Past Imperfect

by Graham Debenham

conclusion

The next morning, they left the house and drove down to East Croydon Station to catch the 7:37 to Victoria. They managed to get Nigel’s usual carriage and his usual seat. He looked around, pleased to see that his entire regular commuter ‘family’ was in their regular seats. Everything felt perfectly normal; at least by comparison with last night.

Nigel was where he belonged. The events of last night had shown him, in no uncertain terms, that he was not cut out to be a ‘bad boy’ like Tommy Wellard. It was his destiny to be the underdog. As long as he had Cynthia by his side, nothing else mattered. She had grown up with him. She knew what he was like and accepted his shortcomings.

The train was slowing down at Balham. As it came to a standstill, the doors of his carriage opened as if in unison as a mass of cold commuters forced their way in.

Cynthia looked up as the flood of people made their way into the warm carriage.

“It was like this yesterday.” Nigel said, leaning across so that she could hear him above the noise. Cynthia nodded and returned to her magazine.

Nigel looked around the carriage. It was packed almost to capacity. As an afterthought, he glanced across the aisle. The seat which Wally had occupied yesterday was now taken by a young man wearing a hoodie and a baseball cap, listening to an iPod.

He smiled and turned back to his crossword.

“What you smilin’ at, four-eyes?”

At the sound of the familiar voice, Nigel felt a chill run down his spine. He looked up, straight into the face of the man who had engaged him in conversation at the same time yesterday.

Same pale dirty skin, same toothless sneer, and same body odour.

“I asked you a question, fat boy,” the man hissed.

Nigel looked around. The other commuters were all looking at him expectantly. Or was it just pityingly? Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Cynthia, edging away from the man.

He sat there in silence for a second or two. His experience last night had been a warning. His life had been the way it was because essentially he was not a violent man. He couldn’t handle power properly; not as a child nor as a young man. His glimpse of an alternate future had shown him that. One act of violence in his childhood had led to a lifetime of pain and loss.

On the other hand, he thought, I’m an adult now. I’m more capable of controlling my temperament. Perhaps that was why Wally gave me the opportunity to see what my life could have been like. Not to change it back then, but to change it now. I owe it to Cynthia to be the best that I can be. Not a spineless weakling, but not an arrogant bully either.

He looked up at the filthy man. “Go away,” he said quietly.

The man’s grin faded. He leaned forward and put one hand on the back of Nigel’s seat. “Do what?” he said slowly, his fetid breath almost making Nigel gag.

This was it, the moment of truth. All or nothing.

Nigel reached up, placed his hand on the man’s chest and slowly pushed him back. He folded his newspaper and laid it in his lap. Then he pushed his black horn-rimmed glasses farther up his nose and clasped his hands in his lap.

“You’re obviously having trouble grasping the basics of the English language, so I’ll try to speak a little more slowly so that you can keep up,” he said in a calm voice. “Go... away. There, did you understand that time?”

The man looked at him myopically and gave a nervous shrug of his left shoulder. Then, with a final nervous shrug, he backed away through the crowd until he was no longer in sight.

Nigel exhaled slowly. That felt good. No spinning sensation. No lights dancing in front of his eyes. He obviously wasn’t off on another trip to an alternate universe. Just to make sure, he glanced across the aisle. Same hoodie and baseball cap. No bearded old man.

Cynthia linked her arm in his. “I think you handled that very well, darling,” she said.

“Thank you, dear,” Nigel replied. “You know, he reminded me of Tommy Wellard.”

“Who?”

“The bully who made my life miserable back at Taplow Street School. I’ve sometimes wished I’d stood up to him then.”

“But... Nigel, you did. You just didn’t sink to his level. Who knows what would have become of you if you’d done that? I’m proud of you. And Uncle Wally would be proud of you, too.”

Nigel smiled and patted her arm. “You’re absolutely right, dear.” More right than you can possibly know.

to Challenge 383...