KEIGHLEY – WESTGATE
Poison
Daniel Park
Always the same, even in summer when the platform’s all but deserted, Jim and Kasim strain to be the first to get on at the door right at the front, because from there they can rush out and get their connections at Leeds. From the first door, they instinctively turn left to reach their secret half-carriage of seats tucked behind the driver’s cab: a safe place to chat, snooze and generally not be disturbed by the great unwashed.
Kasim always lets Jim splay out on the wider seats. In their short, jerky conversations over the years they’ve learned snippets about each other’s lives. Jim’s years of crawling around the ventilation shafts of cold damp factories has given him chronic backache and dodgy knees; Kasim runs half marathons for fun. Being courteous and choosing the slightly narrower seats at Jim’s side is a fair price to pay to give the old man a bit of extra comfort.
Occasionally, they’d find some turd from Skipton had got there before them, usually an off duty staff member, and Jim would shoot them filthy looks of betrayal all the way back to Leeds. Kasim would quote the Buddha, “Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other fellah to die” but Jim had a natural taste for that kind of poison.
But, this time it’s not some inconsiderate passenger taking up their seats. This time, their carriage has been violated.
A trail of salted peanuts, sprung from the foothills of an armrest near the window, broadens into a lazy smear of beer-soaked crisps and crumpled cans of special brew, their jagged edges thrust proud from the stinking ooze. Beneath their seats, a fetid pool, swollen by the constant drip of sodden upholstery, bobs with more beer cans, clanking together with the ebb and flow set in motion by the train as it pulls away from Keighley station.
“Animals” grunts Jim, expecting Kasim to join in the righteous indignation.
Instead, Kasim sighs.
“What’s up with you?” asks Jim
“I saw a cleaner, with a brush and pan at the end of a stick racing to get on the train, but I thought he was trying to get on at our door and…I tripped him over.”
“I saw him too,” Jim replies, “I pushed him to one side as he tried to get up. He was still on his knees when the doors closed. I thought the same as you. He wanted our carriage.”
“Oh he wanted our carriage all right,” echoes Kasim.
They stand up the rest of the way in silence, sipping on their poison.
