Overcrowding

Cara slumped into a corner seat, clutching her bag on her knee and yawning as she watched the other passengers squeeze onto the train.

She glanced across as a tall man, suited and booted, slid into the seat across the aisle from her. He caught her eye, and gave her a small smile. Cute, thought Cara, smiling back, very cute.

A shadow blocked out the light for a moment and a figure stood before her. He grunted, hoisted the cloth of his trousers above his ankles then slowly leaned back, landing with a whomp that shook the train. His legs, splayed wide, bulged against the material of his trousers as he occupied both the seats opposite Cara, his large, loafer-clad feet encroaching into her space, forcing her to draw her own feet back under her seat.

She glanced back across at the man in the suit and caught him looking at her, but a slow tide of people oozed between them in the aisle and he was lost from view. Tinny music serenaded her from half a dozen headphones.

Cara looked back at the man opposite, her eyes drawn to the bulging shirt, pale skin pushing it open between the small plastic buttons, wispy hair sprouting through the gaps. Cara felt a moment of sympathy for the man; how hard must it be for him to go clothes-shopping?

She looked up to find the man smirking at her. He leaned slightly to the side and a look of satisfaction flickered across his face before he settled his bottom back into the seat.

As the smell hit her, Cara tried to turn her involuntary gasp into a fake yawn, which then turned into a real yawn. She closed her mouth and tried not to breathe in. Only twenty minutes to London Bridge, she told herself, you can get through this. She settled her head back against the seat and tried to think happy thoughts; Daniel Craig emerging from the sea and carrying her off down the beach. Mmmm.

A crackling sound brought her back to reality. The man was unwrapping a Cornish pasty. Cara watched him push it all into his mouth, wiping crumbs from his chin.

Ping! Something hit her in the face. Ping! Ping! Cara shielded her eyes as one by one the buttons popped off the man’s shirt. Transfixed, she watched his stomach flop out onto his knees, then over them.

Suddenly frightened, Cara clambered up onto her seat, shrinking away from the tidal wave of flab rolling towards her. Realising she was trapped in the corner, she began to panic as the flesh engulfed her.

She clawed against it, her hands sinking into the jelly-like substance which sucked her in like quicksand. She thrashed about, desperately trying to escape, a fetid smell filling her nostrils, making her gag. She screamed out, before the fat could reach her mouth, “Help, please, somebody, please help. I don’t want to die like this. Help me, please.”

“Get off me, you mad woman.”

She felt hands on her shoulders and looked up into angry eyes glaring back at her.

“What the hell are you doing, you lunatic?”

Cara looked down. She was sitting on the man’s lap, her hands pressed deep into the flesh of his stomach. She gave a shriek and stumbled backwards, looking around at the stunned faces of the other passengers.

“Oh, oh, I’m really sorry, I’m so, so sorry. Sorry.” She noticed the train slowing into Peckham Rye. “Oh, this is my stop. Excuse me. Sorry.” She grabbed her bag and pushed her way off the train.

On the platform, her cheeks burning, she tried to ignore the looks she could feel from people around her. She fumbled her phone out and called work, mumbling something about overcrowding and she’d be in as soon as she could. She hung up and stuffed her phone back in her bag.

“Are you okay?”

Cara jumped. The young man in the suit stood before her, a concerned smile on his face.

“Oh, hi. Yes, I’m fine, fine, thank you. I’m not a lunatic, by the way.”

The man laughed, his blue eyes twinkling. “That’s good to know. Do you want to get a coffee?”