Tubing Page 5

  It was quiet this far up on the train – most people had boarded in the middle. A woman with several bags was sitting on the side bench next to the windowed door. Polly climbed over her mound of shopping to get a clear view of Mousey. The woman begrudgingly rearranged her bags so Polly could pass. Now in place, Polly looked on as Mousey pulled the strap of her bag over her head and put it down on the floor beside her. She watched and waited.

  The train set off into the tunnel.

  From where Polly was standing, Mousey’s carriage looked empty except for a small group of twenty-somethings talking excitedly down the far end. Mousey moved deeper into the corner, sliding her back along the clear plastic divider to the archway of the door. Her eyes flicked about nervously, then they suddenly stopped and fixed dead ahead.

  A man slowly came into view. He must have already been on the train where Polly couldn’t see him. She could only see the back of his head. He kept walking forward until he was right up against Mousey. She watched as his tanned hand ran up her milky-white thigh. Mousey leant back and moved her legs apart. She closed her eyes as his hand pushed up further, pulling her skirt with it. Polly moved closer into the window and caught a glimpse of her naked crotch.

  Mousey dropped her head back as his hand began to touch her intimately. He brought his other hand up to her throat and pressed flat against it, pushing down hard. Her eyes were closed and her mouth wide open. Polly watched as her mouth changed shape, forming silent words and sounds; she imagined she could hear them through the noisy rattles and clatter of the train. He ran his hand from her neck down to her breast, taking the small mound into his grip and squeezing it hard. She reacted, her face flushing and her cheeks puffing air in and out. Polly bit down hard on her own lip as she watched.

  Abruptly, the man swung her round so he was against the arch and she was now in front. It was him. Startled, Polly immediately ducked down under the window, ending up crouched on the floor of the train. The woman with the shopping grunted irritably as she kicked over one of her bags. Polly had completely forgotten she was there. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she said, diving across to pick it up.

  ‘Leave it,’ the woman commanded. She bent down to sort it out herself.

  Polly stayed squatting for several seconds. She couldn’t believe it was him.

  She stood up, careful to avoid the window. The woman on the bench eyed her suspiciously. Polly ignored her and edged closer to the window. When she was sure that he wasn’t looking in her direction, she moved back into her original spot. She could see what was happening from the speed at which Mousey’s arm was moving.

  Polly was struck by their audacity. She looked over at the group of people still down the far end of the carriage. They were engrossed in conversation, totally unaware of what was going on. It seemed unlikely that they would see anything even if they did look over – a view of his back at best – but she was still amazed.

  When Polly looked back, his head immediately swung to the side. For a second Polly thought he’d seen her. She shrank back from the window, keeping them both just in view. Mousey was still tossing him off. He lifted his hand up and put it on top of her head and slowly began pushing her downwards. She responded, dropping to her knees. Her head began moving backwards and forwards. He looked down at her and started thrusting his cock into her mouth viciously. She responded by moving her head back and forth faster and faster. He plunged in one last time and all the tension drained from his body. Mousey turned immediately and spat on the floor. She got to her feet and pushed him in the chest. Polly couldn’t tell if she was annoyed with him or just being playful. He smiled, using only the left side of his mouth, then he quickly turned to the doors to get off the train. As he stepped down on to the platform, he zipped up his flies.

  Polly stood stunned for a few moments. The sound of the beeping doors brought her back to her senses and she jumped out after him.

  She followed.

  She tried to keep her distance, but hung back a little too long on the platform and nearly lost him when he went down a side tunnel, avoiding the main railway station. She had no idea where she was until she saw a sign for Waterloo station. By the time she caught sight of him again he was at the top of the escalators. She had to run all the way up, barging past dawdlers as she went. When she reached the top, she screeched to a halt. He was standing just up ahead. She ducked behind one of the tiled pillars near the guards’ station. He was having trouble getting through the barrier. The guard was examining his pass. He gave it back and pointed to another barrier. He swiped his card again; this time the gate opened and he walked through. She waited until he was around the corner before fumbling for her own card and following him through the exit.

  He didn’t waste any time – he was already running across the road by the time Polly was out of the station. She tried to follow, but the cars kept coming. She ran to the lights, impatiently punching the button at the crossing with her thumb while she watched him walk down past the Old Vic and into The Cut. The lights changed to amber and she shot across the road.

  She’d been to The Cut a couple of times before. It was a pedestrianised street that ran along the railway arches. It’d been recently redeveloped, and each archway now housed a swanky bar or restaurant.

  He went into a darkly lit bar playing loud samba music. She waited at the door as he made his way down to the tiny bar at the back and ordered himself a drink. She watched as he sat down on a stool and took a swig from the bottle, her heart hammering in her chest.

  It was a Tuesday, so the place was quiet. Polly sat down at one of the darkened side tables near the entrance. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, terrified that she might lose him again.

  She was deep in thought when a waitress approached. ‘Drink?’ she asked listlessly.

  Polly looked up blankly.

  ‘Do you want something to drink?’ the waitress repeated slowly and deliberately.

  ‘Umm – vodka,’ Polly replied. ‘Double,’ she added curtly.

  The waitress walked off towards the bar.

  She returned a few moments later, carrying a tumbler on a silver tray. She placed it on the table. As soon as her back was turned, Polly picked it up and downed it in one. It tasted disgusting, but had the desired effect, topping up the alcohol she’d had earlier, immediately deadening her nerves.

  She stayed put. She kept telling herself to get up and go to him, but each time she bottled it and just kept sitting there.

  He was on his second beer when she decided it was now or never. She picked up her bag and quickly walked towards the back bar. The throbbing samba beats were deafening as she made her way past the empty dance floor. She shakily sat down on the stool next to him.

  He was looking in the opposite direction so she assumed he hadn’t noticed her. She stared at him. A single spotlight lit his face from above, making him look like a statue.

  He nonchalantly turned round to look at her.

  ‘You like what you saw?’ he asked, facing forward again.

  She couldn’t speak. He knew. He’d seen her watching him on the train.

  ‘Of course you did, otherwise you wouldn’t have followed me,’ he said, not waiting for her to answer, draining his bottle of beer.

  They sat in silence. He seemed perfectly comfortable. Polly was in agony. She had no idea what to say, and was beginning to wonder what the hell she was doing.

  The barman came over to them. ‘More drinks?’ he asked.

  ‘Another beer. And she’ll have a double shot,’ he said turning to her. ‘Like a gin? Or vodka?’

  She stared back at him.

  ‘Yeah.’ He was smiling now. ‘Vodka.’

  When the barman’s back was turned he leant in close to face her, ‘So which are you? A watcher or a doer? You’ve done both now.’

  She didn’t answer. She could feel the warmth of his body and smell the scent on his skin.

  ‘I think I’d like you to be in on the action,’ he continued. ‘I was hoping you’d find
me.’

  An enormous grin broke across her face; she couldn’t help it. ‘Me too,’ she murmured, totally lost in his black eyes.

  The bartender came back with their drinks. He picked up his beer and took a mouthful. Polly tried to pick her glass up, but was shaking so much most of it spilt all over her hand and on to the bar.

  ‘Let’s do it again,’ he said.

  She nodded automatically.

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket ready to take down her number. There was no hesitation: she told him immediately.

  He slipped his phone back in his pocket. ‘I gotta go.’

  And with that he was gone.

  Polly sat at the bar bewildered. Had that really just happened? Had she really just found him? She took a large gulp of her drink. It still tasted foul, but she needed it.

  She reached into her bag to check her phone. The time was 12.29. She’d missed the last tube. Usually the thought of having to get several buses home this late at night would have made her want to cry, but not tonight. Her mind was racing, and she needed the long journey home to try and settle.

  ‘Hey, you gonna pay the bill?’ the barman shouted as she turned to leave.

  She spun round. He pushed a silver dish with a receipt on it towards her.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, embarrassed that she’d forgotten to pay for the drink she ordered when she first arrived. She picked up the bill, lifting it close to her face to read it in the dim lighting. The total was printed in bold at the bottom. It said she owed £44.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said to the barman, who now had his back to her and was reorganising the spirits neatly displayed on the shelving behind. The wall was made up entirely of mirrors. She hadn’t noticed before. ‘I think you’ve given me the wrong bill,’ she said.

  He snatched it from her hand then lifted it up close to his face. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Three beers and two double vodkas. That’s what you both had, right?’

  Eight

  The text message came two days later. It read:

  tottenham court road

  central line westbound

  tomorrow 17.49

  4th carriage

  dress slutty

  no underwear

  Polly was sitting at work. When she read the message her heart started pounding.

  ‘Ready, Polly?’ Lionel was standing in front of her desk, peering down at her through his reading glasses.

  ‘Huh?’ she said without looking up, her eyes glued to the phone.

  ‘Prayers. It’s three.’

  She squinted up at him, her vision fuzzy from having stared at the screen so long. Lionel’s big head beamed at her. He reminded her of a Labrador; all that was missing were the black pads around his mouth and a lolling tongue hanging out the side.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lionel,’ she said. She looked at her laptop. A calendar reminder had popped up fifteen minutes ago, announcing the weekly update meeting, or ‘Prayers’, as Lionel liked to call it. ‘I’ll just grab my stuff.’ She picked up her notebook and pen, carrying them in one hand, her mobile phone still attached to the other.

  She followed him into his office. The room was hot and stuffy. The hot weather still hadn’t broken and the humidity in the city was becoming unbearable. Unlike the rest of the building, Lionel’s office had no air-conditioning, a result of poorly planned partition walls. All he had was an old desk fan on his filing cabinet that had minimal effect. Someone had done the unthinkable and opened a window. Notepads and bits of paper wafted vigorously in an attempt to make use of the fresh air.

  There was only one chair free next to the door. Polly tipped it up on its side in an attempt to shut the door behind her, but she was so flustered she couldn’t manage it. Lionel jumped up to help. He noticed her trembling hands and gave her an encouraging smile.

  It was the first time Polly had been to one of these meetings. James usually gave an update on the legal department’s activities, but he was busy today and had asked Polly to step in. She’d been chuffed – it was her chance to pitch some of her feature ideas. She’d sketched out a few ideas in her notebook on Monday and had meant to write them up later, but with everything that had happened over the past few days she’d completely forgotten to finish it off, let alone sort out the legal department update.

  Lionel kicked off the meeting. She tried to concentrate and follow what he was saying, but after the first sentence she lost him. Her stomach churned at the thought of tomorrow evening. She couldn’t believe he’d texted. Her phone had barely left her hand yesterday. She’d longed for this message to arrive but, now it was here, she suddenly felt sick, a mix of nerves and excitement.

  ‘Polly … Polly … hello,’ Lionel was waving at her from his desk. She looked up. Everyone in the room had turned to look at her. ‘Can we have your update now?’

  She stared back blankly, then, when she registered what was going on, said, ‘Of course.’ She picked up the notepad in her lap and rifled through it for her notes. They weren’t there. She had the wrong pad. She tried to remember what she’d written down earlier in the week, but she couldn’t think straight.

  ‘I … uh … um … ’ She looked around at the expectant faces. There was silence; no one was offering anything. She could feel her cheeks burning. Eventually in a very small voice she managed, ‘I’m going to be sick,’ then got out of her chair and turned to run. She wrestled with the door handle before finally wrenching it open. As soon as she was out, she dashed to the ladies’. She heard Alicia call after her from the reception desk as she rushed past. ‘You OK, hon?’ She ignored her, slamming the door shut then flicking the lock.

  She put the toilet lid down and sat on it. The bathroom was cool and silent. She had a thin film of sweat over her face. She allowed it to dry in the cold air. After a couple of minutes her legs became restless and forced her on to her feet. She started pacing on the spot.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she whispered to herself. ‘Why are you fucking everything up, Polly?’ she said a little louder.

  She stopped and started to shake herself vigorously, her arms flailing and her head nodding. When she finally stopped, her hair had fallen loose in front of her face. She tugged at the band holding her ponytail. It pinched strands of hair, pulling at her scalp. She pulled harder, yanking the band free. The relief was immense as her hair fell around her shoulders.

  There was a knock at the door. Polly stopped perfectly still and held her breath.

  ‘Hon, are you OK?’ There was a pause. ‘Hon, it’s me.’

  Polly exhaled loudly, relieved it was only Alicia and not Lionel or someone else from the meeting.

  ‘I’m fine,’ shouted Polly through the door.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  No! thought Polly – she wanted to scream it through the door. She needed some time on her own.

  ‘You’ve been in there a while,’ Alicia continued when Polly didn’t answer. ‘Lionel wants me to check you’re OK.’

  ‘Fuck,’ she whispered through clenched teeth. She reluctantly went to the door and unlocked it. What did she think she was doing anyway, hiding in the toilets? Pathetic.

  Alicia immediately pushed the door open, shoving Polly out of the way, then slammed it shut and locked it behind her. ‘So, what’s going on, lady?’ she asked with genuine concern. She was standing so close that her breasts were squashing into her, and Polly could smell strawberry liquorice laces on her breath. She instantly took a step back.

  ‘Nothing, I just wasn’t feeling very well,’ Polly replied.

  Alicia made her way over to the window and yanked it open, then pulled out a lighter and packet of cigarettes from her pocket. ‘They all think you’re pregnant.’

  ‘They what?’ Polly said, exasperated.

  ‘You’re a woman in her twenties who runs out the room shouting you’re gonna be sick – what do you expect?’ She paused for a second, cigarette hanging on her lip and lighter poised. ‘You ain’t, are you?’

  ‘Of course not!’ Pol
ly’s voice echoed round the airy bathroom.

  Alicia lit her cigarette and inhaled deeply.

  Polly stared at her. ‘Are you sure you should be doing that in here?’

  ‘Who’s gonna know? We’re the only two that ever use this toilet. Are you gonna grass me up?’

  ‘No.’ Polly had a flashback to school days smoking weed behind the chemistry labs. ‘What about Janice?’

  Janice was the accounts lady.

  Alicia sucked her teeth loudly. ‘Janice never comes in here. I don’t reckon she does bodily functions – far too common,’ she said, putting on a posh voice for the last bit. Polly couldn’t help laughing.

  ‘Want one?’ Alicia held out the packet of cigarettes.

  Polly had given up smoking shortly after meeting Oliver – his patronising glances were far more effective than gum or patches. She thought for a second, then said, ‘Yeah.’ The first drag made her feel light-headed.

  They smoked in silence next to the open window. Slowly Polly’s shoulders dropped back down and the tension drained from her body.

  ‘So what’s up?’ asked Alicia.

  Polly was sorely tempted to tell her everything. She hadn’t felt this kind of concern from another woman in ages. ‘Just stuff,’ she replied, using the toe of her shoe to work free a loose floor tile.

  ‘You are hard work, girl, you don’t give nothin’ away,’ Alicia said, frustrated.

  Polly looked up from beneath the hair that had fallen in front of her face.

  ‘I get it,’ Alicia said. ‘Man trouble, right?’

  Polly slowly nodded.

  ‘Oliver?’

  Polly shook her head.

  ‘Someone else?’ Alicia raised her expertly drawn left eyebrow.

  Polly nodded again.

  Alicia turned and stubbed her cigarette out on the red brick of the window recess before throwing it out. Polly followed suit. Alicia waved her hands around in an attempt to waft the smoke away. ‘How old are you, Polly?’