Timebomb

“We’re running out of time!”

The old woman had untamed grey hair that fell past her shoulders, pale blue eyes that may have been beautiful once, and yellow teeth. Leah nodded and smiled kindly. It was just her luck, she thought, to get stuck next to the crazy on the bus. She glanced at the baby carriage next to her and smiled again. It wouldn’t matter soon.

“It`s a timebomb,” the old woman continued, “a ticking time bomb. We have to save the planet!” The woman stared at Leah. “For your baby! For all our babies!” She lurched forward to peer into the baby carriage blocked by Leah who raised a palm in protest. “Please don’t do that,” said Leah, a little too harshly. ”He’s sleeping,” she explained with a smile.

The woman retreated back into her seat. “I`m sorry,” she said, her eyes filling with tears as she turned towards the window and stared outside. Leah noticed her bottom lip was trembling.

The bus drew to a stop, let out a gasp, and lowered itself to the ground as the doors swung open. Leah watched as a well-dressed man got on. Seemingly caught off guard by the need to pay, he wedged his suitcase between his knees and fumbled in his pockets for change.

Jasper was having a bad day. It had started as soon as his alarm went off. Having slept through two snoozes, Jasper awoke with a start, reaching for his phone to silence it before Lorena woke up and knocking over the glass of water on the nightstand.

“Jasper!” whined the shape in the bed next to him, “You’re sooo clumsy! What have you broken now??”

“Sorry,” whispered Jasper as she rolled onto her back and squinted at him in the dark. “Make sure you clean it up before you go,” she mumbled before falling back to sleep. After cleaning his teeth, a quick shower, and a shave, Jasper padded silently back into the bedroom. Lorena lay on her back, lips parted, snoring. His eyes adjusting to the dark, he reached for the Italian designer suit he had hung carefully on the wardrobe door the night before and dressed as quietly as he could. What meaningful plans did she have for today he wondered. A hair appointment? A manicure? Maybe a private Pilates session or ladies' lunch. Downstairs in the chrome and granite kitchen, Jasper pressed the button on the De’Longhi espresso machine before grabbing a dustpan and brush to sweep up the broken glass. Lorena hadn’t moved.

Leah shifted in her seat and looked out of the window at the rows of identical brown brick houses, the rundown kebab pizzeria, and the graffitied launderette. Outside people were going about their lives. A man walking his dog, a woman pushing a stroller, an old man with a walking frame taking step by painful step along the pavement. So many lives, so many plans and memories, hopes and regrets. So important at the time and yet so insignificant thought Leah as she glanced at her phone. Eight thirty-five. Her stomach lurched in excitement. Not long now.

At the front of the bus, a man stood holding onto the handrail although there were many empty seats. He was young, probably mid-twenties with wavy black hair that fell across his forehead, light brown skin, and dark stubble. On his back was a black rucksack. For a few seconds, his eyes met Leah’s before he looked away. Leah wondered why he didn’t sit down.

Sajid didn’t want to be a doctor. This thought came to him every time he took the 31 bus home from his 48-hour shift. He noticed a girl watching him, young, pretty, with green eyes and wavy blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. He looked away, immediately self-conscious about his dishevelled hair, eye bags, and two days’ worth of stubble.

“Excuse me.”

Sajid turned to see a man in an expensive suit holding a briefcase, bus ticket clamped between his teeth.

“Sorry,” said Sajid moving to the side. His backpack was heavy with books, but he was afraid to sit down in case he fell asleep and missed his stop. The night had been heavy. A road traffic accident with multiple casualties, an old lady with dementia who spat and screamed in his face, a child with unexplained bruising; still and silent on his father`s lap. He`d messed up again, had written the wrong prescription, and been corrected by a nurse who rolled her eyes. The previous night he`d had a dressing down from the registrar having missed a fracture on an X-ray and sent a patient home.

“I`m going to be a chef” Sajid had proudly told his mother when he was twelve years old. He had grown up in the kitchen of their terraced house in West London, sitting at the table talking to his mother as the smells and spices of Pakistan wafted around him. He imagined owning his own restaurant, the best in London with rave reviews and Michelin stars.

“A chef?” his father looked up from his newspaper. “Don’t get any silly ideas boy. You’re going to be a doctor!”

So Sajid did as was expected. He got the best grades, went to the best university, and was now studying medicine at one of the best hospitals in the country. Slowly the restaurant dream began to die, replaced with complicated anatomy and physiology, chemical formulas, blood, vomit, and suffering. And he hated every minute.

Jasper was late. He sprinted down the steps of his five-bedroomed townhouse and walked hurriedly towards the high street to the underground station. He swore under his breath as he was greeted by a metal grill over the entrance and a sign declaring, “ Underground closed due to strike action.” Jasper glanced at his watch. Eight-thirty. His first meeting was at quarter past nine. He stepped onto the curb, looking left and right for a cab as the 31 bus wheezed to a halt beside him.

She`d been sixteen when she met him. The man who would change her life forever. The only person who didn’t make her feel like an accident. Leah pictured his face, the way he smiled at her, the kindness in his eyes. “You are special Leah,” he said, and she felt it, at least when she was with him. Childhood, if you could even call it that, had been difficult for Leah. A childhood of sodden nappies, a TV on full blast, and jam sandwiches for dinner. She couldn’t remember when her dad left, but the flat was much quieter after that. The shouting, crying and broken plates stopped, but her mum just stared at the TV with her dirty bathrobe and greasy hair. After that, there was nothing for dinner, not even jam sandwiches.

Leah was ten when social services took her away. After a bath and the first hot meal she’d had in her life, she thought it would get better. But it didn’t. Strange she had thought that they call them “care” homes when they are anything but. But he cared. He was the only one who cared.

“You and I are different Leah,” he told her gazing into her eyes as if he wanted to see inside her head. “People don’t understand us. We’re going to change the world.”

A strangled sob from the old woman jerked Leah from her thoughts. The woman rummaged in her handbag for a tissue and dabbed her eyes.

“We’re running out of time,” she mumbled to herself as she rocked gently back and forth. “There’s no time.”

Born Charlotte Brookes in New York City to a defense attorney and a medical lawyer, by the time she reached her late teens Charlie had turned her back on everything her parents stood for. When she was seventeen, she rejected her planned Ivy league education and hitchhiked across country where she joined a hippy commune close to San Francisco, smoked a lot of weed, and got pregnant. Baby Flower was born in 1974, and for a few years, everything was perfect in Charlie`s world. Flower, along with the other children was raised by the entire commune in a world without money and materialism, a life without judgment and expectation, a life where she was free. Then came the court case. Charlie`s parents had tracked her down and opened a court case against her to get custody of Flower. They claimed Charlie was mentally ill, that Flower was being denied access to education and healthcare, and that she was being brainwashed. Being attorneys with unlimited funds of course they won. They took Flower away when she was five, and Charlie`s world fell apart. Refusing to comply with the court-ordered “supervised visits,” Charlie had done things her way. She waited outside Flower`s school, watched her house from across the street, and wrote her countless letters that she was certain went unread. In the end, her parents took out a restraining order and when she broke that, threatened her with jail. It was when Flower turned 21 that Charlie, by now living in a bedsit in New York city and waiting tables in an ice cream parlour, discovered social media and tracked her daughter down again. Charlie had taken the bus to where Flower was studying law at Harvard, waiting on the steps for hours in the sun for Flower to come out. Her heart stopped as Flower emerged from the building and descended the steps carrying an armful of books. She was smiling, her head thrown back in laughter as she chatted to a friend.

“Flower?” Charlie stepped forward.

The girl frowned, “Yes?”

“I`m, I`m…your mom.”

There was an uneasy silence as Flower digested the information. They stared into each other`s eyes. Eyes the same shape and the same shade of blue. When Flower spoke it was in a low voice, but one hard with determination.

“Leave. Me. Alone.”

“Flower, please…” Charlie placed her hand on the girl`s arm, startled as Flower recoiled and took a step back. “Leave me alone or I`ll call the police,” she hissed before turning and continuing down the steps.

Charlie looked away from the window and reached into her bag for her phone. Through a blur of tears, her daughter`s face smiled back at her from the screen. A few years ago Charlie’s parents had died. Flower had married a British lawyer, moved to London where she worked at a prestigious law firm, and had two children. Charlie had called the firm last week and sweet-talked someone into giving her Flower`s number.

Caressing the number with her thumb, she tried to find the courage to call.  

Sajid shifted restlessly from foot to foot. He was starving. He would go home and wolf down some toast or cereal before falling into bed. He rarely had time to cook. Once in a blue moon, Sajid would host a dinner party, whipping up a feast in the tiny kitchen of the flat he shared with three other medical students. He loved those nights, the smiling faces and full bellies, the music, the wine, the smell of spices heavy in the air. The memory alone made him happier than he`d been in months.

Tell them, he thought for the umpteenth time. He pictured his parent`s faces, his father`s eyes wide with shock, his mother`s moist with tears as he said the words. “I’m dropping out of medical school. I`m going to train to be a chef.” Sajid sighed at the thought of another shift at the hospital. I’ll tell them, he promised himself. Tomorrow, I’ll tell them.

Jasper took a seat in front of the blonde girl with the baby carriage and the old lady. It was an unseasonably warm day for April, and he shifted uncomfortably in his Italian woolen suit. He glanced at his watch again. Quarter to nine. The meeting would start in 30 minutes. Jasper always seemed to be rushing these days, from somewhere, to somewhere, it didn’t matter. There was never enough time. He wondered when life had become so fleeting, so complicated, so fast. His mobile buzzed in his breast pocket.

“Nice of you to forget to take the bins out again,” said the message from Lorena.

“You`ll have to do it when you get back, I`m running late for the gym.”

Jasper sighed. An image popped into his head. Lorena the day they met, the most beautiful girl in the room. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her, eventually plucking up the courage to start a conversation. They talked for hours, that night and for many nights after. Lorena was as intelligent as she was beautiful, and Jasper was hooked. He pictured her on their wedding day, her face radiant in a smile. He had been the happiest man in the world.

Twenty years later and Jasper was at the top of his game. A hedge fund manager for an international bank, Jasper had it all; houses, cars, expensive holidays, and designer clothes. But no matter how hard he worked Lorena was never happy. The smile had been replaced by a permanent scowl. The conversation had died years ago, aside from the snide comments and barbed jibes that Lorena had turned into an art form.

The bus drew to a stop next to a billboard depicting a hammock strung between two palm trees on a white sandy beach. In the foreground was a pint glass of ice cold beer and a caption,

“Because life`s too short.”

At that moment Jasper wanted nothing more than to be on that beach and drink that beer and never see Lorena or the inside of a board room ever again.

Leah`s phone pinged a message.

“Not long now my darling. Be brave my precious. I love you. See you soon xx.” She smiled, as happiness settled over her like a soft blanket. Five to nine. Not long now.

“We’re running out of time!” shrieked the old woman jerking Leah from her thoughts. “Can’t you see! We`re destroying the planet, the babies! We have to save the babies!”

Sajid`s head jerked up from where he had been nodding off against the handrail. Jasper turned to look at Leah, a sympathetic smile on his lips. Leah took a deep breath, folded her hands across her lap, and closed her eyes.

Charlie was sobbing now, big, rasping sobs that rose from her chest and shook her whole body.

“Save the baby!” she cried leaning across Leah to the baby carriage and yanking back the covers.

For a second Charlie stared as her brain tried to make sense of what she was seeing. A mobile phone, a plastic box, and tangled wires.

“A bomb,” she said softly as the reality sank in, “It`s a bomb!” she screamed as a flash of light and a deafening explosion lifted the bus into the air.

And then everything went black.