Another passenger
A tube train, deep beneath the city. The mother and daughter opposite have been onboard for a while, chatting quietly.
The mother, in a black dress covered with black feathers, has taken care to twist further feathers into her tangled hair, to black out her eyes with enormous kohl wings.
The daughter is dressed as Pippi Longstocking, and swings her stockinged legs back and forth.
‘I wanted to be the Hulk,’ she says.
‘It’s a book theme,’ says the bird-woman. ‘Although I suppose that is a comic book.’
They’re pulling into a station, and a flurry of passengers head out on to the draughty platform and up towards the cool spring evening above it.
Only a few people board. The passenger sitting opposite the mother and daughter watches one of them with bemusement.
He’s a lot taller than the rest, and he’s painted green, wearing a black blazer with tin-foil bolts on either side of his neck.
He grabs a railing with one big, green hand, surveys the carriage for a seat.
When he sees the girl, when he sees her avian mother, it’s as if he’s seized by rigor mortis.
He glances, briefly, back towards the doors, but they’re already closing, and Pippi Longstocking has already seen him.
‘Seb!’ Pippi yells, waving her hand.
The man grimaces, waves his own green hand. He takes the free seat on the other side of Pippi while the bird stares down into her feathered lap.
‘Are you the Hulk?’ Pippi asks.
‘I’m Frankenstein,’ he says.
‘Monster,’ the bird can’t help but add. ‘Frankenstein’s monster.’
‘Right,’ Frankenstein’s monster says, without looking at her. ‘And you’re—’
‘The Raven,’ says the bird. ‘It’s a poem. By Edgar Allan Poe.’
He nods. ‘I should have gone with a poem. Knowing Maisie.’ He leans in a little, as if he doesn’t want to be overheard. ‘There’s no business doing fancy dress when it isn’t Halloween. People are staring.’
‘You should have come as Scrooge,’ the raven says, with a smirk. ‘Or maybe Heathcliff.’ She’s getting into her stride. ‘Dark and stormy. Back after a long absence, shrouded in secrecy.’
There’s a pause. Frankenstein’s monster turns stiffly, as if in character. ‘I understood the Scrooge bit.’
Pippi kicks her colourful legs. She looks like she’s in her happy place.
‘You know, we could avoid these awkward meetings,’ the raven says. ‘If you ever told me when we were going to bump into each other.’
‘He told me,’ Pippi chimes in.
They both look down at Pippi. Over the top of her ginger pigtails, they now look at one another.
‘I did tell her I was coming,’ Frankenstein’s monster says.
‘You two are keeping secrets from me now?’
The monster looks like he might smile.
‘So, you’re back above the pub?’ the raven asks.
‘The flat is part of the property,’ the monster replies. ‘The rats, too.’
‘Is it still a single bed?’ she says, picking at one of the black feathers on the tight sleeve of her dress.
‘I’ve got a new bed.’
The only sounds are that of the rushing tube and Pippi’s legs kick, kick, kicking the seat beneath her. The bird gets to work nervously on another feather, right at the hem of where her short dress meets her dark tights.
‘Do you like our costumes?’ Pippi asks.
The monster nods. ‘I do.’
‘Mummy’s a very pretty bird.’
There’s a silence. Very briefly, the monster’s eyes flicker upwards, to the girl’s mother.
‘She is,’ he says.
The raven is staring down at her heavy black boots. Beneath her dark lipstick, her smile is conspicuously bright.