{"id":18395,"date":"2023-04-23T16:12:07","date_gmt":"2023-04-23T20:12:07","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/?p=18395"},"modified":"2023-04-23T16:12:07","modified_gmt":"2023-04-23T20:12:07","slug":"a-good-night","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/fiction\/a-good-night\/","title":{"rendered":"A Good Night"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Neil\u2019s on the busy platform waiting for the subway home. He\u2019s unmasked\u2014they all are now\u2014but he\u2019s guarded. Cautious. He\u2019s been walking the city in the months since his mother died. He flirts with the streets, the bars. Soon, he tells himself, he\u2019ll be a part of it all. Like he never could be before.<\/p>\n<p>Laughter nearby jolts him. Students, he guesses. A group of them. Heading back to their shared house after a Friday night out. An older couple brushes past him, dressed smart. They\u2019ve been to a play, he thinks. Opera. He smells the perfume on her. The beer on him. Or maybe it\u2019s his own breath he smells.<\/p>\n<p>A train arrives. No one gets off. People push on. The platform empties as he\u2019s jostled and buffeted. He shoves a guy in front of him, then looks away quickly as the bigger man turns around. Neil backs off. The crowd flows around him, pinched at the doors of the train carriage then expanding into it, filling it, like sand flowing through an hourglass.<\/p>\n<p>The doors close. The train pulls away. He\u2019s left on the platform. Alone.<\/p>\n<p>There\u2019d been glimpses of companionship. The stillness and isolation forced him to make an effort, in his own way. A few drinks with an old schoolmate he\u2019d contacted on Facebook. That had been just a one off. He\u2019d tried the dating apps but barely got past the banter. One girl agreed to meet him; Lisa. She\u2019d been gorgeous in an effortless way. But the second, last time they met she only came out to say, \u201cSorry about your mother, Neil.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>An announcement startles him: \u201cThe next train will not stop at this platform. Stand back.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The tunnel lights up and the warm, stale subterranean air is pushed into his face, making his eyes water. The train rolls in, moving quickly.<\/p>\n<p>Neil watches the train cars speed past. Empty seats lit in garish white fluorescent lights. Then he sees it. Or thinks he sees it. A fight. Fifteen, twenty men in a carriage. Violent action passing almost too quickly to register. The train is gone.<\/p>\n<p>He\u2019s jarred. Unnerved. He grinds his teeth at the thought of it. At what he saw. What he thinks he saw. Kicking, punching.<\/p>\n<p>He clenches his fists. He opens them.<\/p>\n<p>All the other carriages were empty. Just one car with the men. Clawing, gouging, lashing out wildly. Biting. Screaming.<\/p>\n<p>He looks around but there\u2019s no one to share this with. No one to acknowledge what happened. To laugh it off. To calm him down.<\/p>\n<p>Another train is coming in four minutes. The last train of the night. He paces on the platform. He sees a filthy mouse skit along the tracks and disappear into a hole. A few groups of people emerge onto the platform, panting, laughing, in time for the train.<\/p>\n<p>He turns. He\u2019s back up the stairs, through the turnstiles and out into the frigid air of the small-hours city. The bars are still throbbing with people inside and mobbed by smokers outside. The pavements are heaving. Traffic is crawling along the streets; taxis, buses, Ubers.<\/p>\n<p>He looks for a policeman but there are none. And what would he say? \u201cThere\u2019s a brawl on an empty train under the city.\u201d They\u2019d think he was drunk. Or mad. He checks his phone but there are no messages. There haven\u2019t been for weeks. He thinks about messaging Lisa. He wants to. But he deleted the app weeks ago.<\/p>\n<p>He goes to the nearest club. He sees it\u2019s busy through the door but the bouncer puts a hand out before he can step in.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou meeting someone here, buddy?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo,\u201d Neil says. \u201cJust want a drink.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCan\u2019t let you in. Sorry. Not a guy by himself this time of night. You know what I mean?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Neil looks up. The bouncer\u2019s eyes are resolute but not unkind. It\u2019s more boredom and pity there than malice. Neil grinds his teeth, about to argue. Normally he wouldn\u2019t insist. But images of the train flit through his mind. He looks at the bouncer\u2019s big hand still blocking his way. He imagines it balled into a fist.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHe\u2019s with us,\u201d a voice from behind says. Neil turns. There\u2019s a group of girls behind him. One of them smiles at him. \u201cHe\u2019s with us,\u201d she says again. One of her friends rolls her eyes.<\/p>\n<p>The bouncer hesitates. \u201cYou sure?\u201d he asks.<\/p>\n<p>The girl answers, \u201cOf course!\u201d but the bouncer had been looking at Neil.<\/p>\n<p>They move into the club. Neil with the girls.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThanks,\u201d he says to her.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo worries,\u201d she replies. Her friend is pulling her away. \u201cHave a good night!\u201d They disappear into the crowd.<\/p>\n<p>Neil watches her go. Her top is cut low. He sees the muscles ripple on her bare back. The whisper of a tattoo lower down.<\/p>\n<p>The crowd is five-deep at the bar but he goes to get a drink anyway. The music is pumping, some sort of dance track. He\u2019d not listen to this normally. He wouldn\u2019t be in a place like this normally.<\/p>\n<p>The train. What was that? Neil has never been in a fight. Once, over a decade ago when he was still in school, he\u2019d been punched. That was a one-off thing though. One punch. One event.<\/p>\n<p>Even that had been mistaken identity. Two older kids calling him \u2018Barry\u2019 and asking him where something was. In a park near home after school. He\u2019d forgotten the details now. It happened quickly. The taller one hit him and he went down. Just stayed there, waiting for more. For a fist, a boot to the kidneys. He lay there, clenched-up, curled like a baby. Nothing came. The other kids walked away.<\/p>\n<p>The Neil that eventually opened his eyes and stood up was different than the one that went down.<\/p>\n<p>Neil is soon at the the bar. A few people around him get served and are replaced. He\u2019s still waiting. He catches a barman\u2019s eye but the guy looks away. People are pressing up against Neil. His heart is going fast now and his breathing is shallow. He\u2019s winded, or feels it. He thinks he might be wheezing. The crush of people, their breath. No one bothered him about vaccination proof and masks here.<\/p>\n<p>It takes him a while to realise someone is talking to him over the music. The man standing next to him asking, \u201cHaving a good night?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYeah,\u201d Neil says. He wants to say more. He wants to tell this guy about the fight on the train. Why he\u2019s in the club. Why he doesn\u2019t want to go home. But he can\u2019t. He won\u2019t. \u201cYou?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019d be better if we could get some drinks in, eh?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The guy gets served, buys four bottles of beer. \u201cHe\u2019s next, mate,\u201d he says to the barman, nodding at Neil, before he turns and is gone.<\/p>\n<p>Neil orders two bottles of beer for himself. He forces his way back and the crowd closes behind him.<\/p>\n<p>The dance floor is packed. The music is the same. It might have been one long track since he came in. He thinks he spots the girl who got him past the bouncer but it\u2019s hard to make her out.<\/p>\n<p>He finishes one beer. He sips the other, leaning against a wall.<\/p>\n<p>It\u2019s closing time soon. The place is starting to thin out.<\/p>\n<p>He\u2019s thinking about the night bus home. His only cheap option now that the trains have stopped. It\u2019ll be long but he\u2019s got no reason to hurry.<\/p>\n<p>He downs his beer. He leaves. The pavements are empty now except for a few people here and there. He walks down to the bus stop. A car horn blares twice near him, making him jump. The car drives on.<\/p>\n<p>He hears laughter behind. His ears burn in embarrassment. He feels he is being laughed at. Ridiculed. He turns. It\u2019s a group of guys and girls. He thinks of asking them what their problem is. Squaring up to them. But he thinks too about bricks hidden in handbags. About screwdrivers hidden in pockets. He thinks about Barry, knocked down with one blow.<\/p>\n<p>The group passes without looking at him. They laugh again. It\u2019s three couples, holding hands. They pay him no mind.<\/p>\n<p>He turns and looks back as they pass. That\u2019s when he sees her, the girl from the club. She\u2019s with her friends. Some guys are with them too now. He catches her eye and smiles. There\u2019s a moment where she doesn\u2019t seem to know who he is. Neil feels warmth spread to his cheeks. Then recognition shows in her eyes. She smiles back.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHow was your night in the end?\u201d she asks. She stops in front of him. The group stops with her too. One of the guys puts his arm around her as the lot of them bunch up, looking at Neil.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGood,\u201d Neil manages.<\/p>\n<p>She slips out from under the guy\u2019s arm and is about to say something when one of her friends, he thinks the eye-roller from earlier, takes her elbow and pulls her away.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCome on,\u201d the friend says, \u201cI\u2019m gonna wee myself.\u201d They both laugh and are off again. The group swings into motion behind them. Neil falls in step with them but the big guy, the one with the arm, shoots him a look.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cLook, just fuck off. She wouldn\u2019t be interested in you, alright!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Neil\u2019s heart beats hard. Blood throbs in his ears. He looks up, imagines swinging for him. Headbutting him. But he nods. He looks at the ground as they all walk on.<\/p>\n<p>Neil follows some paces behind. All the groups and lone stragglers are moving in this direction, like leaves caught in a stream\u2019s current. One solitary man, a decade or so older than Neil, staggers, sways, steadies himself against a wall, continues shuffling along.<\/p>\n<p>They\u2019re all converging at the night bus stop. It\u2019s surrounded. He can barely make out the small shelter. People all around him are chatting, laughing, smoking, shouting. There are a few loners like Neil; most of them are hiding in their phones.<\/p>\n<p>He follows the girl\u2019s group around the far side of the crowd. Here the shuttered shops are split by an alleyway. Neil watches the guy say something to his friends then jog up the alley, disappearing into the darkness.<\/p>\n<p>Neil looks at his watch. Three minutes until the bus is due, although it could be here any second, or in ten minutes. He looks around at the crowd that is still growing around him.<\/p>\n<p>He walks into the alley.<\/p>\n<p>The hum of the city, the laughter, the shouts all disappear as he picks his way between the bins and rubbish bags. Neil sees the guy. He\u2019s whistling as he pisses against a door, skimming through his phone.<\/p>\n<p>Neil stoops, picks up a lump of old brick. He steps closer to the guy. He brings the brick up. He thinks of Lisa, the train, the bouncer, Barry\u2019s attackers, this guy. Neil\u2019s gripping the brick so hard he\u2019s sure his hand will bleed. His heart is knocking in his chest, like it\u2019s come loose, causing him to shake with each beat. He imagines bringing the brick down on this prick\u2019s head, feeling him crumple under it.<\/p>\n<p>The acrid smell of piss hits him. It stings his nostrils and brings a wetness to his eyes. A clear memory comes to him of changing his mother\u2019s bed sheets. Lifting, shifting her, tugging the sheets, like the carers had shown him. She\u2019d reached out with a skeletal hand and gripped his arm. The flesh was rough and leathery, but warm. He was surprised to see her eyes open. She smiled at him. He felt the faintest pressure on his arm as she squeezed it, like warm water running across it.<\/p>\n<p>He hadn\u2019t remembered this episode since, as fleeting as it had been. It\u2019s the smell that brings her back now. The hospital bed is still in the living room. His mother\u2019s been gone just five months. No more untouched cups of tea. No more carers coming and going.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cTalk to her,\u201d they said. \u201cShe can hear you.\u201d But he didn\u2019t find a word to say. What could he say that she didn\u2019t already know? He\u2019d been on a cycle of work and sitting with her. There was nothing to talk about.<\/p>\n<p>He walks away, on down the alley. He slings the brick to the ground as he goes. He doesn\u2019t glance back. He doesn\u2019t know if the other guy saw him or not.<\/p>\n<p>Neil follows the web of alleys and streets. He leaves the city behind as the sky is lightening, softening. The darkness is watered down and fades. The cars, gates, fences, houses, all take on more colour and definition. He hears the first birdsong. He smiles. He\u2019s walking home. He\u2019ll pull back the curtains and open the windows. He\u2019ll let the morning in.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Neil watches the train cars speed past. Empty seats lit in garish white fluorescent lights. Then he sees it. Or thinks he sees it. A fight. Fifteen, twenty men in a carriage. Violent action passing almost too quickly to register. The train is gone.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":18404,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[316,1428,410,3084],"class_list":["post-18395","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-grief","tag-hope","tag-loneliness","tag-new-beginnings","writer-gurmeet-philora"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18395","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=18395"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18395\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18405,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18395\/revisions\/18405"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/18404"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18395"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18395"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18395"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}