The Passenger by Daniel Hurst (ready to read books .TXT) 📗

his arms and sits down on the edge of the bed. I really want to know what he is thinking, but I’m surprised when I actually find out.

‘If only you knew the combination to that safe of hers. We could just take her money and run away together,’ he says.

I’m surprised by that comment because I wasn’t expecting him to even remember about that. He’s referring to the safe in my mum’s room that I told him about three weeks ago while we were lying in bed together.

The safe with all my mum’s savings in it.

Mum’s told me there are thousands of pounds in there, and I naively thought that meant she was saving up to give me a big chunk of it. Then she told me she was quitting her job, and I realised what she was really planning to use that money for. I’ve never known the code to that safe, but that hasn’t stopped me from trying to access it before. Unfortunately, I could never get in, so she still has all the cash, and I’m completely broke.

‘Yeah, it’s a shame I can’t open it,’ I reply as I turn back to the dresser table and pick up the comb again. ‘If only life were that easy.’

4 AMANDA

That phone call went about as well as I expected it to. I only rang my daughter to find out what she fancied for dinner, yet it turned into another argument, just like it always does. I don’t know why I bother sometimes. I honestly thought trying to make it as a writer was the hardest job in the world, but it’s easy compared to being a parent.

Writing can mean years of rejection.

Being a mum can mean a lifetime of it.

But it’s not all bad news because I can see my train slowly making its way into the station towards me. Better late than never, I suppose. But because of the fourteen-minute delay, the commuter count on the platform has grown unbearably large, and I can see the station employees keeping even more passengers back behind the ticket barriers to prevent overcrowding. I’m still in my prime position at the front of the platform where the doors will open, but it’s getting harder to keep my spot, and it’s only going to get worse as the train comes closer and people become more desperate to score an elusive seat.

I clutch the strap of the laptop bag that is slung over my shoulder as another errant elbow digs into me from behind, but I don’t bother to turn around this time because I know what I’ll see. It’ll be a flustered face belonging to a tired man or woman just as fed up about being here as I am. I know that he or she will be running entirely on the caffeine they used to start their day while dreaming about the alcohol they will use to end it.

Some in the nine-to-five world use ambition to keep themselves going, but most just use legal drugs.

The front of the train moves past me as it comes along the platform, and I catch a glimpse of the driver sitting inside at the controls as it does. He looks as thrilled with the delay as his passengers are. Finally, the train comes to a stop, and just as I knew they would be, the doors to the fifth carriage are now right in front of me.

There’s a brief moment that all commuters will know as “the calm before the storm” until the doors unlock and slide open automatically.

That’s when all hell breaks loose.

Everybody on the platform surges forward to the open doors, and it’s only the fact that I am already wedged in so tightly amongst the bodies around me that prevents me from being knocked to the floor.

I step forward into the carriage but am immediately shoulder-barged to the side as a bulky businessman carrying a briefcase proceeds to bundle me out of the way in a sneaky bid to beat me on. But I’m no novice when it comes to this thirty-second dash, and I make sure to barge him right back before carrying on with my own scramble for a seat.

I’m grateful for the cool blast of air that I feel as I make my way deeper into the carriage. The air-con is working tonight, thank God. But that’s about all I have to be grateful for right now.

There are many things in life that give hope to the human race, like random acts of kindness and generosity, or a cute dog being reunited with its owner after a long time, but there aren’t many things that could extinguish that hope as quickly as witnessing the events on a commuter train in a city centre at rush hour. If an alien landed now and saw the scenes on this train, they would think that human life was just one big selfish scramble.

They wouldn’t be far wrong.

I grit my teeth as I weave my way through the sea of shoulders, elbows, and huffing and puffing and keep my eyes focused on my usual seat in the carriage.

It’s still available. I’m going to make it.

It’s mine.

It’s a relief to reach my traditional seat that is part of a two-seat set on either side of a table, but I still have to work fast to get myself sorted before the train departs. Quickly removing my laptop bag from my shoulder, I place it onto the empty table while noticing the attractive man arriving at the vacant seat opposite me. He gives me a brief smile as he removes his smart suit jacket before sitting down to get out of the way of the other passengers trying to squeeze past in the busy aisle.

I’m just about to do the same when a young woman comes out of nowhere and swoops in beside me, taking the seat I had already claimed as my own and leaving me standing without one.

‘Hey!’ I say to