Justice

Justice

The little boy sat between his parents at the bus stop. They’d been waiting for hours and he had pins and needles in his feet. He wriggled out of the seat and stomped hard on the ground to stop the prickling.

“Keep still, Nat,” his father said, his nostrils twitching ever so slightly as they did before he started shouting.

Nat ignored him. His feet hurt.

“Sit down, Nat, please,” his mother said.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Just do it.” His father’s voice was icy.

Nat huffed and sat back down, swinging his too short legs. There were two more people sitting waiting now. He stared at the man, recognising the sharp, cold look in his eyes. The woman, a big girl really, kept her eyes on the ground so Nat couldn’t see if she was angry or crying. From the noises she made, like a chick cheeping, and the way her shoulders shivered, he suspected she was crying.

The man was talking to her, low and nasty. Nat listened. The man’s voice got louder. Because the girl wasn’t replying. Why didn’t she reply? Even Nat knew that her silence was riling him. The man’s hands started flying about as he spoke, louder and louder, shouting. Nat looked questioningly at his father. Wasn’t he going to tell the man to keep still?

The hands flew. Nat’s eyelids flickered in anticipation, waiting for the slap. When it came, there was silence. The sharp, cruel noise hung in the air, quivering like a wounded bird, then died. No one breathed. The girl-woman flinched and put a hand to her cheek. She still didn’t say anything. Nat’s eyes opened wide in horror—he knew what was coming next. First the flurry of loud, disjointed words that didn’t mean anything, then the hand. The hand made a fist this time, came down again, hard.

Nat pulled on his father’s sleeve. “Dad?”

He looked wildly at his mother. Neither of them looked at him, or the man, or the girl-woman.

“Get up,” his father said unnecessarily, hoisting him off the seat. “It’s here.”

His mother scuttled to her feet, swept up her bag and took his hand. Nat turned his head. The girl-woman was hunched over, her hair sweeping over her knees. The man was standing, shouting.

“Dad?”

“Get on the bus!”

Nat took a deep breath to make the big step onto the bus. His father pulled him into a seat, his mother pushed up next to him. They were leaving the big girl crying. He looked at his father’s face, the way he looked straight ahead, his jaw clenched tight. He looked at his mother’s fluttering face as her hands fiddling with his scarf, her bag, trying not to look at his father. He wondered whether she replied, her voice rising sharper and shriller when his dad shouted. Or did she keep quiet, like the girl, even when he hit her?