Jenny Gets Watched

Her lips glisten like a thumb dipped in blood, plump and wet and suckable. I watch, aware that if someone is watching me, they might discern dark motives. A man watching a woman he doesn't know might be construed as innocent, or the kind of thing men are expected to do, or it could be something more malignant. I know which it is, but would an observer?

She is reading a book called The Inheritors by William somebody... I can't see the rest. I've never read it, whoever it is. It's a Penguin Classic. Not my thing.

Every so often she looks up and squints at the departures monitor through her thick glasses. She's on her way... somewhere. We are on platform ten. The only train coming soon is the 11:11 to Leeds and mine is after that. She is wearing a charcoal-grey business suit with a crisp white shirt, against which (I can't help noticing) her breasts strain in a very diverting way.

When she looks up at 11:04, she catches me staring, and pulls a disapproving face. Then she returns to her book. My face burns red and I feel small.

At 11:09 her train comes and I follow her progress, not to mention her breasts, as she gets up and leaves.

Wow.

I don't feel so small anymore.

***

It pleases me to see her reading something worthwhile like that. The usual choice for the commuter is chick-lit or Harry Potter for the girls, and Dan Brown or Harry Potter for the boys. Snobby, I know. But The Inheritors! William Golding! Good stuff!

She is dressed smartly. She has a briefcase. It is open (left so when she'd taken the book out) and, forgive my nosiness, but I can make out the red ribbon and buff folders of actual briefs. A lawyer. Doing well for herself, then, and let's refrain from the usual jibes at lawyers, just for the time being. I want to appreciate her without it being deadened by cynicism. As a teacher, it makes me happy. Not that we don't do well for ourselves generally – women, I mean. Barriers are coming down all the time. It's just that when you teach where I do, in the comprehensive of a run-down village with deprived pupils, you start to lose hope a little. Yet here she is, a lawyer.

A young man is looking at her. His eyes move up and down. He looks intent. I don't like him one jot. When she catches him gawping he looks away, abashed. Good for you, Jennifer! I always said in lessons, don't let things get you down, Jenny, but tackle them head-on, and you'll go far.

Now she's getting up and boarding her train.

So is he.