Five(5)

But that is tomorrow. On a day like today, a physical description of Bad Back and To Do List would ordinarily follow here. Clever observations about their modes of dress and thinning hair. The matronly bosom of To Do List, for example. Or the paunch of Bad Back and the small tufts of hair in his ears, which suggest a dying marriage because his wife has not noticed as she no longer sees him when she looks at him and/or she does not have the energy to raise the topic of ear hair in a way that will not drive the final nail into the coffin of their union. There are many other mundane but poignant details we could explore in the lives of these ordinary commuters, but we have time constraints. Let’s just say that you’ve seen them before, on some other train platform in some other suburb, weighed down by bags and coats and unmet goals and unrealized dreams.

You might be looking at one of them right now as you wait for your train. Or maybe you’re avoiding looking at the unseemly ear hair or mature bust you have noticed in the one sitting next to you by keeping your head down in this book, reading it for book club during your commute, asking yourself why you always put off reading the book until the day before book club.

In any case, Emma and Liam shout at each other, but Bad Back and To Do List can’t quite hear what they’re saying. They look up from their phones for a moment to roll their eyes privately and sigh heavily. They try to ascertain what roles, if any, they will have in this situation.

Bad Back knows it is never a good idea to get involved when abnormal behavior is on display in public and returns to looking at his phone.

But To Do List feels uneasy. She’s not sure if she added regular or fat-free Greek yogurt to her trolley. She’ll have to check the order when she gets to the office. Then she turns her attention to the scene.

This isn’t good, she thinks looking at Gideon bouncing by the stairs, and Emma and Liam on the tracks, and Mrs. Worth still on the ground. Someone will have to do something, she thinks. She pulls out her phone. She leaves herself a voice memo, “Order Archie’s shin guards.”

There is another witness here as well, a young man descending the steps, walking onto the platform. He is a home health aide who has finally finished the night shift at one of the old, large, unrenovated homes in this area that have high but crumbling ceilings and beautiful rooms with peeling brocade wallpaper where important men once smoked cigars in dinner jackets and velvet slippers but that now house their forgotten elderly owners who both fear and long for the quiet of death.

This young man, whom we will know as Medical Student, is newly arrived in this country. He left his home country in eastern Africa to study medicine in a country in eastern Europe, but his training was interrupted there by a homicidal psychotic dictator’s egomaniacal war.

He entered the UK on a student visa, intending to start again from scratch. But to pay his university fees and to live, he must work more than the allotted twenty hours permitted, which leaves little time for his studies. So he takes the night shifts to catch up on his reading while occasionally checking to make sure the old rich people are still breathing. Medical Student is tired but will soon spring into action. Unfortunately, he will be just a little too late. Or maybe, depending on how things go, he’ll be right on time.

Right now, as he walks down the last few steps to the platform, he is taking in the scene and looking around for anyone with whom he could make eye contact and share a laugh of disbelief at Emma and the incomprehensible behavior of pale British women when he spots Mrs. Worth on the ground. He runs to her side.

Those are the witnesses.

Now, observe that Gideon is crying, or is it laughing? It is hard to know. He rocks on his feet, wraps his arms around himself, makes an airplane noise and runs in a circle. “Watch me!” he echoes his mother and then sits down on the platform edge, his legs dangling over the side, arms crossed. Emma calls to him, “Stay right there!”

Liam yells at Emma, “Are you mad?”

Bad Back looks up at them and thinks, Best not to get involved. He looks at the digital information display. It says 7:02. He hopes Emma and Liam will wrap this up soon. He has to get to the office. He texts his assistant, just in case he’s late. Nutters on the tracks. Hopefully no delays but will let you know.

“C’mon, love, be sensible—” Liam says, walking slowly toward Emma, the phone lying on the tracks between them. Liam’s arms are tensed, his knees bent, he approaches her slowly, as though she’s a wild animal or a hostage taker or about to jump off a ledge.

But Emma is a mother standing on train tracks. And she has had enough.

They both lunge for the phone, but Liam overpowers her, grabs it, and holds it in the air above her head, out of her reach, as he takes a step backward toward the platform.

“Careful, the third rail!” he warns her.

“What are you doing?!” she shrieks, pulling at his jacket, jumping up to grab his arm.

He easily holds her back with his other arm and says, “I just want to talk.”

To Do List, watching them, feels a surge in her gut, as much as one can feel a surge when wearing very tight tummy control undergarments, and knows that tragedy is upon them. She says into her voice memo app, “Call window cleaner,” as she hurries up the stairs to find a staff member.

“I’m trying to do what you want, just fuck off!” Emma says, angrily, pushing at Liam.

Liam says, urgently, “Think about the boy,” gesturing toward Gideon, as he takes careful steps back to the platform.