Courage

The shouted insult hit like a blow – a hissing rebuke spat in her face. The girlfriend?, wife?, a partner anyway, meekly dipped her head accepting her damnation. Spittle bubbled on the man’s lips, a liquid continuation of his ire, a visible trace of his venom.

Tube train noise still screamed around the carriage but the crowd inside it registered the violence of the attack with shock. Those closest moved a few inches away, one or two looked up from their books and phones for a second then resumed in either pity or nonchalance, a woman in a black coat edged her way back down towards the other doors.

They had got on mid-quarrel but only the man was in charge. A few cutty remarks then the raging coup de gras, an inch away from her nose. A swear word, a name for a female dog amongst others. His contorted visage, rippling with anger, then greeted by blonde hair at her crown. She would have been looking down on her shoes had her eyes been open and not scrunched shut in a vain attempt to blot out the pain and the pungent embarrassment.

Suddenly, the man’s head twisted around, his arm encircling the woman loosened. Another voice could be heard, indistinct but audible. Another face entered the couple’s close orbit. An opening of a window. Two had become three.

Vicious words. ‘What’s it to you?’, ‘Butt out mate’, and ‘Mind your own fucking business’ exploded from the man’s lips as the spittle on them was replenished. Here was another just another opponent, another victim.

But the new face did not turn away. The array of usual insults failed to generate the outcome the man’s petulance normally achieved. The fresh voice was speaking again, this time more forcefully. This time there was no backing down, no resigned obedience. The man’s face was not now looking at a head of hair but a stare full of determination that sounded like it would offer physical might even greater than his.

All at once the mouth sucked in its spittle and the eyes above it turned back to the hair which still hung down around sunken shoulders. After a few seconds, more words came but now they were softer. There was an apology, a nickname and others of contrition. A finger lifted the woman’s chin and the pair’s eyes met each other again. One set sought a form of forgiveness, however temporary, the other shone back through tears with a wish to be a million miles away.

In seconds, the tube arrived at the next station and the pair quickly huddled off, the third face covering them with wary eyes, a fist still clenched. More passengers swarmed on and the atmosphere in the carriage instantly changed as the train moved off. The third face unwrapped his fist and jabbed his open hand into his pocket for his phone. While tapping out a message there was a tap on his fingers. A fourth face looked at him with a smile. Another man inches away.

‘I wish I had had the courage to do that’.