One Good Deed

One Good Deed

A Story By Chris Richards

Rain.
God, how I hate the rain.
The way it pitter-patters down the windows, gathers in puddles on the
floor.
A splish. A splash.
You walk down the street, all warm in your gear, hoping some careless
driver doesn't throw a wave of dirty brown mush in your
direction.
Spoiling your day.
Adding to the misery of your life.

I've often stood here, watching the trains come and go. Curious about
where people are going, where they've been. I've sat on trains and
looked out, seeing illuminated windows pass by. People inside houses
going about their business, oblivious of the world outside, how it
shapes their lives without them ever even realising.

This station is one of the furthest out of town, not really qualifying
as London, but still within a half hour of Baker Street. I live not far
from here, a short walk or an even quicker bus ride.
I've never really been happy here though.
It's not the same.
It never will be.
She's gone now. She's never coming back.

And so here I am, sitting on a bench, looking up at people as they
huddle beneath the roofed area of the platform, afraid to step out into
what has now become little more than a slight drizzle. Some even hold
unfolded umbrellas and I smile, thinking how sad they look, standing
there silently, eager to be someplace else.
I know how they feel.

It's been two months now. Almost eight weeks. Fifty seven days.
And still the pain will not go away.
Tonight, I tell myself. Tonight.
If only I could find the courage.
If only I would act rather than talk.
But there's no such thing as easy, when you want to take your own
life.

There's a train coming. I can see it's glowing yellow lights in the
distance. The track begins to hum and the passengers all start to
shuffle around, predicting where the doors will be so as to get the
best seat when they finally get on board.
I stand.
Walking to the edge of the platform, looking down at the rubbish that
has been discarded onto the gravel upon which the rails lay, I take in
a deep breath, closing my eyes, hoping, praying that this time I'll
have the courage.
I feel a familiar sudden gush of air as the train slowly pulls in and
only then do I open my eyes, finding myself staring at an old woman who
is reading the 'Standard' and I'm suddenly envious of her.
She looks out at me, her face expressionless and I feel a sudden
twinge in my stomach, stepping away, turning my back on the train, on
the woman.

I close my eyes again, hearing as the train pulls out of the station
and I'm suddenly left alone.
Again.
I walk back to the bench and sit down, holding my head in my hands,
starting to cry.
That's when I hear the footsteps.

I sit up, trying to compose myself, seeing the girl standing across
from me on the Northbound platform. She's beautiful, not quite in
Sarah's league, but attractive none the less. I imagine that she's in
her mid-twenties, dressed in a black trouser suit, blonde hair neatly
clipped in a 'bob'. Her frame is slight and curvy. She holds a small
black bag, a hold all and slowly she paces from one end of the platform
to the other.
I find that I can't take my eyes off of her and that disturbs
me.
I haven't looked at another woman, not that way, since Sarah passed
away and I feel guilty that I should be having such thoughts.
I bite my bottom lip and look away, staring down at the ground, the
'click-click' of her shoes filling my head, taunting me.
Then I hear the shouting, two boys joining her on the platform, making
some comment which causes her to stop her steady pace. She seems to
retreat from them, but they advance, taunting her.
I hate them, their kind. Too much testosterone. Too cocky. Thinking
they are God's gift to women.
They snarl at her and pounce, grabbing for her bag, throwing her to
the ground, but she struggles, kicking out and before I know it I'm on
my feet, running for the stairs which lead underground, to the other
platform.
I find some unknown strength to power my legs, pounding the ground,
gasping for air as I throw myself forward. As I come up from the other
side I hear her screaming, not giving in, even though the two youths
are holding her down, threatening her.
I shout and catch them by surprise, lashing out at the one nearest to
me, kicking him, almost knocking him onto the track. In a few seconds
it is over, they run away, empty handed, tails between their
legs.
I fall to my knees, taking in short, sharp, breaths, watching as the
girl tries to stand.
"Thank-you." She mutters, staggering away to a bench, dragging her bag
behind her.

For some reason I panic and whilst she is recovering I walk towards
the exit, slipping away into the night.

**********

I eat very little at the best of times, but as I sit watching tv, some
pointless quiz show playing out before my eyes, I try to make my way
through a small bowl of rice and a stale piece of nan bread.
I think of Sarah, how she used to make the most amazing Sunday roast.
Better than even my mother used to make. The beef was always well done,
the potatoes crisp, the vegetables succulent. But theYorkshire
puddings.....Wow ! They were always so light and fluffy. One was never
enough.
Thinking about it, I liked everything that Sarah did. She was so
articulate, turning her hand to anything and everything with a natural
flair.
She was my best friend.
She was my lover.
And if circumstances had been different I would have married
her.
But it was not to be.

I place my dish down, sipping at a glass of water, pressing the red
button on the remote control that turns the tv off.

It's then that I hear the knock at my front door.

Switching on the hallway light I go to see who is there, putting the
chain on the door before opening it, stepping back in shock as I see
the girl who was attacked at the station, standing there with a smile
on her face.
"I hope you don't mind, but I followed you home." She says shyly,
cocking her head to one side.
I close the front door slightly, so as to remove the chain, then open
it again.
"Would you like to come in ?" I ask, moving aside to allow her
entry.
She smiles again, visibly relaxing.
"Thanks." She says and slides past me into the warmth of the
house.
Leading her through to the living room I suggest she take a seat and
remove her coat, which I take from her.
I notice that she is still carrying the hold all from earlier on, but
has changed her clothes into something less formal, a long black skirt
and fuchsia coloured blouse.
I offer her a drink and she says coffee, two sugars, no milk,
mentioning something about no dairy products and lactose
intolerance.
Whilst I'm in the kitchen I ask myself what she is doing here, why she
followed me. Where had she been in all the time since we'd first
encountered one another on the station platform ? But I fail to come up
with any answers.
She looks up at me as I enter the room, placing two cups of steaming
hot coffee onto the table in between two chairs and I feel myself
getting aroused, just seeing her there, sitting in Sarah's seat.
"I wanted to say thank-you for earlier." She says, leaning forward and
picking up the cup closest to her. "But you ran away." Slowly she sips
at her drink, watching me as I watch her.
"Were you hurt ?" I ask. "You really put up some fight."
"Well, there was no way I was going to let them get away with my bag.
Everything I own is in there. Without it I'm nothing."
"Did they give you any more hassle ?"
"No, they scarpered pretty quickly."
"I'm sorry if you felt I abandoned you. I just had to get away, it
brought back too many memories."
"I was just grateful that you helped at all, most people would have
just looked the other way."
I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
"I lost my girlfriend recently. She was attacked in the park on the
way home from work."
"I'm sorry. I had no idea." She places her cup back onto the table,
turning her body a little so that she is facing me more.
"There were three of them, apparently. They held her down and raped
her. Slashed her with razors......." I pause and take in a breath,
hardly believing that I'm telling a complete stranger all of this. "I
never even got to say goodbye to her."
"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have....."
"It's fine....." I lie and turn away, fighting the instinct to cry
again..
After a moment or so pause she says:
"My names is Katie."
I wipe a tear from my eye and turn back.
"Ann-Marie" I say and try to smile.
"I've seen you around at the station for a few weeks now." Katie
informs me.
"Had something I wanted to do. Never found the courage." I say and
stand, moving over to the fireplace where there is a picture of Sarah
only a few weeks before she died. I turn back to show Katie, but she is
no longer sitting there. Instead I hear her in the kitchen, rummaged
through the drawers.
Putting the photo down I move towards the sound, stopping in my tracks
as Katie emerges with the sharp carving knife Sarah used to cut the
Sunday roast with.
"I'd like to help you." She says, slowly stepping towards me. "It's
the least I can do."
At first I think about screaming or running, but instead I just stand
there and watch as she places the cold steel against my neck.
"After all." She smiles "One good deed deserves
another........."

The End
Copyright: Chris Richards 2000

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