On the Night Tube Home

Grace stood at the far end of the tube platform and waited for her train to arrive.

As she had walked down the last flight of stairs and out onto the platform, she’d seen her tube train pulling out of the station. She’d sworn under her breath. The indicator board said the next train wasn’t for another fifteen minutes. She had no choice, she had to wait for it. She couldn’t afford a taxi, even the Uber ones were too expensive, and the night buses were just as infrequent as the Night Tubes but took twice as long to get her home. She’d been on a night out with some of her work colleagues, a meal in a Chinese restaurant in the heart of China Town, followed by going onto a nightclub Stephanie knew. Now, at a little after two o’clock, she was waiting for the Night Tube home.

Four months ago, when she had moved to London to take up her new job, Grace imagined herself living in a swish, Central London flat, all white walls and sleek Scandinavian furniture, only a twenty minute walk from her new job. The reality had been very different. The only place she could afford to live in was a flatshare, with three other women, out in Zone 5. Her nearest tube station was Oakwood, on the Piccadilly line, which was over a forty minute train ride to work. At least her new home was only a ten minute walk from the Tube Station and the tubes ran all through the night at weekends.

But in her short time in London she still had not grown comfortable with tube travel. In the mornings and evenings, the trains were crowded full of people, she’d be pushed up against total strangers. She could just about ignore this by burying her head in her Kindle, the best Birthday Present she’d ever bought herself. In the late evening and at night, when the tubes were half empty and she didn’t have to rush for one of the few seats available, Grace still didn’t feel comfortable. She didn’t like sitting in a carriage by herself, she didn’t know who else would get in with her, neither did she like sitting next to total strangers. If there were only a few other passengers in a carriage she’d pick a seat opposite them, but still a seat on her own. That way she could at least be near other people and not feel as vulnerable.

With its metallic raw and rush of dirty air, the train emerged from the tunnel at the far end of the platform. She turned towards it, blinking against the dust suddenly swirling around her, and held her shoulder bag close to her body. She wasn’t stood anywhere near the platform’s edge but she always felt she had to be safe, you shouldn’t get too close to the platform edge she always reminded herself.

When the train stopped in front of her Grace saw that the first carriage was empty, she felt her stomach sink. She couldn’t get into this carriage on her own, she’d feel too nervous every time the tube train stopped, worrying who’d be getting onto it. Then she saw three people, all sat together, at the far end of the carriage. With a sigh of relief, Grace stepped onto the tube train.

Grace sat on one of the empty seats opposite the three people. She only had a few moments to settle herself before the train started moving again.

As the train rushed through the next tunnel Grace was able to get a good look at those three people sat opposite her. They were two men and a woman, the men sitting either side of the woman like two bookends holding up a falling apart book. The woman lolled between them like she was a rag doll with no bones in her body. Each jolt and bounce of the tube carriage made her body jerk and move between the two men.

The two men were white. The one sitting on the right had close cropped red hair, bright red hair, making his face seem so pale. His thin and long body wore a shiny black leather jacket, obviously expensive jeans, neatly tailored and fitting his legs snugly, and his feet covered in snake skin boots. The other man was shorter and squatter. His hair was thick, dark and very curly, tight and haphazard curls covering his head, while his chin was covered in a very short cropped beard. He wore a grey, woollen jacket, that seemed to resemble an army blazer, two rows of pockets at his breast and hips and a loose belt around his waist. His legs were covered in shabby, black combat pants and his feet worn scarlet red trainers.

The woman was extremely pretty, the type of prettiness that Grace always found intimidating, the type of prettiness that Grace always hoped covered a nasty personality, there had to be a flaw to someone that pretty. Her small, round face was framed by short black hair. Even though her hair was cut into a short bob style, it lifted away from her head with full and rich volume, a very slight curve only emphasising the richness of her hair. (Grace self-consciously tucked a strand of her own dull, dark blonde hair behind her ear. No matter what style she teased it into her hair always escaped, trying to return to its usual messy style. It never shone as healthy and lush as that woman’s hair was doing now) The woman’s eyes were closed, her lips were resting together, but still her features were so pretty, porcelain doll pretty. Small and neat and almost fragile, emphasised by her carefully applied make-up.

The woman’s figure was small and petite (Grace was sure the woman didn’t have to constantly watch her weight), even wrapped up in her coat. She was wearing a light brown, corduroy coat with a thick, fur collar that pushed up against the side of her face. The woman’s coat looked expensive, far more expensive than all of the clothes Grace was wearing, and buttoned tightly into her body, ending in a wide matching belt around her waist. Below her coat, the woman wore a dark blue, short skirt. It was made from a light, almost float-away material, that seemed to flow out from her waist, smooth against her legs (Grace didn’t wear skirts as short and sheer as that woman was wearing, not with Grace’s legs). The woman’s thin and shapely legs were covered with black, thick tights and her feet wore small, high heeled boots.

Grace tried not to stare but repeatedly her eyes were drawn back to that sleeping woman. The woman wasn’t just pretty but she was also expensively dressed. Grace felt that sting of envy, looking at her, she felt it when she was around the senior creative women at work. They were all so stylish and expensively well-dressed that Grace felt plain and frumpy around them. She kept telling herself she wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t pretty either, she didn’t have the good looks that made men look twice at her, she was just plain and she knew it. Neither did she have the money to dress as expensively and stylishly as those women did, but she longed to.

Even asleep, the woman opposite was pretty and attractive, casually lolling between the shoulders of the two men, sitting either side of her, the woman seemed relaxed and comfortably sleeping, and the two men seemed so protective of her, guarding her sleeping body like that. Grace felt another sting of envy. One of her hopes, when she’d moved to London, was that she would meet a boyfriend, so far she’d only managed to meet three ultimately unattractive men. That woman opposite her had herself two different, attractive men. Grace glanced away, feeling a moment of embarrassment.

The train pulled into Finsbury Park Station. Several more stops before her own, Grace told herself. It stopped and the carriage’s doors opened automatically. Grace looked up at the open door, and again she felt that little wish, almost a prayer, jump into her mind, “Please don’t let anyone else get on.” For a moment her wish seemed to be granted, then a podgy, bald man, in a grey overcoat, ran up to the open door way and almost jumped onto the tube train. The next moment the carriage’s doors closed behind him.

Grace looked down at her lap. If she didn’t make eye contact with the man, he might ignore her and go and sit somewhere else. But she wasn’t in luck. Even with her head down, Grace could see the bald man walk quickly towards her. He sat down in the seat next to her as the train began moving.

Grace felt her body recoil from the man next to her. The rest of the tube carriage was empty and this bald, middle aged man had chosen to sit right next to her. He certainly was unattractive. His round head seemed even rounder because it had no hair covering its dome.  His features were grouped together in the centre of his face, making it look even rounder. His overcoat was thick and long, falling down over his body, even when he was sat down, almost hiding the brown three-piece suit under it. He looked like the stereotype of an accountant or some other middle manager but she still didn’t want him sitting next to her.

Grace was on the verge of changing seats, she didn’t normally like doing that because it always drew attention to her but this man was sitting far too close to her, when the man actually lent in towards her and quietly said:

“Don’t be startled but I am a doctor, a medical doctor.”

Grace turned to face him and found the man’s bald head pushed in close to her own. Why did being a doctor mean this man could push his face into hers? She felt herself pushing away from him, as much as the armrest on her seat would allow.

“That young woman, sitting opposite to us, isn’t sleeping,” the bald man said, still in his whispered voice.

“She isn’t?” Grace replied, finding she was speaking in an equally whispered voice, as if suddenly conspiratorial with him.

“She’s actually dead... Don’t stare!” His voice snapped the last two words when Grace went to turn her head, to look at the woman. “Look at her slowly,” he hissed to her.

Grace slowly turned her head until she was again looking at the woman. That woman was very still, her body floppy and lifeless, every bump and shake of the tube carriage jolting her body. Grace stared more closely at her and saw that she couldn’t see the woman breathing, there seemed to be no movement to the woman’s chest.

“See, she’s dead”, the bald man almost whispered in Grace’s ear.

“Yes,” Grace replied, realising that man was right. It was a chilling realisation. She’d never seen a dead body before and until this moment she didn’t know what to expect, but now she couldn’t take her eyes off the woman. That woman looked so still, so lifeless, Grace felt a shudder run through her body at that thought.

“Why would two men bring a dead woman onto the Tube with them?” The bald man whispered into her ear. “They can’t be up to any good.”

“What?” Grace replied, her voice suddenly loud in that rattling Tube carriage. She felt herself flush with embracement.

“If those two men didn’t kill that poor woman then they were certainly involved in her death, why else would they risk bringing her dead body onto this Tube,” the bald man said.

“Yes,” Grace quietly replied.

“Then it just isn’t safe sitting here with them. We could be seen as witnesses or something worse,” the bald man said.

Grace glanced again over at the woman, her head was lolling onto the shoulder of the red haired man. The bald man’s words were now making horrible sense, Grace realised and she felt a cold shudder run through her body. She turned back to the bald man.

“Yes,” she quietly said.

“I’m getting off at the next station, get off with me, you’re not safe here on your own,” the bald man said.

“Yes,” Grace quietly replied.

As if in answer to her words, the train rushed into the next station, the carriage’s windows filled with the blurred images of the station’s platform, and the sudden deceleration of the train’s brakes pushed her body to one side.

The moment the train stopped, the carriage doors slid open, as they always did, and the bald man jumped to his feet and marched out of the open carriage doors, onto the platform. Throwing her bag over her shoulder, she rushed after him out onto the platform herself. As her foot touched the platform, Grace glanced back just one more time. That poor woman, what had happened to her, what had led to her ungracious death? Grace glanced at that woman’s pretty and motionless face. She looked so peaceful in death.

The woman’s body jerked upright on the seat, her eyes and month suddenly opening wide, as a stream of orange vomit rushed out of her mouth, daemon like, and all over the red haired man’s expensive jeans.

“Oh Jesus Maise!” The red haired man shouted, “these are my best pants!”

The woman leaned forward, her head in her hands.

The tube train’s doors closed then, sealing Grace off from those three, living people. The next moment the train rapidly moved out of the station, rushing back into its tunnel.

“We’re alone, you and I, on this very empty tube station,” the bald man said, his voice suddenly very close to her. “Anything could happen.”

Grace turned around to find the bald man standing uncomfortably close to her. His face was too close to her own, she could feel his breath on her cheek, a leering smile spreading across his face. His hand suddenly grabbed hold of her left arm, his fingers digging in deeply like the claws of some sort of wild animal. Grace did the only thing she could think of, she screamed loudly into his face.

In the next moment she rapidly raised her right knee straight into his groin. His hand let go of her arm, as his body crumpled down onto the platform, with a gasping groan.

Grace jumped over his prone body and ran for the platform’s exit. She’d been runner-up, three years in a row, in her county’s under sixteen girl’s hurdles race, she knew it would come in useful sometime. She didn’t stop running when she reached the escalator, instead running fast up its moving, metal steps.