Part 31 (1/2)

”Can't you see what they did? They tore it up and he's been burning it.” 398 ”About all books are good for, do we think, gents? So can I join in the fun?”

”He's something, this character,” the tattooed man said with an incredulous admiring laugh.

”Here's James Street,” the man with the knife announced. ”Time you f.u.c.ked off, pal.”

”How are you going to get me to do that?”

”With this,” Greta's captor said, s.n.a.t.c.hing out the knife.

She thought he'd cut her on the way to slas.h.i.+ng the hem of her skirt, but the cold that ran down her thigh was only metal. The blade gleamed in the light from the station. ”Off or I'll do her with it,” he said. ”And don't call anyone or she gets it.”

”I keep telling you she's not worth it. You should listen,” said the young man, but stood up.

At least he'd kept them talking and distracted them from doing worse to Greta. He stepped onto the deserted platform and hurried alongside the window. Greta's captor brandished the knife in front of her to remind him. The young man hesitated, and she felt as if her nose and mouth were stuffed with charred paper. Then he pointed at the gang, stubbing both forefingers on the gla.s.s.

”b.a.s.t.a.r.d!” the man with the knife screamed. The young man sprinted into the carriage, and all the gang jumped up. Greta was afraid for him till two railway policemen strode past the window to board the train. The tattooed man threw the door between the carriages open. As the gang fled, the young man caught the spitter by the scruff of the neck and threw him face down in his own leavings. ”That's it, wipe it up,” he said.

When the police chased the gang off the train and up an escalator he sat at the far end of the seat opposite Greta. He didn't speak till the train moved off. ”All right?” he said.

”Why, I shouldn't think I've ever felt better in my life.”

”He didn't cut you, I meant.”

Greta swept the pages that had been thrown into her lap onto the seat. ”Oh no, I'm not hurt at all. Can't you see?” 399 ”I'm sorry I didn't stop them mining your book. It's all over the place though, isn't it?”

”It is now.” She pressed her legs together so that they wouldn't shake when she stood up. ”Here's my stop,” she said.

”And mine.”

She stepped down on the platform at Moorfields and hurried to the escalator that was taller than a house. The young man walked up the escalator beside hers. Though it was stopped, he easily kept pace with her. Halfway up he said, ”I called the police, you know.”

”Oh, did you?” Greta said as if he was a lying child. ”How did you manage that on a mobile when we were in a tunnel?”

”I called before we went in.”

'There wasn't anything to call about then,” she felt clever for saying.

”I saw them get on smoking and come along the train. I could see they were heading for you and what they were like. I tried to call again when we were underground to make sure the police were waiting, but as you say, the phone wouldn't work. That's why I stayed low when I did.”

”Well, if you really did all that, thank you.”

She was being polite--more than she felt he deserved. They were at the top of the escalators now. A broad low corridor as white as cowardice stretched ahead. It was empty except for the echoes of her footsteps and the young man's alongside her. ”Excuse me now,” she panted. ”I'm late.”

”I don't mind hurrying. I wouldn't like to think you might end up in any more danger.”

Even to Greta her voice and its echoes sounded shrill. ”I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself now, thank you.”

”Suppose you run into someone else like them?”

”At least they mightn't insult me in every single way they could think of.” 400 ”Is that meant to be me?”

”There's n.o.body else here.”

”I thought the best idea was to pretend I was worse than them.”

”Why did you have to pretend?”

”To take their minds off you. It seemed to work.”

The pa.s.sage ended at a bank of escalators half the height of the first one. The middle escalator was switched off. He climbed it as the stairs carried Greta upwards. ”I just wanted to say--was he said.

Greta didn't care. She clattered up the rising metal steps, but he took his two at a time and was less breathless than Greta at the top. On either side a short tiled pa.s.sage led to the Northern Line. She dashed up the stairs between them, which led to the exit to the street at the far end of a broad white corridor the length of a football pitch. ”Are you sure you're all right?” the young man said.

She had to catch her breath. ”I told you once.”

”I was saying I expect everything I said about you was wrong.”

”Most of it. Far too much 8 ”I was trying to shock them. Except...”

She was walking as fast as she had breaths for, but she used one to ask, ”What?”

”I'm guessing you haven't got a boyfriend at the moment or you'd have threatened them with him.”

”Maybe.”

”Are you looking for one?”

”I don't need to look.”

”I mean, do you think you might like one who's shown he can take care of you?”

”I can take care of myself.”

”Don't you think two can do it twice as well?”

They were at the corner of the pa.s.sage. Beyond it was yet another deserted bank of escalators. ”This isn't the way,” she said. ”I've gone wrong.” 401 As she turned back, he did. ”What do you think?” he said.

Her question seemed to scratch the walls. ”What's the matter with you?”

”I don't think we should just part, do you? Not when we went through that together. Let me give you my number.”

”No thank you.”

”Or you can give me yours if you'd rather.”

”Thanks even less.”

She was hurrying, but he was faster. ”Let me just escort you,” he said, ”till you get to wherever you're going.”

Greta turned with her hand on the banister of the stairs that led down to the Northern Line. ”Look, I was pretending I was lost before. I'm going the wrong way now.”