The Underground

With his head resting feebly on a heavy duck pillow, Arthur Dimply focused his blurred vision on his two feet; they seemed tumultuous under white sheets and were framed by a nebulous alley of wires and an array of colourful leads. Sprawled out on almost bridal white sheets, in the intensive care of St James' in Notting Hill he was duly informed that during that morning past, his tube train had bulleted through six central city stops as he lay dead to the world; akin to a corpse at a disorderly beast's reins.



Arthur's face, freshly bruised and torn from jowl to ear lobe after a heavy fall from the driver's seat was a sheer contrast in colour to his pale gown and the light colours of the hospital ward. Plainly mangled, battered and ever-so numb, the shock of the incident's graveness near-immediately became clear and apparent on his bloated visage. So, the ward-matron had to trigger his moustache sheltered mucus membranes with a dose of ammonia and soon Arthur was right as a drizzly sort of rain.



'Nobody was killed Mr Dimply but a couple of people were brought in here to St James', just to be on the safe side, you understand?' the attractive nurse spoke slowly and mouthed the words melodramatically, aware of his weariness.



Studying her face closely for more information he murmured with a furrowed brow 'So, what happened to me?'



'Well that's what we're trying to determine,' replied the nurse. 'We think from our preliminary test results that you could possibly be diabetic and that's the reason for your faint. Your wife has informed us your mother had diabetes and such genetic factors contribute hugely to a person's chances of having such an illness. Now, sit tight Mr Dimply and I'll fetch your wife to see you'.



He'd plummeted from a healthy physical keel after dinner but put it down to his bad digestion of Meredith's chicken and leek pie. Her food was generally quite rich and a few coffees usually evened him out adequately for the shift.



Where was the woman?



He knew that even in pandemonium, she'd still arrive dank of eye and probably sedated on some sort of readily prescribed tranquilliser. He considered this groggily with an almost soothing feeling of disdain.





'Arthur, Arthur, you're ok, you're ok!' exclaimed Meredith, skidding across the tiles in her work plimsolls. 'I saw the news, I saw your train on the news, oh Arthur. I rushed to get here as soon as I could. Your ok, they say its diabetes. Oh Arthur! Have they said anything to you about the pregnant lady? Oh Arthur! Mr Sampson said I could have the time off work. We all saw it at work; all saw your train zooming through Kings Cross. It's everywhere, all over the evening papers and TV.'



'My Train, My Train! What do you mean a pregnant lady? Tell me more woman? I've not heard anything of this, why? What happened with a pregnant woman? What's happened to my train? I can't fathom the damage I've done.'



She tried ease his mind but her sickeningly sweet whisperings caused his chest to tighten.





Is this a surreal dream? Have I killed a lady and unborn? He thought. Shame rose through his bruised body as he cursed his tremors and wriggled to ease the sickly feeling of perspiration on the sheets.



All this discomfort was apparent to Meredith who watched her husband's face contort at deliberation of the worst case scenario and the peril his supposed medical lacking had created. After years of marriage she knew to remain a woman of no expressed opinion and leave him well and enough to his own notions. Arthur was the boss, or so he thought.





All alone and in the last light of that miserable evening, a tear on Arthur Dimply's cheek split something in that dusk thickened ward. It was a paltry drop of water. His first since he was nine years old.



Arthur was mentally incapable of rationale and constantly obsessed on two thoughts; both would have catastrophic effects but he could only let people know of one, this was the one he asked the nurses about constantly.



'Nurse, what has happening to the lady struck by the train?' he squealed at all the nurses individually, about forty times in all



And every time he was given the same grave faced reply 'she's fine, stable we think. We'll know more about her condition later. Rest Mr Dimply, it's been a tough day for you and your body and your mind.'



Arthur emotionally disintegrated while his mind etched away on the nastiest outcome of these two malevolent happenings. However, nothing was to gnaw him away more-so than his fifteen minutes of undesirable fame. It was the ugliest sight but he couldn't help but stare at it catatonically. The television in the nurses waiting lounge: pure, clear and utterly inescapable right through the glass straight ahead.



Continuous and intent staring ruptured blood vessels in Arthur's eyes. His paralysed gawk focused on the blurry line of the carriage roofs as they sped by over the bobbing tops of commuter's heads, whose bodies rushed and squashed in panic towards the tiny arched exits on the platform ends, in fear of the runaway train.



This was an event he understood as so incriminating of weakness and humiliating of spirit he wanted to be dead.



It was everywhere; everyone would see it, the whole of London, most of Europe in fact. Surely she'd have seen it, she must have.



Arthur balanced on a ledge of comparable madness until encouraged to sleep by aid of proxy.



Sometime later, he was in a sterile hospital hallway. In the fogginess of this moment which lasted for some time, only Arthur's gown's hem and trudging feet were apparent. Then he got to a Perspex window of a ward. Though groggy in perception he could see her lying beside the big glass muslin covered window at dawn's breaking, her big belly sheeted in white linen and her face lacerated on one side, the side he struck.



When he awoke he was startled by the dream which seemed so real. Now though, two men in police uniforms waited beside his bed, one was sat the other stood with crossed arms.



'Mr Dimply, we just want you to ask a few questions. We're aware you're still a little weak so take your time' said the first bobby. He was a tall and straight postured young man with a square jaw and fair tight hair.



'They think I'm diabetic. Have you talked to the doctor?' Arthur said some-what softly, having gathered an air of reasonableness from his tranquiliser sleep.



'Yes, err, yes we have' said the young officer. 'We're here about your wife; you're married to Meredith Dimply aren't you?'



'Yes, yes. Is she ok officer?' Arthur asked puzzled.



'Well Mr Dimply she is. However, do you know a woman called Laura Ecclesfield?' The second police officer questioned in a gruff manner.



'I do, why you ask?' said Arthur with a quiver in his voice and a hint of perspiration on his forehead.



She worked with you at some stage, is that right?



'Yes she ran the office at East-Ham where my tube departed from', he said with palpitations.



'Well Mr Dimply I'm sorry to tell you this but..,' said the young policeman.



'Ms Ecclesfield is dead and we've taken your wife in on suspicion of her murder,' interrupted the second harshly.



'What?' said Arthur quizzically?



'It seems that Ms Ecclesfield was pushed in front of your train and your wife is the suspect from the CCTV footage. Ms Ecclesfield was brought here to James' and it turns out she and her unborn passed away at midday, about four hours ago from the impact-trauma of the accident. 'The first policeman said, attempting a comforting tone.



'Laura, Jesus. Meredith….ah Lord above!'



'We've also found traces of some diazepam and other forms of benzodiazepines in your body. Quite a large dose actually, possibly taken with a large meal or so the doctors here understand from the enzyme breakdown.' said the first officer of the law.



'What are you trying to imply? Meredith poisoned me?'



'Look sir we're not sure, we are just saying there was a large amount of sedatives in your anatomy, so don't rush to conclusions please,' the second man said.



'She poisoned me, the wench…she poisoned me. And she's killed my Laura, ah Jesus no', Arthur snivelled into his bed sheets. He looked up with his eyes bulging and with snots dangling from the linen.



'She fucking killed her, he sobbed. She must've found something; she must've seen the train times and the ticket in my wallet. I booked it for Laura to go home to her gynaecologist, for the baby. She must hav……….'



'Look sir calm down,' interrupted the first officer. He strained to lean a flailing Arthur back into his bed while the second, older officer fumbled to press the big red panic button.



'She knew, that's where the city trains and the underground meet. Just there, on the same tracks, the only place this side of the Thames. She must've gone to push Laura off and our kid, Jesus. The old devil poisoned me.' He roared. 'She killed the baby. Jesus, fuck, Jesus,' he bellowed repeatedly,smashing the silver tray from the chair as the men held him down and a nurse injected him with a 10ml dose of Nosanin.