Mirror Man by Jacques Kat (ereader for textbooks txt) 📗

‘You alright?’ a man’s voice said. I ignored him. I had to get my books back.

A hand touched me, and I flinched.

‘Take it easy,’ a woman said.

People tried to talk to me. I wanted them to leave me alone. I pushed myself into a sitting position with my knees pulled up towards my chin and my head tucked between them. I clasped my hands over my ears and squeezed my eyes closed, praying they would go away.

‘Arr, leave him,’ a man’s muffled voice said. ‘He’s that weird Chester boy.’

After a few minutes, the crowd dispersed, leaving only a couple of people lingering about.

‘Where are they?’ I whispered.

‘They what, lad?’ a man said.

‘My books. Where are they?!’ I started to shout.

‘Calm down, son, they can’t have gone far,’ he said.

I crawled about on my hands and knees despite the glass covering the pavement until I found the bag in the gutter. I scooped it up and scrambled to my feet to run off in the opposite direction as fast as my legs would take me. I didn’t stop until I reached the park. The fact I could run told me he couldn’t have done much damage.

I ran around the duck pond towards the back of the park. I stopped at a bench and sat down to wipe the dust and glass shards from my jeans, placing the books safe next to me. My breathing came thick and fast, and sweat trickled down my face. I swiped my forehead with the back of my hand to wipe it away, but when I brought it down, it was smeared with blood, not sweat. He must have caught my head with the edge of his boot.

I took out my small cigarette case with the mirror in so I could locate the wound and dabbed at it with the back of my jacket sleeve. It was only a nick, but I put a plaster on it, anyway.

He’d got in a couple of good kicks to my ribs, though I doubted any were broken. At least I had no marks on my face.

Someone cleared their throat behind me. I froze for a second, thinking The Skinhead had come back for round two. I lifted the mirror in front of me. WPC Thompson was stood behind me in uniform, her arms folded across her chest.

‘What’s going on, John-Michael? I’ve just seen you running through the park like a banger’s been shot up your arse,’ she said.

‘Nothing. Nothing’s going on. I’m only sitting here,’ I said breathlessly.

She stepped closer so I could no longer see her face in the mirror. ‘Well, what’s that, then?’ she asked. I could feel her peering over me. ‘Blood?’

‘Umm… I tripped,’ I told her; it was technically not a lie. I had fallen onto the pavement when he shoved me.

She snorted. ‘Yeah, likely story.’

I used my mirror to look for her colleague. She appeared to be on the beat alone again. I was beginning to think that this supposed partner of the constable was a figment of everyone’s imagination.

‘I thought women weren’t allowed to patrol on their own?’ I said.

‘We’re not, but I can take care of myself,’ she said, sitting down next to me. ‘He’s off…buying cigs. And don’t change the subject.’

‘Fine,’ I sighed.

‘Women aren’t delicate flowers that need looking after, you know. PC Williams is… old school. He believes a woman should be barefoot and pregnant. It’s taken him a while to get used to women no longer being segregated. Anyway, I can take care of myself when I need to. I’ll tell you a story about me, John, if you like? Can I call you John?’ she asked.

‘I prefer John-Michael. That’s my name,’ I told her.

‘Fair enough. John-Michael, it is. When I was younger, younger than you are now’—she started to tell her story even though I hadn’t given her an answer—‘I used to live on the council estate. One day, this new family moved in from out of the area, and the kids were always looking for trouble. The talk on the streets was that the lass from the family wanted to have a scrap with me. She’d heard I was the hardest lass on the estate. That’s the reputation you get from having brothers,’ she said, gently nudging me with her shoulder. I slid a little away from her. If she noticed, she didn’t mention it. ‘You still with me?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ I nodded.

‘I stayed out of her way as long as I could, until one day she confronted me. I tried to walk away, but she kept pulling at my hair—hard.’

‘My sister said girls pull hair when they fight,’ I said.

WPC Thompson hummed. ‘Most do, but not me. No, I went into that fight like a lad with my fists punching and my legs kicking. In the end, my brothers had to pull me off her. And you know what? She never came near me again. So, you see, John-Michael, I don’t need anyone looking out for me.’

I closed my eyes and thought about WPC Thompson’s story as I listened to the sounds in the park. A gentle breeze rustled the trees and the shouts and screams of children playing nearby invoked a long-forgotten memory in me. ‘That happened to me once,’ I told her.

‘Why? What happened to you?’

‘My sensei had to take me off someone once—at karate,’ I said, shuffling my shoes on the loose dirt beneath them. ‘I started hitting my sparring partner, and once I started, I couldn’t stop. He said everyone was yelling at me to quit. I didn’t hear them. I wasn’t allowed to go anymore after that.’

‘Hmm, I see. Why didn’t you hear them telling you to stop?’

‘I don’t know.’ I moved my gaze to the overcast sky. ‘I used to get focused on one thing and everything else going on around me shut off. I’m better now.’

‘I’m glad you’ve worked that out, John-Michael.’

‘Thank you, umm, ma’am…’ I said. I couldn’t very well say sir, could I?