Tim C Taylor copyright 2012
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Grace begins to salivate and she has to swallow several times. Perhaps it is nervousness or the thought of impending revenge; she can taste it—moist anticipation. Grace’s left finger caresses the button of the umbrella where a razor-edged spike is ready to pierce clothes and young skin. Being part of a crime scene is every bit as exhilarating as the TV and Grace plays the ‘smiling old lady’ role for her victims across the train.
The two lads are by the door, surrounded by passengers pretending they can’t see what the boys are doing. They both slouch, one lazily peeling off the blue and white stickers from the door and the other gouging his initials into the glass. Cameras are no deterrent to vandalism and assaults. The boys had accosted Grace’s husband Harry on the train last week but they fail to notice him this evening.
Harry is half way up the carriage, half way, in fact, between the two security cameras. He stands tall, despite his eighty years. Small pump sprays of paint are easily palmed in his hand. He reaches casually for the ceiling straps, ready to blacken the camera glass. His eyes meet with Grace and he gives an almost imperceptible nod to his lifelong companion. A suppressed smile twitches the corners of Grace’s mouth and she glances nonchalantly towards their daughter Judy.