The Kindness Of Strangers
Dan chased through trouser pockets recovering loose coppers and a paperclip. Jeannette always kept a bag of spare change in the car “for emergencies”. Stupid cow. How did that help him when the car squatted two storeys up and nowhere near the pay-point?
“Only stopped to pick up some tea,” said Dan to the woman feeding coins into the next machine, hoisting the food-hall carrier bag as evidence. “One pound sixty for ten minutes shopping – daylight robbery!” He didn’t have the exact money and the machine didn’t give change.
The woman’s eyes smiled back at him, though her thin mouth barely twitched. She wore a tightly belted mackintosh, which hid her petite frame, and didn’t even flinch as Dan swore out loud. He scraped his foot back from the sticky puddle on the floor. Stale lager or something worse now coated his toecap - something worse from the smell. He held the plastic bag, containing the ten-pound dinner for two, at arms length to avoid any contamination. Jeannette wouldn’t have approved of the beef, but then he didn’t have to share the stew, the toffee pudding nor the bottle of Merlot. He would manage the lot himself, easily.
“Here,” said the woman pushing a two-pound coin into his hand.
“But I can’t give you any change,” Dan replied.
Behind him rumbled a growing queue of ex-shoppers. A toddler gripped his trouser leg, more stickiness, while its puce sibling wailed from the buggy that cracked against Dan’s ankle.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said.
Dan slipped the coin into the slot and retrieved his ticket. When he turned back the woman had gone. The door to the stairwell was still swinging on its hinges.
She’d left and he hadn’t thanked her properly.
Dan avoided the handrail and sprinted up the stairs two at a time. The landing light fizzed and spluttered within its grime covered casing. Two faceless teenagers slouched against the wall with heads cowled like urban monks. The first floor door was firmly shut, so he continued up to the second floor where the door slapped back and forth.
With his hand pushing against the word BITCH scratched into the grey paintwork Dan followed the woman. Glancing along the lines of parked cars he searched for movement. An act of random generosity had to be reciprocated. Her leaving was so sudden. This time he had to stop her.
Jogging to the far lane Dan squinted at the cars nudging the concrete boundary of the multi-storey. A tart straddled the back seat of a saloon; shiny leather trousers creased her buttocks as she strapped the safety belt across a baby seat. Hearing the clap of running feet she turned to stare at Dan. Lips, nails and low-cut top, curving round small breasts, were all the same crimson hue. With blood red lips, deathly white skin and midnight hair she was a fairytale whore.
Dan ran on to the corner of the car park where his quarry stood beside a hatchback. “Jeannette,” he shouted.
The woman jumped away from him bumping into the waist-height wall. A loose strand of hair blew across her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said. Palms splayed against the stippled concrete as she shrunk from him, her body arching into empty space. “I don’t know you.”
She wasn’t Jeannette. He could see that now.
“Never park facing outwards,” he gushed. “You hear stories of drivers on autopilot – they go into first gear instead of reverse, then foot slams onto the accelerator,” Dan lunged forwards, “and WHOOSH straight over the edge!”
The food-hall bag collided with the wall smashing glass and splattering the woman’s cream coat with dark red wine. Amber lights pinpricked the office blocks behind her as dusk pushed out the last dregs of the day. Dan’s heart thudded from the running. He could easily tumble her backwards and over the edge. What it would feel like to see her body spiral and plummet to the ground?
Dan’s staggered breaths pushed the woman closer to the sky.
A hand gripped his shoulder, tugging Dan back from the woman. “You alright, love?” the youth called out.
Two boys, heads still lost inside hoods, stood beside Dan like bookend demons. The woman returned a quick nod, eyes wide and unblinking.
“Is okay,” a smooth female voice, spoke from behind the car. Her accent hinted of Eastern Europe, of dank forests and slinking shadows. “I take care of him.”
Dan followed the raven-haired tart back to her saloon car. “I just wanted to thank her,” he said to the woman’s swaying hips. “She was kind to me.”
Pulling open the passenger door she said, “I think you are sad, not bad, man. I can help you.”
Dan trembled, sucking on his lip. “What about your baby?” He nodded to the back seat where the baby slept, plump arms crossed in its lap.
“I sit baby for friend,” she replied and reached towards the glove compartment, “is not mine. What is your name?”
“Daniel.”
Her long fingers rested on a shiny object, a metal bar or wrench, and Dan instinctively ducked backwards flinging up his hand as she swung round.
“Call me,” she held out a business card, her black eyes narrowed watching his white face.
Dan’s shoulders slumped, so she wasn’t prepared to help him right now. He read aloud the details on the card: “Doctor Ralucca Moranceau – Cognitive Therapist.” She was offering counselling. Not a prostitute after all.
“You talk, Daniel, I listen,” she said. “Is better than sex.”
Dan waited several minutes in his car before setting off. He stuffed the business card into the side pocket of the door where it rested on top of the bag of loose change. He didn’t walk to talk about Jeannette. Beyond the car park a flock of starlings kaleidoscoped over the pink-streaked skyline. Moving the gear stick into first Dan snapped his foot down onto the accelerator pedal and WHOOSHED forwards.
“Only stopped to pick up some tea,” said Dan to the woman feeding coins into the next machine, hoisting the food-hall carrier bag as evidence. “One pound sixty for ten minutes shopping – daylight robbery!” He didn’t have the exact money and the machine didn’t give change.
The woman’s eyes smiled back at him, though her thin mouth barely twitched. She wore a tightly belted mackintosh, which hid her petite frame, and didn’t even flinch as Dan swore out loud. He scraped his foot back from the sticky puddle on the floor. Stale lager or something worse now coated his toecap - something worse from the smell. He held the plastic bag, containing the ten-pound dinner for two, at arms length to avoid any contamination. Jeannette wouldn’t have approved of the beef, but then he didn’t have to share the stew, the toffee pudding nor the bottle of Merlot. He would manage the lot himself, easily.
“Here,” said the woman pushing a two-pound coin into his hand.
“But I can’t give you any change,” Dan replied.
Behind him rumbled a growing queue of ex-shoppers. A toddler gripped his trouser leg, more stickiness, while its puce sibling wailed from the buggy that cracked against Dan’s ankle.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said.
Dan slipped the coin into the slot and retrieved his ticket. When he turned back the woman had gone. The door to the stairwell was still swinging on its hinges.
She’d left and he hadn’t thanked her properly.
Dan avoided the handrail and sprinted up the stairs two at a time. The landing light fizzed and spluttered within its grime covered casing. Two faceless teenagers slouched against the wall with heads cowled like urban monks. The first floor door was firmly shut, so he continued up to the second floor where the door slapped back and forth.
With his hand pushing against the word BITCH scratched into the grey paintwork Dan followed the woman. Glancing along the lines of parked cars he searched for movement. An act of random generosity had to be reciprocated. Her leaving was so sudden. This time he had to stop her.
Jogging to the far lane Dan squinted at the cars nudging the concrete boundary of the multi-storey. A tart straddled the back seat of a saloon; shiny leather trousers creased her buttocks as she strapped the safety belt across a baby seat. Hearing the clap of running feet she turned to stare at Dan. Lips, nails and low-cut top, curving round small breasts, were all the same crimson hue. With blood red lips, deathly white skin and midnight hair she was a fairytale whore.
Dan ran on to the corner of the car park where his quarry stood beside a hatchback. “Jeannette,” he shouted.
The woman jumped away from him bumping into the waist-height wall. A loose strand of hair blew across her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said. Palms splayed against the stippled concrete as she shrunk from him, her body arching into empty space. “I don’t know you.”
She wasn’t Jeannette. He could see that now.
“Never park facing outwards,” he gushed. “You hear stories of drivers on autopilot – they go into first gear instead of reverse, then foot slams onto the accelerator,” Dan lunged forwards, “and WHOOSH straight over the edge!”
The food-hall bag collided with the wall smashing glass and splattering the woman’s cream coat with dark red wine. Amber lights pinpricked the office blocks behind her as dusk pushed out the last dregs of the day. Dan’s heart thudded from the running. He could easily tumble her backwards and over the edge. What it would feel like to see her body spiral and plummet to the ground?
Dan’s staggered breaths pushed the woman closer to the sky.
A hand gripped his shoulder, tugging Dan back from the woman. “You alright, love?” the youth called out.
Two boys, heads still lost inside hoods, stood beside Dan like bookend demons. The woman returned a quick nod, eyes wide and unblinking.
“Is okay,” a smooth female voice, spoke from behind the car. Her accent hinted of Eastern Europe, of dank forests and slinking shadows. “I take care of him.”
Dan followed the raven-haired tart back to her saloon car. “I just wanted to thank her,” he said to the woman’s swaying hips. “She was kind to me.”
Pulling open the passenger door she said, “I think you are sad, not bad, man. I can help you.”
Dan trembled, sucking on his lip. “What about your baby?” He nodded to the back seat where the baby slept, plump arms crossed in its lap.
“I sit baby for friend,” she replied and reached towards the glove compartment, “is not mine. What is your name?”
“Daniel.”
Her long fingers rested on a shiny object, a metal bar or wrench, and Dan instinctively ducked backwards flinging up his hand as she swung round.
“Call me,” she held out a business card, her black eyes narrowed watching his white face.
Dan’s shoulders slumped, so she wasn’t prepared to help him right now. He read aloud the details on the card: “Doctor Ralucca Moranceau – Cognitive Therapist.” She was offering counselling. Not a prostitute after all.
“You talk, Daniel, I listen,” she said. “Is better than sex.”
Dan waited several minutes in his car before setting off. He stuffed the business card into the side pocket of the door where it rested on top of the bag of loose change. He didn’t walk to talk about Jeannette. Beyond the car park a flock of starlings kaleidoscoped over the pink-streaked skyline. Moving the gear stick into first Dan snapped his foot down onto the accelerator pedal and WHOOSHED forwards.