(short story)

“The bus!” I say looking back at Bethany. She quickens her step slightly to catch up with me. If we don’t make it to the bus now, we will be pinned down for another good hour. I cross the road hastily grabbing the bag tighter.

“It’s alright. There’s a queue.” Bethany slows down, catching her breath. We finally make it to the station, joining the very end of the line. The sky is gloomy and grey. My glance lands on little needles sticking out of the tops of any horizontal surfaces. I remember asking Bethany once what those were for.

“For pigeons not to sit there.” The answer was.

Thinking about it always makes me sad. We slowly move past the benches with a plastic partition which separates us from other bus stops.

“Two singles to Ambleside,” Bethany says quietly, showing our tickets on her phone. A driver nods shortly, letting us in. We go upstairs, finding a seat at a table near the window. I sigh heavily, putting the bag on the floor.

The crowd gets into the salon, when I hear the loud coughing on the left.

“Do you know why this rubbish doesn’t work?” the female voice is cracking in the middle of the sentence, making me turn to her with the speechless question on my face. I hesitate a moment.

“They should start working when the bus moves,” Bethany replies first.

“Right,” the woman says, moving to our table suddenly. “Can I sit with you?”

I tense involuntarily, yet Bethany gently covers my hand with her palm. My eyes wander, catching the appearance of the person before us. Dark thin hair in the messy ponytail, it seems that it will break as soon as you touch it. The woman’s teeth look dirty and damaged. Her eyes are tired, but full of strange barely noticeable fire. The lips of her are dry and cracked. She wears an old North Face jacket. I slowly relax. She places two big bags on the seat next to herself.

“Shit, sorry,” she covers her mouth with her palm. And I notice broken nails. They look painful. The woman takes her phone out, placing it on the charger on the table. It doesn’t work. She looks for something in her handbag then turns to another bag, plastic this time. She gets from bag to bag, as if forgetting about us for a while. I give Bethany a meaningful side eye. She frowns. I shrug…

“Where are yous going?” she asks out of nowhere.

“Ambleside. You?” I reply.

“Windermere. I am waiting for my boyfriend; he should catch a bus in Kendal. Can’t call him, its dead,” she points at her phone. The screen is cracked. “He’s called me from someone’s phone. He can’t call me. He might ask someone for the phone,” she keeps telling us, whilst I can’t understand anything even slightly. I frown, squeezing Bethany’s hand a bit harder. The woman keeps looking for something in the bag. Finally, she turns her face to us, and I notice a black eye, blurred with yellow on the cheek.

“Got it after a fall. Fell down and got a black eye, so embarrassing,” the woman shrugs. “I was bloody pissed, fell down the stairs.”

I give Bethany a short look, and she understands me without words.

“What’re your names?” she asks suddenly.

“Charlie,” I nod.

“Bethany,” my partner says.

“What is yours?” I ask carefully and quietly.

“N.”

“Nice to meet you,” I nod calmly, keeping watching her. “So… Where’s your boyfriend supposed to be?” I look out of the window.

“He was going to Kendal.” She mumbles. “I need to get my medication in Windermere, though. Where are yous from, guys?” the woman asks suddenly.

“North Yorkshire,” Bethany answers quietly.

“Warrington.” I add. “Where are you from?”

“Workington, you know what I mean.” She fidgets her fingers around, and they look almost broken. “I know you said you’re from Warrington, but where are you really from?” her eyes shine with this strange flame.

“Ukraine,” I say shortly.

“Oh, isn’t it beautiful? I want to visit it, but well, I am homeless now, I can’t really.” She pauses, as if war is not the first thing she thought about.

“Woah, that’s cool. Are you teaching her English?” she turns her face to Bethany. “Isn’t her English good?”

“So… Where do you live?” I dare to ask, changing the subject quickly.

“In a tent,” she replies. “Me and my boyfriend, we live in the tent in Kendal, Manor House helps us a lot.”

I frown when Bethany looks at me with a question in her eyes.

“How old are yous?” another sudden question.

“I’m twenty myself,” I reply.

“Same age,” Bethany nods.

“Guess how old I am?” She says.

“Uh… Twenty-one?” I think for a second. “Twenty-four?”

“I turn twenty-five in January.” She says with a very meaningful tone. “Gonna be my first winter outside. Do yous live together guys?” she asks, digging for something in her bag.

“Sort of,” I say, giving Bethany a short look.

She pulls a powerbank out of her bag.

“This doesn’t even work, bloody hell. Is your handbag full of shit, too?” the woman glances at Bethany in a numb question.

“Yeah?..” Bethany nods.

In the next second, the woman pulls out the artificial eyelash. Just one. The number of layers of glue on it makes my eyes go round for a second.

“You know what I mean, the council just doesn’t care. I was kicked out of the house.”

“How did that happen? Did you go to college?” I ask, watching her slowly pulling the glue layers off of the eyelash.

“Oh yeah, I did social care, you know what I mean. But then it was really difficult to find a job. We kept getting pissed in our house and the council just kicked us out, you know what I mean. What do you do at uni?”

“Geography,” Bethany replies.

“International journalism,” I nod. “So… How long have you been living in a tent?”

“For less than a year, it’s not that bad, you know? I keep telling my boyfriend it’s just a holiday. It makes him less upset.” She starts putting some glue on the eyelash. “You know, you have nice hair.” The woman nods at me. “Isn’t it?” she asks Bethany. “You see, my hair is extended. There’s no hair without extensions. I need new nails, too…” she sounds thoughtful for a second.

“What about those hostels you can stay in?” Bethany asks gently.

“They’re full of drug addicted.” The woman keeps playing with eyelash. “I try to keep him away from em, you know what I mean. He used to do some.”

“Yeah, I am quitting smoking myself.” I nod with understanding.

“I have about sixty in my bag right now.” She chuckles. “I don’t even look homeless; you know what I mean. I take a shower in Manor House; it helps a lot. They gave us free food today.” She takes old ice cream box out of her bag, opening it and showing us small pork pies. Her gestures are sharp, as if she cannot really control herself and the moves she makes. She sways with her eyes looking empty.

“Right. So where is your tent then?..” I ask.

“Just a camping zone, it’s pretty warm as well. But you never get the smell of the campfire out, you know what I mean.” She looks out of the window. “Is it Windermere?”

“Yeah.” Bethany nods.

“I should go.” She throws her eyelash back in the bag. “Thank yous, see ya.”

She stands up, lifting her bag. The woman disappears as unexpectedly, as she came up to us.