Page 10 - Fiction
P. 10
THE TIMES ®
AUSTRALIA
A Very Public Hero
By David Troman
“Ladies and Gentlemen, please put your hands together for Miss Mary Preece as
she accepts the freedom of Nottingham. Her eforts on Black Saturday may have
been in vain but her courage and determination were never in doubt.”
The Sherif of Nottingham leads the applause as I approach the podium erected
in the Market Square outside Council House. He refers to ‘Black Saturday’ because
that is what the press dubbed the day that death took up residence in the forecourt
of Nottingham station. As I climb the steps, I smile and accept the applause. My
mind, meanwhile, relives the events of the months, weeks and days leading up to
this fnale.
It started with a chance encounter on the brief walk from the train station to the
bus station in Nottingham, almost fve years ago. Standing at the trafc lights one
morning, my gaze roamed over the familiar faces of my fellow travellers. Insistent
electronic beeping commanded us all to move. A new face appeared, darting out
of the bus station and across the road as the green man began fashing. It was a
feeting glimpse as he passed me, but enough to know that he was the one I had
been looking for.
After that, I saw him every day. My confdence grew as I felt that I was getting
to know him, but I never spoke. It was far too soon for that. I followed him to
the train station one morning to fnd out where he went. I used a day’s leave to
haunt the station until he returned, then followed him to his home. Still, I never
spoke. I changed my appearance from time to time – just enough so that he didn’t
recognise me. I learned his routine until I knew it as well as my own. He lived with
his parents in The Park, the posh part of the city. His parents had done well for
themselves. No trace of the cash-strapped newlyweds who had once inhabited
one of Hyson Green’s notorious concrete cofns. Once a year, for the frst fortnight
in July, his mum and dad went on holiday and left him as master of the house. His
routine remained unchanged, apart from the Saturday that they went away and
he took them to the station, then the Saturday of their return when he met them
in the same place.
That was it. I had my grand plan. Now all I had to do was acquire the funds to make
it happen. I took a second job in the evenings. Twice a week each in the Clinton
10 Independent Media Inspiring Minds
AUSTRALIA
A Very Public Hero
By David Troman
“Ladies and Gentlemen, please put your hands together for Miss Mary Preece as
she accepts the freedom of Nottingham. Her eforts on Black Saturday may have
been in vain but her courage and determination were never in doubt.”
The Sherif of Nottingham leads the applause as I approach the podium erected
in the Market Square outside Council House. He refers to ‘Black Saturday’ because
that is what the press dubbed the day that death took up residence in the forecourt
of Nottingham station. As I climb the steps, I smile and accept the applause. My
mind, meanwhile, relives the events of the months, weeks and days leading up to
this fnale.
It started with a chance encounter on the brief walk from the train station to the
bus station in Nottingham, almost fve years ago. Standing at the trafc lights one
morning, my gaze roamed over the familiar faces of my fellow travellers. Insistent
electronic beeping commanded us all to move. A new face appeared, darting out
of the bus station and across the road as the green man began fashing. It was a
feeting glimpse as he passed me, but enough to know that he was the one I had
been looking for.
After that, I saw him every day. My confdence grew as I felt that I was getting
to know him, but I never spoke. It was far too soon for that. I followed him to
the train station one morning to fnd out where he went. I used a day’s leave to
haunt the station until he returned, then followed him to his home. Still, I never
spoke. I changed my appearance from time to time – just enough so that he didn’t
recognise me. I learned his routine until I knew it as well as my own. He lived with
his parents in The Park, the posh part of the city. His parents had done well for
themselves. No trace of the cash-strapped newlyweds who had once inhabited
one of Hyson Green’s notorious concrete cofns. Once a year, for the frst fortnight
in July, his mum and dad went on holiday and left him as master of the house. His
routine remained unchanged, apart from the Saturday that they went away and
he took them to the station, then the Saturday of their return when he met them
in the same place.
That was it. I had my grand plan. Now all I had to do was acquire the funds to make
it happen. I took a second job in the evenings. Twice a week each in the Clinton
10 Independent Media Inspiring Minds
