The man in the corner

THE MAN IN THE CORNER
As usual, the train was crowded and Jane was unable to sit where she felt most comfortable, in one of the sets of four seats, facing the direction of travel. Stupid that it should matter, after all most of the journey took place underground, with nothing to see, but she felt more comfortable somehow. Here, in the corridor seats, as she called them, she had to put up with other people’s baggage bumping into her face or having her feet trodden on. Not for the first time she promised herself she would get up earlier every morning and avoid some of the rush. She really hated these seats. She couldn’t turn her head to stare out of the window, watch the tunnel lights flash by and lose herself in her thoughts. She never read a book or newspaper while she was travelling, frightened she’d miss her stop, and that was another thing wrong with these seats. She liked to be able to read the station names as the train pulled in, and from here they were sometimes obscured by standing passengers. Like now. She began to feel hot and claustrophobic with the press of people around her. As the train doors closed she craned her neck and caught the name of the station they were just leaving. Oh, God, another eight stops. She sighed, closed her eyes and tried to make herself shrink further into her seat.
During the next couple of stops the carriage almost emptied. She thought about moving seats but decided to stay where she was. After reading the adverts she gazed at the people opposite. There was a man reading a newspaper - The Times by the look of it. How had he managed to read it when the train was crowded she wondered? Two girls were huddled together, giggling. “Talking boyfriends,” she thought. Next was a rather large woman knitting - knitting! She smiled to herself and the woman glanced up and grinned back. Flushing, she looked away and then she noticed him. The man in the corner looked ill, his face had a greenish tinge and he was sweating profusely. She examined him further and saw that his hands were shaking and his eyes were darting everywhere, he kept licking his lips and he seemed to be having difficulty breathing. He looked nervous and he repeatedly looked at his watch.
Jane was just about to go over to offer help when a terrible thought struck her. She had noticed a haversack on the floor by his feet, and he was wearing a padded anorak, even though it was mid summer. Looking harder at him she saw that his skin was swarthy and his hair jet black.
“Oh dear God, he’s a suicide bomber!” She felt her stomach turn over and she began to tremble. She tried to stand up, to get as far away from him as possible, but her legs wouldn’t work. She began to whimper, her lips moving in silent, frantic prayer. The man raised his eyes and looked in her direction. Desperately she tried to smile, perhaps if she looked friendly he wouldn’t blow the train up while she was on it. He ignored her smile and again looked at his watch, pulling his coat closer. She felt the train slowing for the next stop and tried once more to get to her feet so she could jump off, but she was totally paralysed with fear. She saw the man reach forward for the bag. She opened her mouth to beg him to stop but no sound came. He began to rise. As the train drew to a halt she screwed her eyes tight shut, covered her head with her arms and cowered in her seat, waiting for the explosion and the pain.
“Are you all right, love?” said a concerned voice.
Jane unclenched her teeth and took a deep shuddering breath. Slowly she opened her eyes and looked round for the man. He was gone, she caught a glimpse of him on the platform, leaning against the wall, looking as if he was about to fall down. Heart still thudding she looked up at the woman who’d leant across the aisle to help her.
She smiled shakily, embarrassed, and said “Yes, fine. Thank you, I… I’ll be all right. Just felt a bit faint. I feel so silly…”
“No need for that, love,” said the woman. “Felt a bit hot a stuffy myself. And did you see that poor chap who just got off? Right state he was in, I tell you. Now, you take deep breaths. That’s right. Are you sure you’ll be OK? I’m getting off at the next stop, but I’ll stay with you if you want.”
Assuring the woman she would be fine Jane even managed to wave cheerfully as the woman left. Nevertheless she was so shaken by what had happened that at the next stop she got off herself, and caught the next train home. She phoned her office to say she wasn’t feeling well and spent the rest of the day alternatively berating herself for her over active imagination, and weeping at the sheer horror of the experience.
She felt no better the next morning and decided she needed more time before facing the tube again. By late afternoon she had recovered enough to laugh at herself.
“God,” she thought. “I was like some Victorian miss, having the vapours. I could never tell anyone how stupid I was.”
When morning came, however, she didn’t feel so good. She had a blinding headache and felt sick and shaky. At first she thought it was psychosomatic, an over-reaction to Tuesday’s events, but as she started to get ready for work she knew it was more than that. She felt so hot, she was sure she had a temperature and she couldn’t stop shaking. As she sat at the kitchen table, trying to force down some coffee, she heard John Humphries announce-
“We have just been issued an urgent health warning by the Government. Would everyone who was travelling on the 07.20 Upminster to Richmond District Line train on Tuesday 25th June, or was in the vicinity of platform 3 at Charing Cross Underground Station at 0845 contact 0800 123654 immediately. It is essential that you stay indoors. I repeat, do not leave your house, or allow anyone living with you to do so. A man, who collapsed and died at Charing Cross that morning, has been identified as Dr. Yousef Mohammed, a research scientist at Porton Down. He was found to have been suffering from an unknown and very contagious viral disease.
As she listened to the message being repeated Jane’s blood ran cold. It was her train! It was the man in the corner, he had been a sort of suicide bomber after all, albeit unwittingly. She laid her aching head on the table and quietly began to weep.