. Now we’re talking about doing a weekend in Devon with a walking group. I’ll take my first aid kit, of course- you never know what’s around the corner!

Many thanks for visiting and taking the time to read my fiction. For the next couple of weeks Anecdotage will feature more short stories, then will return to travel tales.

Grace is the alter ego of novelist and short story writer, Jane Deans. To date I have two published novels to my name: The Conways at Earthsend [https://www.amazon.co.uk/Conways-at-Earthsend-Jane-Deans-ebook/dp/B08VNQT5YC/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2ZHXO7687MYXE&keywords=the+conways+at+earthsend&qid=1673350649&sprefix=the+conways+at+earthsend%2Caps%2C79&sr=8-1 and The Year of Familiar Strangers [https://www.amazon.co.uk/Year-Familiar-Strangers-Jane-Deans-ebook/dp/B00EWNXIFA/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2EQHJGCF8DSSL&keywords=The+year+of+familiar+strangers&qid=1673350789&sprefix=the+year+of+familiar+strangers%2Caps%2C82&sr=8-1 Visit my writer Facebook page [https://www.facebook.com/search/top?q=jane%20deans%2C%20novellist%2C%20short%20fiction%20and%20blog or my website: https://www.janedeans.com/

The Subway. Episode 1.

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So here begins a brand new, two part story in which the intricacies of female friendship are explored…

It would take eight minutes, I figured, to walk to the bank and return. I could be back in time for Cindy’s visit; even a short diversion to the shop for milk and a packet of biscuits wouldn’t add much more.

              Grabbing my purse and keys I stepped out into the overcast street and set off, brisk, mindful of the time.

              I walked fast, overtaking the stymied snake of traffic that choked the High Street most days and reaching the underpass just as the first, fat drops of rain began to spot the pavement. I descended the slope, feeling the usual frisson of tension at the mouth of the subway, an apprehension I fought each time I crossed under the busy road despite there being a steady flow of pedestrians in both directions.

              As I entered a thunderous deluge fell outside, a roar magnified by the dark echo inside the rounded tunnel and glancing behind me I glimpsed the flicker the lightning made while a rivulet formed to pool at the base of the slope. I had a fleeting vision of how my hair was going to look after it had been plastered to my scalp and my heart sank at what Cindy would say, given that she is inclined to criticise my hair care and indeed, all aspects of my appearance. Still, I pressed on.

              He was there, towards the end of the subway, about two thirds along, propped up and swaddled in a bulky sleeping bag. The homeless man; head slumped. There was no one else, no other pedestrians in the tunnel. They must all be sheltering in shops and doorways. I dropped my chin and walked, tormented by the usual questions. Should I look? Should I speak? Should I donate? Most days I’d stare straight ahead, fumble in my bag or look away at others but today there was no one, no solidarity in ignorance.

              I was almost level now. With nobody else to pass the buck to I paused to glance sideways, just a quick shifty to make sure he was alive. I wouldn’t want to pass by a corpse, or almost a corpse. That would make me heedless, callous. On the other hand, I didn’t have long. Cindy would be round soon, wanting her coffee. We needed to get together to plan our holiday which would require booking soon before the prices went up.

              His head hung over his chest but I could see enough face to note that the skin had an unhealthy, greyish pallor and a thin string of saliva hung from the corner of his mouth, dribbling on to a dark, spreading patch on the blue nylon of the sleeping bag. I stepped nearer and caught the dry, musty smell of him in the damp air of the tunnel.

              Normally he’s sitting in the bag, surrounded by empty styro-foam cups and dog-ends, gazing at passers-by and wishing them the time of day in the interests of his income. Normally he follows my progress through the tunnel with patient optimism and a murmured ‘Morning’. Normally his head is tilted upwards to engage pedestrians, eye-to-eye. It’s harder to ignore someone when they’re looking into your eyes.

              I looked both ways again in vain hopes of a passing Samaritan, only to see the stair-rod rain step up a level, a thunderous, roaring wall of rain. I bent slightly towards the inert body and cleared my throat. “Are you ok?” I croaked, unheard above the crashing rain. In a moment I realised that I would have to be the Samaritan and in a simultaneous recognition understood that I was ill-equipped for the task, having no medical experience or expertise and being an impractical nincompoop.  I experienced a hot flush as I remembered Cindy’s biscuits. There was nothing I could do about them now. I extended a tentative finger towards his forehead, which felt cold and clammy, like a newly caught mackerel from the fish counter. His eyelids were translucent and papery, trembling with each quick, shallow breath. When his lips parted to mumble an incoherent utterance, I jumped back as if stung.

              It had taken me a long time to get friendly with Cindy. I’d been a member of the singles club for more than five years when she joined. I was never after romance after Brian went, more that I needed to make new friends but I’d tended to be on the fringe of the group. I don’t have the gift of the gab-not like Brian had and like Cindy. As soon as she joined, she was the centre of the crowd like a bullseye in a darts board with everyone radiating around her. Then one club night they’d organised a board games session and I was sitting it out because Monopoly isn’t my thing and she came and sat with me, said she wasn’t keen either. We talked about what we did like and it turned out we both love holidays and sunny destinations but find it hard to travel alone. We’ve been away a few times since then. Cindy’s the gregarious type, starting up conversations with strangers, chatting up waiters. But she’s an air-head. She can’t get organised and she’s hopeless with money. I used to work in management so I’m used to dealing with money, timetables and plans, so I suppose we’re the perfect travel companions. I don’t mind that she’s so glamorous and a man magnet because I’d be hopeless on my own. But I often worry that she’ll meet someone, remarry and I’ll be back to how I was, back to being lonely.

              I took off my coat and draped it over the man the best I could, thinking perhaps he was cold. I don’t know a lot about first aid but it’s what people do in accidents, isn’t it? For shock or heart attack? Now I’d have to get to someone with a phone. I’d have to go out into the storm without a coat, find a stranger and accost them. Cindy would have no trouble with this but Cindy is not a mouse.

              I took the town side steps, reasoning it was more likely there’d be passers-by that side. I was soaked in seconds and once I gained the top, I scanned the precinct for someone. An individual rushed by, head down, ignoring my approach. Spotting a couple sheltering in the jeweller’s doorway I ran to them, gasping. They shook their heads, assuming, I imagine, that I was asking for money. I suppose by now I had the look of a vagrant myself with hair plastered to my face and clothes sticking to my skin. Desperate, I pushed open the door to the coffee shop next door and stood, dripping on the doormat.

              The entire clientele and all of the counter staff froze in a collective stare, which was mortifying in itself. I must have looked wild, as if I was about to draw a gun and shoot the lot of them where they sat hobnobbing over their cappuccinos and lattes and toasted tea cakes, but I took a deep breath and blurted, ‘Can someone ring for an ambulance? There’s a sick guy down in the subway!’ There was a short pause then a lone figure rose from the corner.

              ‘Show me’ was all she said. I led her to the steps and stood aside while she galloped down and was swallowed up by the tunnel. I began to follow, as did a number of café patrons, intrigued by the prospect of some pavement entertainment on a rainy afternoon. The café woman was kneeling over the recumbent man talking to him but with no response. She shouted. ‘Ring an ambulance. Do it now!’

Episode 2 of The Subway can be read in next week’s post. Thanks for visiting!

Grace is the alter ego of novelist and short story writer, Jane Deans. To date I have two published novels to my name: The Conways at Earthsend [https://www.amazon.co.uk/Conways-at-Earthsend-Jane-Deans-ebook/dp/B08VNQT5YC/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2ZHXO7687MYXE&keywords=the+conways+at+earthsend&qid=1673350649&sprefix=the+conways+at+earthsend%2Caps%2C79&sr=8-1 and The Year of Familiar Strangers [https://www.amazon.co.uk/Year-Familiar-Strangers-Jane-Deans-ebook/dp/B00EWNXIFA/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2EQHJGCF8DSSL&keywords=The+year+of+familiar+strangers&qid=1673350789&sprefix=the+year+of+familiar+strangers%2Caps%2C82&sr=8-1 Visit my writer Facebook page [https://www.facebook.com/search/top?q=jane%20deans%2C%20novellist%2C%20short%20fiction%20and%20blog or my website: https://www.janedeans.com/