Uchay Writes

A short story of a woman who feels ill but determined to get to work and has a strange encounter at the train station. Enjoy!

I didn’t feel good. I had to go to work but I didn’t feel good. The pain was unbearable, but I had already called in sick the day before and I only had a couple of shifts left before I was moving to Nottingham with my family. I grabbed my khaki green backpack and slugged it over my shoulder before I opened the door to the flat and stepped outside. The warm breeze made me feel worse. I walked down the stairs, or limped should I say, rubbing my lower stomach and sipping on some ice-cold water from an old Evian bottle that I found in my room the night before. As I got to the bottom, I pressed the silver button that said ‘OPEN’ and the usual beep sounded. Only this time I winced at the sound, it was a higher pitch, it tickled my brain in the worst way and I could taste bile creeping into my mouth.

I looked at my phone: 10.34, I should arrive at the station by 10 :45. That should leave me plenty of time for me to get to Euston catch the 11 :37, I don’t know why I chose to work all the way in Kilburn, and I was regretting it as I slowly made my way down the road. It was a Saturday, everyone was cooking it seemed like, pretty normal, this area was mostly populated by Bangladeshis so the smell of hutki and egg bhuna lingered in the air sometimes, it had become a comfort, a friend, but this Saturday it was my foe.

I managed to free myself from the cluster of flats, and turned left onto Talwin Street, the obvious change of gentrification as the apartments had nice marble and stone structures and there weren’t many chicken bones on the ground from the PFC on Stroudley Walk. I got to the end of the street where the cars zoomed passed on the A12 and took a break. I needed to breath. The black attire I had to wear for work did not help my cooling process and I could feel the dampness under my arms and the crevices of my lower back. I turned to my right and looked up: Bromley by Bow, it was right there.

One step after the other, slowly down the path, closer to the stairs. I looked up, they looked higher than usual, the same steps I’ve gone up and down over the past 10 years had been transformed, as if they had been knocked down and restructured. The mere 20 to 27 steps I usually took no mind in jogging up were making me nervous. The deep breath I took was shaky, and I pulled out the small packet of Kleenex pocket tissues from the side of my bag. The peeling back of the new packet which usually made me smile with satisfaction had no affect on me now. I pulled one out, shaking it so the white cotton material could unfold and then wipe the falling drops of sweat falling from my forehead, lifting my frames to wipe the bridge of my nose.

It was time.

‘1…2…3…’, I muttered under my breath, counting the steps as I elevated, and hoped it would distract me from the pain.

‘3…4…5…’

Each lift of my leg caused me to quickly draw in my breath.

‘6…7…8…’

The sweat I had wiped off 30 seconds ago had reappeared and the glasses that were planted firmly on the bridge of my nose had begun to slip. I paused to push them back up and lifted my head, almost crying out. I wasn’t even halfway. I couldn’t continue like this, I needed to get to the top quickly. Just go back down, go back home, you’re not well don’t push yourself, the intrusive thoughts had kicked in, but I was sure that once I get to the top and onto the train that this pain in my stomach would eventually subside. I watched as others passed me on the stairs, a few glancing at me, confused as to why I was just standing there, rubbing my stomach and taking deep breaths. I closed my eyes, and placed my hands, clenched, on my hips, I didn’t sway, but stood still. I continued with the breathing exercise, I remembered doing them with Ms Shelley after sixth form in her mindfulness sessions, using the headspace app.

My stomach still hurt, but it wasn’t as sharp as before. Before I got lost in thought, I felt a bump, and opened my eyes, the shock almost made me lose balance as I leaned back, but quickly stepped forward to the next step, catching myself. I turned to my left to see who rudely interrupted my brief serenity and almost made me a BBC news story. It was a man, of course. I lifted my head to see him already at the top of the stairs, but the sun had changed its course and had blinded me to properly study his features. But I could see the white shirt crisp shirt, with a sweat stain at the bottom of his back, sleeves folded, I had to squint my eyes as the white material was being reflected by the sun. He was carrying a black Nike backpack on his right shoulder and holding a black blazer in his left hand. I thought he was crazy even thinking about wearing a blazer, especially in this disgustingly sticky, humid UK heat, but I guess for work you must keep appearances. I saw him skip the last step before running to the right, disappearing into the station.

I snapped back. I pulled out my phone that was tucked halfway in the waistband of my black leggings, it was warm, the mixture if sweat and heat meant I had to peel it off my hip, it probably wasn’t a good idea to put it there. My mum had always warned me about it, like how she always warned me about sleeping with the phone near my face because someone on WhatsApp sent her a news story of a phone exploding as they fell asleep, but I’d always brush her off, she believed everything those stupid chain messages said.  I would put it in the outer zip compartment of my backpack, but I was too lazy to turn my bag to zip and unzip just to check my phone which I’m always on. The time: 11:04, my heart began beating fast, I wasted too much time and I hated being late.

Suck it up, I thought, just get up the stairs and you’re fine after that, I tried to comfort myself. Without second thought, I grabbed my bag which I had rested on the ground next to my foot and slung it once again over my shoulder and then pursed my lips together before bounding up the stairs, skipping every other step. I could feel my stomach bubble as I reached the top, a bitter taste had crept back into my mouth. I released the breath I had unconsciously been holding and fanning myself by pinching the middle of my black t-shirt, moving it back and forth, my whole body was drenched.

I entered the station; it was empty as usual but there was one thing that caught my eye.

The customer service desk that was never open with the window slide that seemed to permanently be shut was wide open. And a man who I thought too old to be working in such a place especially in these conditions was sat still behind the glass pane, sipping on a hot mug of what was probably tea, as I could see a white tag swinging on the side and on the mug were the words: ‘NO.1 GRANDAD’. He was wearing a wearing a short sleeve, check blue shirt and on top a navy TFL fleece vest that was zipped up to the top. His appearance baffled me, wasn’t he hot? Could he breathe in that small space? I kept watch of him as a fumbled in my bag to pull out my mum’s oyster card since I had lost my zip oyster just a week before.

I finally found the oyster which was at the very depth of my backpack and walked towards the double barriers on the very left. I always chose to go through them because I hated squeezing through the single ones which sometimes would shut too early, and one time caught my bag.

I was a little hesitant in approaching as they were right in front of the service desk of the strange old man. I kept glancing at him as I went to tap my oyster, but because I wasn’t paying much attention to where I was tapping, I didn’t feel the connection with the card reader but the air. As my hand went down the card slipped from my hand and winced as it slapped the concrete floor.

 I bent down and quickly picked it up, remembering I was running against time. When I straightened back up and was about to tap again, I felt uncomfortable, like something was invading my bubble, creeping up my spine. I turned to my left and my eyes widened as my eyes were locked with the old man who was no longer sipping his piping hot tea. I couldn’t see very well into the glass as the glass was partly reflecting myself. But I could see his dull grey eyes staring intently at me, they were sunken in their sockets, and I could see dark pink shade beneath his eyes, the blue-green veins were running down like lightning strikes on his pale skin, it made my skin crawl. He was smiling. It wasn’t big but a small smile which made the wrinkles beneath his eyes more prominent. I formed a small smile but it was forced, I wanted him to stop staring at me. I tapped the card reader.

As the beep sounded when my card made contact, I heard a frail voice come from behind me “See you soon”, but I didn’t bother to look back as I quickened my pace and turned left to walk down the short tunnel before turning right and quickly made my way down the stairs.

I walked down the platform, trying to catch my breath, the pain I had forgotten about during the oyster panic had started to return but was somewhat bearable. I brought out the bottled water in my bag, which was luckily still very cold, and took small sips. The coldness felt good at it travelled down my throat, it soothed my stomach a little, the coldness seemed to temporarily freeze the pain.

I sat on the bench and looked up at the screen which showed the timing of the train. The top result was ‘Hammersmith and City Line’ which was to come in 2 minutes. I looked at my phone 11:08. It was a risk but I knew I could make it, the train to get to King’s Cross was about 20 minutes.

I looked up from my phone and scanned the platform, there were about 10 other people waiting patiently, some on their phone, some sitting on the benches further down, there was a woman reading a book to the left of me who stood on the yellow line. Even with my glasses on I squinted and shuffled forward on the bench to read the title ‘The Alchemist’, it read.

I heard the soft chugging of the train approaching and I stood up. I walked towards the yellow line and turned my head to see the train approaching. As the train pulled up and I scanned the carriages my already pained face screwed up even more, the train was packed. Of course, everyone was out on this hot Saturday morning, they must’ve all got on at Barking, I thought. The doors hissed open. No one got out. I managed to squeeze in, and made sure to hold my backpack like a handbag, paranoid that someone might steal from me. The doors hissed shut. My nose itched at the mixed odour of sweat, which most certainly may have been just me.

“The next station is Bow Road. This is the Hammersmith and City Line train to Hammersmith.”

I needed to sit down. I couldn’t stand straight properly because it made the pain worse. There wasn’t even enough space for me to stand, my hand tightened its grip on the yellow pole, but it wasn’t firm, my clammy palms kept loosening it. My left leg was planted in between a woman’s legs and someone was pressed on my back, which caused my t-shirt to be plastered on, I cringed at the feel of the wet fabric clinging to me.

“The next station is Mile End, alight here for the Circle, District and Central Line trains. This is the Hammersmith and City Line train to Hammersmith.”

I had to get off. There was no way I was going to make it to work in these conditions. I felt faint as the train pulled up to the station and the doors beeped open, and I quickly stepped off and sped walked down the platform and up the stairs to get to the other side, wincing in pain at every movement. I’m pretty sure I bumped into a few people, but I didn’t care, my head was spinning too much.

As I arrived on the other side, I closed my eyes and tried to focus on my breathing exercises like I did earlier, but they were useless now. Then I heard a screeching then a rumble, the train was here. The warm breeze which hit my face as it zoomed passed and then halted made me feel queasy. I opened my eyes and sighed a breath of relief as the train was mostly empty and I took my seat. I dreamt of a cold shower and lying on my bed with the fan on full blast with a hot water bottle for my stomach.

***

I was back at Bromley-by-Bow.

I stepped off the train and shakily walked up the flight of stairs and towards the barriers, the station was still as empty as it was 10 minutes ago. I had to use the single barriers as the double barriers only opened one way, I was glad, I didn’t want to see that creepy old man again. I rubbed my stomach and refused to turn my head towards the glass window and tapped my oyster before barging through the gates. As soon as I got passed the gate, I felt a stab and I keeled over, I couldn’t breathe. My head had become clouded, and the bitterness had returned, but this time I couldn’t swallow it back, it wanted to force its way out. I was still in that keeled over position for a short while, trying to compose myself. As soon as I was able to steady my breathing, I straightened a little and adjusted my bag, and readied myself to leave the station and go down the stairs.

Before I turned the corner to make my way down the steps, I felt like I should turn back even though I felt the nausea intensify. Surely the man had seen everything, I thought, he didn’t even call out or ask if I was okay, how rude. As I turned my head, the dirty look that I had prepared to shoot at him turned into deep confusion as there was no one there. The glass window was closed again. I looked around the station, there was no one in sight, did he go on a break? I felt compelled to walk up to the window and take a closer look, but as I took one step into the station I hiccupped and a sour liquid with a few chunks filled my mouth.

I ran out of the station and down the steps, but I didn’t make it to the bottom before more vile substance had emerged from my throat and my mouth opened to release the regurgitated concoction. My eyes watered as I watched the liquid with hints of yellow and green and pale chunks of red drip down the last three steps. I collapsed next to it, defeated. I sniffed, my nose was running and could taste the salty slime texture which was caressing my lips. I looked around and was horrified to see a man walking towards the stairs with his dog, they both stared at me. The man passed me on the steps in silence, but the dog gave a small growl, as if reprimanding me for making a mess.

I watched them walk to the top and vanish before frantically opening my bag and pulling out several pieces of tissue to wipe my face and then opening my water bottle to take a couple of sips before pouring the rest on the stairs to clear the vomit as best as I can. My stomach felt much better, but I didn’t want to return to the station, I was too embarrassed and tired from the pursuing pain I had felt all morning. I pushed my hand down on the stairs to help lift myself up, my knees wobbled slightly, I was exhausted. I reached down and grabbed my phone from the step below, it had fallen out my leggings when I collapsed on the stairs and called my mum.

She shouted at me to come home straight away, giving me an earful of why I left the house if I was feeling sick and how I’ve wasted her money on her oyster, “Do you think money grows on trees?” She asked.

I gathered my things, dusted myself off and walked back down the pathway, happy that I would be reunited with my bed. As I got to the end of the pathway and turned left to walk down Talwin Street, a figure came into my peripheral view. I stopped and turned to see a man at the bottom of the stairs, looking closely at the steps I had just tainted. I felt bad since the water hadn’t fully been able to remove all the chunks laying on them.

I frowned. What on earth was this man doing? He was thin, wearing black trousers and I could see his black shoes peeking from beneath the cuffs and he also seemed to be wearing some sort of sleeveless jumper. He then moved to grab something left on the steps, a mug it looked like, it was very hot from what I could tell as I could see the steam wavering. I could see his head move left and right, scanning the steps as if he had lost something and then he stopped. Then he did something I couldn’t quite believe. My mouth opened in horror as the man lifted his finger and scraped some leftover chunks into the mug which he held against the step, before swivelling the mixture in a circular motion and bringing it to his lips. “What the – ”, but I didn’t finish my sentence as the man suddenly straightened up, turned around and looked right at me.

His fleece was zipped up to the top and I could see short sleeves poking out from the sides. Even from as far as I was, I could make out the red circular logo on the right breast of his fleece, the TFL logo.

I was fixated. I watched him as he brought the mug to his lips again, not breaking eye contact and took a sip.