A Selfish Man

thethemeis: Selfishness

theauthoris: LiamD

   We're sitting on a packed train, this man and me. As the mechanised thud signals the closing of the nearby double doors, I'm watching with a mixture of disbelief and disgust as he struggles to explain to a young pregnant lady why he can't move his dark green suitcase on the otherwise vacant chair next to him so that she can sit down.

   'Look, love, I'm sorry but it doesn't fit under the table and it won't fit in the overhead shelf. The luggage racks are all the way down the other end of the carriage and there's no way I'm getting past all the people in the aisles. There's nowhere else for it to go.' He tells her all this as if talking to a child who doesn't want to listen. He sounds insulted and self-righteous. She clearly can't understand why he won't just move the bloody case. Neither can I.

   'Take my seat, I can stand,' I tell her. She gives me an odd look as I do stand, as if surprised an associate of this man would have any manners at all, and doesn't thank me once she has sat down. The man I am accompanying shows no signs of remorse, but my attempt at diffusing the situation seems to work. For a short time, we are silent as the train accelerates away from Banbury. I check my phone and he does the same, then both of us remember how terrible the signal is on the Chilterns service and simultaneously put our phones back into our jacket pockets.

   He winks at me. 'At least I can't receive any messages from the old ball and chain. Seeing yours this weekend? What was her name again?'

   'You know her name. I'm going 'round there tonight.' I tell him, but even before I've finished he has started talking again. He's probably not even listening to me.

   'Mine asked me to go to hers tonight. Thing is, her dog died yesterday and she's pretty upset, so I probably won't be getting any if I do go. I'd much rather sit in and play COD with the lads online if that's the case.' He speaks quite loudly for what most people would consider a private conversation. The pregnant lady who's now sat in my seat tuts to herself while he's explaining his predicament, but he makes no indication that he's heard her. 

   'I might just ditch her to be honest mate, she's been nothing but a chronic ball-ache since she found out I slept with Tina.' He winks at me and I suppress a shudder. 'I just prefer to play the field, you know? No woman's gonna tell me who I can and can't sleep with.' The pregnant lady lets out a deep sigh and I allow the conversation to die, avoiding another unnecessary confrontation. 

   After a peaceful silence, my eyes wander to his suitcase and I'm reminded of the contents.

   'Why do you wash your dirty clothes back home, don't you have a washing machine in Birmingham?' I ask him. It's clutching at straws a little but it seems an inoffensive topic. Or so I think.

   'Well, I don't wash them do I? Mum can fucking do that, it's not like she's got anything better to do. I can do it in the flat but the powder and stuff is so expensive; I might as well get it done for nothing back home.' He gives me a sly grin before continuing. 'Mind you, they're both getting on a bit now. Shouldn't be long before they cop it and I'll get my hands on some major dosh.' After this he actually starts to laugh. This time it's not just the pregnant lady who's disgusted with us. The whole carriage seems to be frowning in our direction.

   Yet before I can begin to pretend he was cracking an unappreciated joke, he swears loudly.

   'SHIT! It's the ticket inspector.' He stares at me, alarmed.

   'So what, you've got our tickets haven't you?' I realise while I'm asking the question what the answer will be.

   'I didn't think we'd need any, they never usually check!' I look down the length of the train to see how close the inspector is and realise we don't have enough time to move from the packed carriage.

   I turn back, understandably annoyed at this turn of events. But before I can voice my opinion I hear his voice, faint: 'Fuck this, I'm off!', my brain jolts and the man I have been humouring is gone, literally vanished, before my eyes. Nobody else on the train appears to notice.

   

   'All tickets and passes, please.' The smart young gentleman smiles at me and it takes all of my politesse to avoid the £50 fine.

*

   It's only much later on, as I'm ending my short journey back home from Haddenham and Thame Parkway and my parents are welcoming me into the house that I realise my mistake. My suitcase, the dark green one with all my dirty washing in it; I left it on the train.