Lockdown Party

Harry hated his Dad. He hated the way he sat in the middle of the 2-seater sofa so no one else could watch telly with him. Hated the way he scraped his chair on the kitchen floor every time he got up or sat down. Hated the way he insisted Harry wash up every plate, spoon and fork after every meal. The way he asked him to keep his room tidy. Or quizzed him on where he was going every time he left the house. Or how he didn’t allow him to have friends over during the lockdown. Or to watch daytime telly. And how he asked him repeatedly why he’d dropped out of sixth-form college. Or why he’d broken up with his girlfriend.

The questions were relentless and when there were no answers, there was an undercurrent of hostility that hung about like a bad smell. Harry felt this even after his Dad had left the house. It was the same when he stayed at his Mum’s. Actually, that was even worse. His Mum had a nervous disposition that didn't help matters. At least he could just have an argument with his Dad, say it like it was, and then walk out. With his Mum, there would be tears, hysterics, and possible involvement of the social services. Just not worth all the trouble, was it? All because he wanted to have a party. Or go out to the skatepark. Or smoke weed. Nothing radical. He really didn’t understand what the fuss was all about.

Now as he came down the stairs to the platform, he deliberately stamped his rage into every step. He had left the house after a big argument with his Dad. Another one. It seemed to Harry like he was having an argument with his Dad almost every day now. Sometimes even twice a day. He tried to imagine the time when he would finally be able to leave his Dad’s and strike out on his own. Rent a huge five bedroom house with a garden for parties with his mates. Do it properly. None of this asking for permission any more. Just invite whoever he wanted to come over. Bring back Lizzie to the house, no questions asked. Have a fridge full of beer. A big room, just for gaming, with Xbox and comfy swivel chairs. And a pool table? Table tennis? Maybe even a treadmill and some weights in case they all wanted to get fit (or fitter). Maybe a car…? 

Here his imagination started to falter as the painful realisation came to him that all this ‘stuff’ would require money. And he wasn’t sure how that money would manifest. So far, he’d only made 19 pounds a week by walking his Mum’s friend’s dog. That too had to stop once the lockdown started. And almost as soon as the money went into his pocket it was out again, handed over to the boys at Peckham. Exchanged for weed. "Money going up in smoke,” his Dad would say. What did he know? Harry was currently exploring how psychedelics could give him access to higher consciousness. Unfortunately his research had been slightly thwarted by the fact that every time he smoked more than one joint, he passed out. HLW (Harry Light Weight) was the latest of his nicknames – and he didn’t particularly care for it. But the facts spoke for themselves. He hoped more smoking would build up his resistance, but it hadn’t quite worked. Instead, it put him to sleep for most of the day. Another thing his Dad wasn’t happy about.

Now, he fiddled about in the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms, checking how much loose change he had. £6.25…no there was another pound…then another. £8.25! He was rich! He was craving some Peppa Pigs but maybe he should wait till he got off the train, and buy himself two cans of beer as he walked over to the party. ‘LockdownLoop’ they were calling it. A whole weekend extravaganza to celebrate his mate Lucas’ birthday. Harmless fun really. His Dad had lost the plot. Of course. What else could he do? Went on about how this was violating the lockdown. Not that Harry didn’t know what the lockdown was. But equally, wasn’t it mainly older people who were being affected? He knew that if he got Corona he would recover just fine. Besides, him and the homies were being careful. They weren’t passing joints around any more - now they were each smoking their own wrap. And they were staying well away from each other when they were in a room. Even now, Lucas had invited just six mates to the party. And considering his garden was mahoossive, staying socially distant wasn’t going to be a problem. And as far as travelling went, there was hardly anyone in any carriage - so that was safe too. Not a problem. At all. Him and his mates had no idea why all their parents were going mental about it. 

Harry fidgeted about on the platform, shuffling along the yellow line. He went over to the self-vending machine and hit it a few times, just in case it yielded something. He even turned a few cartwheels. The middle-aged man at the far corner of the platform gave him a glare. “Just like Dad,” thought Harry. So he turned a few more cartwheels, just to annoy him.

He thought about the party. Shame Lizzie and the other girls couldn’t come. Sam was coming, but Harry discounted her as a member of the fairer sex. In fact, he was a bit frightened of her. Felt he was more than slightly out of his depth with her. She’d dropped out of school too, but more because she “didn’t want to engage with a system that was indoctrinating her with the principles of capitalism and social inequality”. She had some other ideas about what she was going to do. One of them involved climate change and activism, another quantum physics, and still another meditation and spirituality. Harry was equally bewildered and envious by the way her ambitions shape-shifted, each one more extraordinary than the last. He wished he had her initiative. In reality, on most days he couldn’t even be bothered to peel himself off the sofa, let alone think about what he was going to do next. But he had time. It would all come to him when the timing was right. For now, he just had to live life. And catch this train to the party.

The train was slightly late. He was getting impatient now, bopping up and down to some drill. Sometimes he’d deliberately go right to the edge of the platform. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the middle-aged man looking. He noticed how every time he went too close to the platform edge, the man looked anxious. So he kept doing it again, and again. The announcement came on as if on cue - ‘Please stand behind the yellow line.’ He smiled to himself. 

The train arrived. He would have thought that the man on the platform would have had the good sense to avoid him, but no, he actually got into the same carriage as him. He sat a few rows away, fixing his beady eyes on Harry, giving him a look that was both disdainful and annoyed. Harry’s jaw set in a firm line. Fine then. If this man was going to give him a hard time, then he would be just as difficult with him.

First, he turned the music up on his phone, then he yanked his headphones out, pretending that there was something wrong with them. Incognito’s voice filled the carriage:

“She gets friggy friggy non-stop

She goes on knees and she holds my gun…”

Harry was pleased to see how quickly the man’s eyebrows started to knot and how his lips pursed till they disappeared into a thin white line. Happy that his tactics were having some effect, but worried about going too far, Harry plugged the headphones back and let the man have some peace. Just some. Then, just as he noticed him beginning to relax, and perhaps even nod off, he took out his headphones again. The tunes boomed through the empty carriage. He noted with satisfaction that the man was so startled he actually jumped a couple of inches up from his seat. Harry sniggered to himself.

He let the music play for a few seconds and then put the headphones back into his phone. What next? This gag was beginning to get a little boring. Harry was now aware that the man was looking at him directly now. He pulled the hood of his jacket over his head. Should he put his sunglasses on? He might look like a wanker, but at least he wouldn’t have any direct eye contact with the man. Harry couldn’t help starting to feel slightly nervous. The man didn’t look dangerous in the slightest, in fact he looked quite soft, and slightly flabby. Even if he decided to pull a punch he doubted it would hurt. But you never knew. People could have a surprising amount of strength when they were angry. 

Was the man angry? He was definitely agitated. Even from where he sat, Harry could see a vein on his neck beginning to bulge. He seemed to be clenching his hands into a fist. Then unclenching them. He stood up. Harry could feel a bead of sweat begin to make its slow way down his spine. The man was now standing and still looking in his direction. Harry mentally assessed his size and weight. He was a little bit shorter than him but definitely much wider. Could he take this man on? His Dad’s face flashed across his mind. Another thing for him to be mad about, if we went home with a black eye or any other evidence of having been in a fight. Damn. Suddenly he wished he was elsewhere. Should he get up and try walking to the door, nip out and get into another carriage at the next stop? He looked outside. The problem was that they’d just left the last station. And while it was only a few more minutes to the next, that was enough time for the man to walk up to him, punch him in the face and get off before he had time to retaliate. 

He was now beginning to feel very, very uncomfortable. The man was gathering his bags and walking towards him. Definitely walking towards him, looking at him all the while. Harry turned the volume up and pressed his palms into his headphones, as if Incognito could protect him from the man. He pulled his hoodie closer around him. Sank back into his seat. The footsteps kept approaching. The seconds seemed to stretch to an eternity. The thuds on the floor seemed to get louder and louder till they almost deafened him. His heart started to flap like an out of control drone. It felt like his entire body was vibrating with his heart. A red hot heat seemed to rise up from his trainers up his tracksuit bottoms, up his torso, straight to his face. He ducked down pretending to pick something up. Maybe if he did this, the man wouldn’t engage with him. He stayed bent down and started fiddling with his shoelaces. From that position all he could see was the man’s shoes, worn out, slightly grubby, brogues, nothing remarkable about them except for the weird way the laces were tied. Before Harry could work out the exact technique the stopped right next to him, his shoes now so close that Harry could stick out his tongue and touch them. Not that he wanted to do anything of the sort, so he didn’t know why this thought should pop into his head. Each detail on them stood out vividly – each curve, each hole, each patch of the leather…the thought crossed Harry’s mind that this could be the last thing he ever saw. 

Then he heard the man speak. It was a slightly high, unimpressive voice, with a faint South London twang. Just the sort of voice that he would have expected a man like that to have. But the words he heard weren’t at all expected. “Lovely poetry that. I used to know him, you know? Got stabbed right in front of my eyes. I’ll never forget the day. Never forget that I couldn’t save him.”

Harry felt a weird, cold sensation wash over his body. His brain seemed to be working much slower than his ears. It took a few seconds to catch up and process the words. Even as his grey matter started to function, Harry’s body told itself to sit up and take a look at this man again – this man who had seen his hero die with his own eyes. What else had he seen? What else did he know? Harry had never met anyone who had been in the inner circle of someone like Incognito. Who knows where this could lead? He was about to start asking the questions - but…

He was too slow. Before the words could form in his mouth, the train came to a stop, the doors pinged open and the man was already out of the door and on the platform.

As he watched through the windows, the doors closed on the man, and he started walking away. 

Harry stood up, and tried to make eye contact, but the man disappeared behind a pillar on the platform. He noticed the poster on the pillar:

‘Staring’ it said in big, bold type, and then some other words he couldn’t read.

And then, the train started moving again.