When the Tide Comes In

The man with the short blon d hair and grey jacket hanging over faded blue jeans was really regretting bumping into the man with blon d e hair and black jacket hanging over tan chinos. Andy Cronin was slumped in a corner over a black waste basket. His grey jacket was speckled. His face contorted in pain. His nose and mouth and face had taken the four quick blows that had flown out of nowhere. The crowds avoided him and ignored the man in the black jacket and the man in the blue jacket who were paying his pockets a particular amount of attention.   Walking across the concourse, through the usual throng, Andy had watched the two men. The man in the black jacket and tan chinos standing to the far side of the kiosk quite close to the clock. A CCTV blind spot. The other man with the thick grey hair wearing a pinstripe suit and classy looking black Oxfords briskly walking away pushing through the crowds swiftly heading for the main entrance. He was clearly annoyed and harsh words had pr...

The policeman shouted as they calmly walked away. They did not look back, just carried on casually walking, almost sauntering, just like it was any other day. The policeman stopped and stooped over the man spread over the waste bin and felt his pulse. He was just stirring. The policeman’s radio crackled, and he said something about an ambulance and described the two men. Black jacket. Blue jacket. Both mid-height and stocky. Short hair. One blond e . One dark. That was all. The radio crackled again, and he said he understood. No terrorist involvement so he knew the response would take a while.  

As usual the last-minute rush filled the train. Jane was still looking out of the window watching the last people running, smiling at the expressions on their faces.  She saw the two men at the barrier standing for a few seconds looking at the train as it slowly started to move then they turned and strolled away. The doors clicked as they opened and shut with people moving along the carriage. Then a voice said, “mind if I sit here?” Standing clutching a gold-coloured weekend bag and light brown satchel bag the lady with the long dark hair and red lipstick was looking casual with a neat wide smile that kind of crunched up the corners of her mouth. Her head tilted slightly, and she was tapping her foot almost absentmindedly and looking questionably at Jane’s Tote bag sitting on the seat.  

  4 - April 1945     He knew it was about to happen about two minutes before it would have. The signs were there. The big GI with the close-cropped dark hair was twitchy. He was looking mean with one of those one directional stares mean men have when they are about to explode. He was sat at the crowded bar kind of twisted side on looking towards the dance floor pushing a whisky glass around with his right hand. Picking it up he brought it to his lips then looked at it and realised it was empty so slammed it back down. Then ignored it. The back of his other hand he kept rubbing back and forth across his chin stubble like he had an itch right there on the point. The bit that is hard to shave. All the time staring. Frank Anderson a bull of a man with fists like lumps of rock and a face that said he meant business. His stare was hard at the lanky fella dancing with the dark-haired girl. His girl. The good-looking girl with the red lipstick with the new nylons and straight...

  The longcase clock standing against the wall at the bottom of the stairs in the dark hallway struck twelve thirty with a single tuneless dong as Suzie opened the front door. The light from the moon creeping from behind the clouds illuminated the man standing there. Moments later the clock on the parlour mantel piece struck twelve thirty with a delicate ding making him look round. “Shush,” she whispered, putting a finger over Dave's lips as he was about to speak, “you’ve a deep voice you’ll wake mum. You know she sleeps light…. In here,” and she pulled him through the door shutting it silently and into the front room. Then moved into the bay window to draw the curtains.   “Leave them. The moonlight’s nice.” said Dave.   The stones had gently rattled on her bedroom window. She had not been asleep. Dave was expected. She knew who he was meeting and when he had left her last night he had said, “I’ll be round late tomorrow. You ok with that?” and she had said there was no pr...