As she heard the whump of a stall igniting not far away, she put a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. She was such a stupid, stupid girl. She should never have left the house. Running off to find a boy was the most ridiculously hair-brained reason to go out on to London’s dangerous streets at night, but of course she knew that now.
‘It was a dream,’ she whispered, wishing now she could through all the stupid romance books in her bedroom into one of these riot fires. As a whistling sound came from beside her, she wondered if it wouldn’t be quicker to just step out from under the awning, put herself at the mercy of the mob, close her eyes and give up.
‘Shhh…’
Jessica jerked her head around as the sound came again. Someone was lying in the dark a few feet away. She tried to shuffle backwards but found only the wooden side of the market stall at her back.
‘They’ll hear you. Then we’ll both be dead. Just stay quiet and they’ll pass.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m Simon.’
She stared at him, but it was too dark to make out anything other than a silhouette.
‘What are you doing under here?’ she whispered.
He made a sound that could have been a wry laugh. I think I live here now.’ He pushed something towards her. ‘Here.’
It was a sweatshirt, folded up into a ball like a pillow. She put it under her head and lay facing him, the cold tarmac of Camden High Street beneath her. ‘You’re him, aren’t you?’
‘Who?’
‘The boy who asked me for the time.’
‘Yesterday?’
‘Yes.’
She thought she saw the silhouette nod. ‘Yes.’
Jessica’s heart seemed to swell out of her chest. ‘You’re him.’
‘You just said that.’
‘I know.’ Her lips worked, searching for words. This was what she had wanted, wasn’t it? To find him. Yet here she was, in the most unlikely of situations, unable to think of anything to say.
‘You didn’t know,’ he whispered.
‘What?’
‘You didn’t know the time. You didn’t have a watch.’ He chuckled. ‘I had to guess.’
‘Why didn’t you ask someone else?’
‘I didn’t want to.’
Her cheeks flushed. ‘Why did you need to know? Like anyone ever cares what time it is anymore.’
‘I just wondered. I wondered what you’d say. Whether you’d look me in the eyes, whether you’d smile. I just … wondered.’
‘Why did you wonder?’ she whispered back, feeling weird and awkward, but at the same time almost euphoric.
‘Because … in your eyes … there was something that I haven’t seen for a long
time.’
‘What?’
‘Hope.’
‘Hope?’
‘I wanted to talk to a girl who had hope, and I wanted to know why she had hope in her eyes.’
‘Because things can always get better, right?’
‘Right.’ Simon moved a little closer. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Oh. Um, Jessica. Jessica Woods. But you can call me Jess.’
‘It’s nice to meet you, Jess.’
‘And you too. Why are you really under here, Simon?’
He sighed. ‘My father got arrested, and then a gang took over my flat. The usual kind of thing. Not like it doesn’t happen every day, does it?’
Jessica swallowed. She shuffled a little closer and tentatively reached out a hand. ‘I’m sorry, Simon. That must be awful.’
‘These things happen. You have to make do, don’t you?’
Jessica reached up and felt first Simon’s arm, then his shoulder, and finally the cool, soft skin of his face. She stroked his cheek, the tiny button of a tear bursting over her fingers.
‘I don’t think I can make it better, Simon. I wish I could, but–’
Simon’s fingers closed over hers. ‘You already have,’ he said.
Jessica closed her eyes. When his lips touched hers, all the infinite troubles of the world seemed to melt away.
The kiss seemed to last forever. Jessica never wanted it to end, but like everything, eventually it did, and she stared at Simon in the dark, his face just inches from her own.
‘Listen,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. There’s nothing to hear. They’ve gone. The mob’s gone.’
‘I told you, didn’t I? Things always get better.’
Simon smiled. ‘They do,’ he said.
*
The rest of the story of Jessica and Simon is told in Chris Ward’s novel, The Tube Riders.
*
A proud and noble Cornishman (and to a lesser extent British), Chris Ward ran off to live and work in Japan back in 2004. There he got married, got a decent job, and got a cat. He remains pure to his Cornish/British roots while enjoying the inspiration of living in a foreign country.
In addition to The Tube Riders series, he is the author of the novels The Man Who Built the World and Head of Words, as well as the Beat Down! action/comedy novella series under the name Michael S. Hunter, and the Tales From the Village Green (cricket short stories) series under the name of Michael White.
Chris’s Blog: http://amillionmilesfromanywhere.blogspot.jp/
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*
The Riddle
Alison Blake
Crash! Spinning! Turning over and over. Pain. Oh God, the pain. Flashing light, crushing weight. Her head vibrates like a tuning fork. Blackness. Something wet and sticky. Flashing lights again but now they are all the colors of the rainbow. Too bright, stabbing into her head. Blood dribbles out of her mouth. Her head crushed by a giant vise. Terror, terror, terror.
Help me! The scream echoes in her head but no sound waves carry it beyond her tortured body.
Help me!
Now she hears voices. Thank you, God.
"There's someone in there," says a man's voice.
"Christ," says another. "How are we going to get her out?"
Help me!
"They can't hear you, Erin."
What?
"I said they can't hear you. Isn't that right, TooTrue?"
"Probably," agrees TooTrue.
"Here, let me help you." A tall, strong looking young man offers his hand. She reaches for it.
"I wouldn't, if I were you," says his companion. "That's the first step on the road to a terrible destination." He shudders.