Maud was feeling stressed, flustered, hot and bothered. Her cheeks flushed. Her flesh prickled with the unbearable heat. Thick sweat streamed down her body, pooling in an annoying wet patch in the small of her back. What had possessed her to wear a navy-blue dress? Why not a soft grey, a cool white, or a daring summer frock in pastel shades? And how could she forget her mask? She tried to cover her face and nose with her hand, in the hope that this shielding might protect her.
The forecasters had predicted a real scorcher today. Underground, the temperature was already 40 degrees. There was no air conditioning. Conditions were sub-human, searing hot, like commuting in a volcano. Maud was surprised no-one had passed out. The scantily clad male tourist, swinging grimly from the sweaty knocker overhead, was definitely teetering on the brink. And his smell! How the man could go out in public without wearing a mask and a deodorant was beyond her. The heat combined with the prospect of rapidly being infected by him was driving her to distraction.
Minutes passed. The stifling pungent carriage turned into a furnace. The putrid air ripened with anxiety and disquiet. An inner turmoil festered on the lips of the angry: a strained boil of tension which burst, souring her breathing space with foul expletives. Someone elbowed her in the cheek. She smarted as the blow raised a bruise on her sensitive skin, thankful that he had missed her eye.
There was stony silence, then uproar, as the driver apologised for the delay, failing to indicate how long it would be before they would be on the move again. Maud despaired. Her consultant urologist recommended that she drank six pints of water a day, to stay hydrated. She rummaged through the trendy jute tote bag balanced on her knees, only to find the plastic bottle empty. Sighing heavily, she drew out her phone and checked for messages.
Maud heard a heavy clumping noise as an exhausted body collapsed on the floor. A passenger pulled the red alarm handle. Her fraught journey to work ground to a halt. In an effort to stay alert, she hauled herself upright in her seat, and looked around.
A straw-blonde girl in a grubby black coat was working her way along the carriage to a chorus of disapproval, a polite no, thanks, sorrowful shakes of the head. To her intense irritation, Maud realized she was about to be solicited for money. She tried to consciously distance herself from the beggar: looking the other way, affecting not to notice, horrified when the girl loomed over her and stood between her open bandy legs. The two of them were so close that she could smell her acrid body odour, see the disgusting streaks of grey dirt stuck to her hair.
Maud felt a pang of guilt in her heart for the rejection, the blunt dismissal that she was about to make. This was no ordinary vagrant. Beneath the grime the young girl was beautiful, but her pale face was crusted with dirt, her blanched hair unkept, tangled into greasy knots. Her wild teak eyes shimmered with tears, the despairing look of someone who’d given up all hope.
Strange though, Maud noticed, there was no sign of a begging bowl. No used paper cup.
The girl’s face cracked into a nervous smile, her thin membranous lips stretching to reveal her broken teeth. Maud winced as she bit down hard into her bottom lip, her right incisor cutting out a bright red gash of flesh which filled with blood. The oxygenated haem trickled down her chin onto her neck forming a ruby in the base of her throat. She was wearing a double pearl necklace. The pearls looked genuine enough. But how could she afford pearls? What happened to this girl?
Maud found herself unable to turn away. She strained in her seat, desperate to get a closer look. Alarmed by her intrusion, the urchin felt inside her coat, drew out a white card, and held it in front of her face, covering her nose. The A5 card read:
Sorry to beg of you this morning. I wish I could tell you my story about the Unbelievable Highs. But I’m dumb. Please, I beg of you, provide me with a roof over my head, a warm bed to rest my weary body, some love and affection. I get so cold and sad living on the streets. Help me before it’s too late. They tell me Winter is coming.
Thank you for reading me,
Lydia.
Maud reached inside her bag, drew out her purple clasp purse, and checked inside. Other than fifty pounds in notes that she withdrew from a cash dispenser and a handful of copper, the purse was empty. She watched the hopeful expression bloom on the girl’s face.
‘Sorry,’ she said dismissively, ‘I don’t have any change.’
The girl stared at her, wild-eyed, bewildered, her fervent expectations of the concerned-looking woman shot down in flames. Tears of hopelessness streaked cream channels in her grubby face. She reached inside her coat pocket, took out a crumpled business card, and handed it to Maud.
Unbelievable Highs for Women Seeking Sensual Fulfilment
Text or E-Mail Lydia on…
*****
Maud removed her headset, shut down her tablet, excused herself, and went to the toilet. It was safer to view the strange message in the cubicle. She studied the frightening image on her phone for the tenth time that morning:
Why are you so heartless? I know you have the money, Maud. Know you have a warm bed for me in your flat in Aigburth. You feel sorry for me, but don’t want to help me. Please help me. We could have such Unbelievable Highs together, Maud. They tell me Winter is coming.
Text or E-Mail Lydia on…
The message was attached to a GIF, a moving image of the young girl’s face. She was beautiful once. Her skin had paled to the colour of magic mushrooms. Thin strands of hair kissed her bony cheeks. Her wild bloodshot eyes glistened with tears. The face cracked into a nervous smile: thin-membraned lips, broken teeth, heavy nosebleed. Maud winced as the bright red gash, her mouth, filled with blood which trickled down her neck, pooling in a ruby pond at the base of her throat. On her ears were two hanging balls of blood. Her nose had no septum. Lydia tried to scream, to tell Maud about the wild parties, snorting the white snow, her Unbelievable Highs. Her loss of sense of taste, smell. Her difficulty swallowing. Losing touch with reality. Hallucinating dark dreams. Lydia tensed. Her facial muscles went into spasm, the mute opened her mouth to speak.
Maud was interrupted by a loud banging on the cubicle door: Iris the Office Manager, shouting:
‘You’re not going to believe this, Maud. Come and see! It’s snowing! In mid-July!’
They tell me Winter is coming.
Lydia
Greetings,
How are you? I just finished reading this story with listening to your narration. Unbelievable. The description is so detailed, I can almost feel & taste the visuals. Nicely done. You’re voice is like silk and you have a very vivid & creative imagination. Nice work.
Feeling much better after reading your lovely review, K. Thank you so much for your kind words.
Well, You certainly have my attention, Hj. This is a lovely piece of writing.
You’re much too kind to me, Fia! Thanks a million, it feels lovely to be back.