Before Lovers

Chapter 1 The man was definitely looking at Paul, and if the bus hadn’t been so crowded he would have moved further up the aisle, or maybe he’d have got off the bus altogether. City buses ran every fifteen minutes. He wouldn’t have had to wait long for another one, and he’d be away from the man and his persistent stare. The bus came to a halt. A woman carrying plastic bags full of shopping manoeuvred her way down the crowded aisle, past Paul, to get to the door. Something heavy in one of her bags pressed into Paul’s calf and he grimaced. When she had passed, he noticed the man had inched his way a little closer. Paul turned and faced the front of the bus. The only problem now was he couldn’t see whether the man was still looking at him. A sixth sense told him he was. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. When the bus pulled in at the next stop, he glanced over his shoulder to check he wasn’t in the way of anyone coming up the aisle. It was also a chance to see whether the man was still watching him, or if he’d moved any closer. The answer was in the affirmative on both counts. He frowned. He realised he was tensing his jaw, and grinding his teeth. What the hell is he doing? What does he want? He gripped the rail he was holding till his knuckles were white, and made the decision to get off at the next stop. He’d wait till the last possible moment to make his way to the door so the weirdo behind him wouldn’t have any chance to follow him. To his relief, he could just make out the next stop through the windscreen of the bus. Six people. There were only six people between him and the door. The bus began to slow. Paul’s hand tightened and relaxed, tightened and relaxed, on the rail. The bus stopped. The doors swung open. “Excuse me,” he said, squeezing past two teenage girls who threw him dark looks, past a businessman with a briefcase, a mother clasping the hand of her young son, and a teenage boy holding a battered skateboard. He tagged off, and as his foot hit the pavement, he turned and directed his attention to the back door of the bus. Two women alighted and the doors closed again. As the bus pulled out onto the road, he studied the passengers through the windows. He had to know the man was still there and that he hadn’t somehow managed to exit the bus without Paul seeing. It would have been an impossible feat, but he needed to reassure himself. And there he was. The man. He had his back to Paul, but at the very last second, the man glanced over his shoulder at him. Paul’s frown returned. Like a jingle he couldn’t get out of his head, so were thoughts of the man. He was attractive, just the type of man Paul liked. Tall, tanned, and toned, with black hair and blue eyes—the kind of eyes that smiled along with his lips. But those smiling eyes had been on him an uncomfortable, impolite amount of time. And for what reason? There had to be some sort of explanation for it, though Paul was damned if he could think of one. After he arrived home, he made a cup of coffee and called his friend, Linda. “Oh, hi,” she said in her usual, unenthused way. “How’re things?” “Pretty good,” she said with a sigh. “My bloody neighbour is pissing me off. He’s building something. Bang, bang, bang all the time. Inconsiderate bastard. How are you?” Paul couldn’t help smiling. Linda always made him smile. She never got excited about anything, but her glum, depressed, and sometimes-whiny tone did, contradictorily, have a certain comedy about it. “You’ll never guess what happened to me on the bus today.” “What?” “This guy was looking at me. Openly staring at me. Can you believe it? Didn’t say ‘hello’ or acknowledge me when I looked back at him, just kept staring.” “Maybe he fancied you.” “No,” replied Paul. “That’s what I thought at first, but I know when someone fancies me. I know that look. He didn’t have it.” “What look did he have?” “I don’t know. A kind of handsome pervy-weirdo look. I didn’t get to see much of him. I had my back to him most of the time. But every time I turned around, there he was, eyes boring into me.” “Mmm. Sounds like you’ve got yourself a stalker.” “I’ve never seen him before, Lin. I don’t think he qualifies as a stalker.” Linda chuckled. “Yet.” “The strange thing is, I can’t stop thinking about him. I really want to know what was going on.” “You probably won’t ever see him again, so I’d forget about it if I was you. Probably some psycho in a suit. People are idiots.” It was rare for Linda to say anything nice about the human race. She was more into animals. She lived with her Colombian boyfriend on a property on the outskirts of the city where she had two dogs, a cat, some koi, and a cockatoo. Paul nodded. “A lot of them are.”