Gut Instinct

Okay, so this is my first draft of a story that I have gnawing at me to be written. This is the first chapter. I welcome any and all comments.

Many thanks

I wake up. I don't feel pain but I cannot move. The cold of the pavement – it has gone. I am warm. I cannot see anything just a blur of brilliant light, white undefinable light – the kind of light that I imagine heaven to be like. Am I in heaven? If so I was wrong about just about everything I have ever believed, but it’s way too noisy for heaven. Heaven in my mind would have harps playing, a gentle breeze and perhaps the sound of children's laughter on a summers day. Instead my ears are full of the most tremendous commotion. The sound, like the brilliant light entering my eyes is white noise, a collection of voices and machines and movement. I want to cup my ears but I cannot move. I feel like I have forgotten how to move. Forgotten how to communicate but not forgotten how I got here, whatever or wherever here is.

I was on a bus heading home, the 190. Along with numerous other passengers all engaged in their own micro worlds I sat being buffeted side to side whilst marveling at the choice of tacky material for the bus seats, anything to avoid eye contact within such a small space full of so many people. I stroked the pile of the velvet between my legs back and forth with my fingertips in time with ‘Beautiful Day – U2’ this I remember because I recall inwardly smiling at the irony of the song whilst being stuck on a 190, steamed up windows making it hard to define the condensation on the inside from the drops of rain outside. There was a heavy odour of damp – so vivid in my nostrils it makes them flare and in my minds eye I am there. Raincoats carrying odours from places of work now pungent as the wet gave new life to their scent mixed with the speckled velvet seat covers. No damp dogs but you could have been excused for thinking there was.

That’s right, I had planned to go to the Co-op but had to work a little later, examination deadlines, always deadlines – they appear out of nowhere and when you deliver on time they recede like a tide that threatened a surge but that failed to deliver. “It’s okay we’ll grab a pizza, Pappa J’s – I fancy that actually. We’ll order by phone when you get back, only takes 20 minutes to deliver.” Jade was her cheery self, her morning sickness was from where I sat quite minimal, either that or she hid it well. She said all the right things so as not to make me feel bad but I did feel bad. No overtime as a teacher – part of the contract, just shit loads to do day after day.

We were expecting our first child and I had been in that art classroom for what felt an eternity. My plans to change the world through ‘art’ all but a distant dream. I was grateful to still have a job when so many mates had been laid off – good teachers too. Jade encouraged that I deserved more, that I was better than what they were paying in salary and respect. I tried to hide my frustration but she could sense it bubbling beneath my laid back exterior way before I could understand it myself. She was right as always. I needed to find something else. We were 'empty nesters' as the estate agent labelled us when we bought the new build Berkeley Homes house, we could afford empty nesting. A house big enough for two, three at a squeeze but I had always imagined more than a tight fit when a kid came along, kids, what if it was twins? The salary would have to go up a lot with a new job that is for sure and I felt certain that would mean more time doing paperwork rather than actually teaching.

Way too much time to think commuting, mental note to myself made to pass my driving test – way way too old to be commuting like a student now. The music wasn't a distraction it just muted the dullness of the journey, no point in playing music if you cannot sing to it as loud as you like – as bad as you like.

Commuters. We are not like passengers on a communal ‘trip’, a day trip on vacation where we are traveling as a group of people excited about the final destination, we are all in our own little way excited to be going home whatever home is for sure, but it’s not like holiday makers or a sports team on their way to a big game – its a shared experience only in so much that we are all in the same space but we are all of us alone with our thoughts.

There is hardly any talking. Like myself most people keep themselves to themselves and respect the space of others. If you do strike up a conversation, in my experience, it is usually in the daylight hours – in the summertime not the claustrophobic mornings and evenings of Autumn. Summertime, when there is something positive to talk about, holidays and decorating usually, oh and space. Yes plenty of personal space when there is a less heavy atmosphere when you are not squished into the small seats. Tiny seats. I am so close to the passenger next to me that if did turn to face her I would feels closer than a groom to bride. I couldn't even tell you who I was sat next to at that moment or what they really looked like. I knew it was a woman though, not only because I had caught a glimpse of her heavily painted nails but as I looked down at the seat velvet I did notice that ‘she’ was wearing brown argyle textured tights. Discarded Pretty Polly packs sprang to mind – a common feature of our bathroom at home, no cross dressing guy in his right mind would choose those I mused.

My stop was the second from last on the 190. For the last part of the journey I nearly always dozed off but despite being plugged into my music, eyes shut I was on this occasion very much awake. The bus was not so crowded now that we had made several stops, the top deck was no longer full and I opened my eyes and noted in the mirror on the narrow stairway that no one was standing anymore downstairs. Only a few stops to go and the passenger next to me was still seated, the petunia oil must be her.

In the past I had made my way downstairs a stop or two before my stop so that I could try my luck and ask the now familiar driver if we could make a cheeky stop a little further on from the bus stop nearer to the turn that led off to Pineley Road.

“Where have you two lovebirds been then? Oi.”

Barely audible over my music but I had heard the question and for some reason I just knew it was being directed at me. I should have ignored it. I had the perfect excuse – headphones. To repeat what Jade had once said – “…you have a tendency to attract nutters.”

“Oi loverboy, what you listening to?”

I pulled my earphones out and looked back over my shoulder, “Sorry I was miles away, U2 from All That You Can't Leave Behind.” I tried my best to sound pleasant and not antagonistic.

“Irish twats, your girlfriend like Bono?”

“I bet she prefers a good boner.”

There were three – what I would have called ‘Do as you likies’, (Pikey), if I had been safely behind my front door. They were branded up, the very best shell suits, feet on the seats across the aisle and sitting on the metal bar of the seat rest. These must have been the voices I had heard earlier in the journey. They presumably joined the bus before me but I hadn't noticed them until now.

“Sorry about that.” I caught the eye of the girl sat next to me, I gave an apologetic look.

“No worries, immature wankers, get it all the time from that lot. Think they are from Charterton!”

I was surprised. The words did not belong to the cheery sounding voice. I was also taken back a little bit at how comfortable this young woman was giving some mouth back at them. It made me thankful that actually, I taught some good kids by comparison to this trio.

The girl next to me, she must have been in her early twenties, a good few years younger than me, pretty brunette but wearing a weary look that said she had had a crappy day and that she was not in the mood for this. I had never noticed her amongst the commuters.

“I’ve seen you on the bus before, only a couple of times ‘cause I normally get the earlier bus. These late busses always have the TOSSERS on them – not you, I mean…”

“That’s ok, I know what you mean.” Her face warmed a little, appearing less stressed.

“Ignore them and they’ll go away. I’m Lotte, short for Charlotte.”

“I’m Mike.” I offered my hand. There was a ding and the bus changed down though the gears. Lotte held on to the back of the seat in front of us as she stood up.

“My stop. Nice to meet you Mike, Probably see you again – like groundhog day, you know, the film, Bill whats his face from Ghostbusters…” She trailed off as she was going down the stairs.

Lotte was just reaching the bottom of the stairs just as the bus lurched to a halt. I noticed that she had left her fold away umbrella on the seat. I quickly jumped up and just caught up with her as she was a bout to exit the bus. She smiled as I handed her the brolly and rolled her eyes and pulled a monkey face, the universal mime for ‘what an idiot’.

The bus doors concertinaed and she was gone.

I make my way back to where I was sitting to find the ‘tossers’ going through my bag. How stupid. Leaving my bag to be chivalrous? Was it flirting or just being helpful. Either way I am now faced with the opposite of the three wise men going through my belongings.

“How old are you loverboy? Looks like you have a pencil case in here. Like what is it. What are you then a student or something? We payin’ your fees with our taxes?”

“Like you pay tax Bruv.”

“Aint the point though.”

“Do you mind I have have my bag please.”

“Ooooohh please. Well seeing as you asked so kindly… No.”

The last few remaining passengers on the top deck stared aimlessly out of the windows, distracted by their headphones or too busy making their way to the next convenient chapter end in a novel. The guy holding my bag I imagined to be the ring leader. He got up from my seat and motioned for me to have my bag. Whilst there were no valuables in the bag, no money, no clues to my identity – my wallet etc. it did contain a stack of marker pens, expensive pens that I let the most talented kids have a go with. They would cost a lot to replace. To these guys they appeared to be nothing more than a child's crayon set. ‘He’ was standing by the seat leaving the smallest of gaps for me to pass. He was about the same height as me, skinny, high cheek bones, and I could smell drink on his breath. As I passed he leaned in.

“You say pretty please loverboy an’ I might just give you your bag back.” His mates are now watching hungry to hear how I react.

I let out a huge but inoffensive sigh. “Pretty please”. trying hard not to sound sarcastic.

“Not so hard was it?” They all laugh like the crows from Dumbo.

I take hold of my day sac as I make to sit down and he gives it one last tug before letting go, a gesture to let me know that he is the alfa male.

As I sit down the contents spill out onto my lap and cascade onto the floor. A large slit in the bag gaping. A clean cut. He stands there holding my art scalpel. The knife that I use on a daily basis for mounting up students work. None of the other passengers notice the marker pens as they roll along the floor stopping in the small puddles on the vinyl surface.

I ring the bell for the next stop. My stop. Fight or flight. Pick up my stuff or bugger it? Bugger it wins every time. I’m not a coward but I am not an idiot either. I feel annoyed with myself that I have now lost some markers.

I cradle the last remaining contents together and pinch the hole in my day sac closed and take my exit cue from another passenger getting up to alight from the bus. I move in front of him as he is about to pass me and the 'do as you likey' lets him pass and in so doing lets me out of my seat.

“Hey loverboy want your pens?” They laugh and cackle and I hear a large sniff and a snort and a gob behind me onto what I can now imagine is the bus floor. A quick glance tells me that he has covered a marker in phlegm.

I am glad to leave the bus, relief now replaces my anger at being bullied like one of my younger school pupils. It’s stopped raining but its cold and the pavement dips are levelled off with puddles. Cannot wait for the pizza. American hot. Jade has a thing for the Jalapeños at the moment.

I expect to hear the bus pull away and leave me to my wet walk the last five hundred metres home. Instead it is motionless, the door is open. I am now a good thirty metres or so from the stop but can clearly see there is a bit of a commotion. It’s the same guys now hassling the driver. My mind is telling me to go home, enjoy your pizza but my feet turn me toward the bus and for some mad reason the teacher in me is compelled to go back to the stop to check if everything is ok.

The driver is firm but not overly aggressive, “I don't want any trouble, a passenger has complained about your language, spitting and threatening behaviour.” I am secretly pleased that another passenger has said something – good on them.

A slagging match is drawing to an end and the ‘ring leader’ is now stood facing the open doors of the bus pointing at the driver now making his way into his driving seat. I see that all is ok and that whatever help I had intended to offer is not required, the driver acknowledges me and the doors shut, the brakes hiss and the bus heads on. I turn to head off.

“What you say to ‘im loverboy? Someone complaining, now we gotta wait for the next bus and we aint got no money. What you gonna do about it?”

“D’you say we were causing trouble?”

“No. I didn't say a word, look I just want to get home.”

“Bullshit man. So what is it your business coming back here then, why you in our face? You come to play Mr. Big or something?”

“I know the driver, just wanted to check everything was ok.”

“So you did say something? So how about you give us the fare, say with a no pay back term or do we have to take it?” They are now all focussed on me. The sarcastic laughs have gone. Replaced by anger and a seriousness that I try to difuse.

“Look I cannot help I use travel card and don't have any cash.” I turn once again aware that I am now on a main road, few if any cars passing, in a confrontation that I am unable to readily leave without some compromise.

“You think we are stupid? We know you have money, fancy clothes and shoes.”

He’s right I think to myself. Fancy shoes – no good for running that is for sure.

“Okay, okay, I have some small change that you can have perhaps you can add it to…”

Next thing I know my coat is being pulled up over my head from behind me, I hear my CD player crash to the ground as the coat is inverted and the sound of the CD spin on the wet pavement.

First my head, some heavy thumps that are softened by the coat but I am straight-jacketed, helpless. Then there are punches to the ribs, to my kidneys. I am disoriented and fall to the ground spinning. There are so may blows. The pain has reached a threshold and is only heightened by what I can imagine are kicks. I can now taste the metallic tang of blood in my throat. I hear my keys on the floor. I am winded, disoriented. Struggling for breath. The blows have stopped. I hear faint voices as if far away.

“Go go go.”

It’s over. I hear fumbling and I know that they must have taken my wallet. I think of the Jam song ‘Down in the tube station at midnight’. But I cannot move. In a second I will get up but I need to catch my breath. Nothing. I hear nothing. I am still breathless. My ears ringing and painful and I am still winded. The inside of my mouth cut and bleeding. What the fuck was that… Then there are footsteps. I am ware of a presence. Close to me. Too close. The smell of alcohol familiar, and a voice I recognised.

“Cunt”.

Five hard and fast blows to my stomach the first is the most painful, the next four the same but unlike the beating so far the pain doesn't subside and it is intense. It is replaced by a stinging. A crippling pain. I try to scream as loud a breathless scream a man can scream. I free an arm from my coat and reach to hold my stomach like a child trying to make a tummy ache go away but the the pain is so sharp. I feel the warmth of the wetness first. Sticky. Hot against the cold of the pavement. I fumble at the moist soft flesh of my abdomen as the hard realisation grips me. I recognise something. A familiar shape but unfamiliar in this context. Something is wrong. Thin. Hard. Usually longer but now worryingly too short, where is the reset of it? Too thin for a knife. Not sharp. A handle. But not long enough for a scalpel, not a whole scalpel. Then I panic. Understanding of what has just happened flushing through my body like an iced enema. Please no. God no. Dizziness. Don't forget your first aid, but I am so dizzy, compression, light headed like when you blow up balloons, too many balloons. But I’ll be ok, my life isn't flashing before my eyes. I will be ok. I must be ok. Jade…