Seen on public transport: woman, 20s, bruised, dishevelled. What would you do?

Credit: Alexandre Dubiève

Saturday, early evening. It’s 5.20pm and we’re on the Northern Line, travelling north from London Bridge. High Barnet branch, if you were wondering — not that it matters, but details add a little something, don’t you think? Je ne sais quoi. Evocative.

I wish I could recall how it smelt, but I don’t. In the context, that’s probably a good thing; the Underground’s ‘signature scent’ isn’t exactly roses and sweet nothings. There’s no smoke without fire; there’s no sweat without exhaustion. Piccadilly Line strikes aside, the city lumbers on, despite everything.

It’s a Saturday night, or at least the beginnings. To my right, across the carriage, is a girl — young woman, early 20s — in a very short skirt and sheer black tights, with prominent bruises across the backs of her upper thighs. The sight accosts me, catching me by surprise. It feels violent and violating to witness; I feel uncomfortable looking, but I can’t unsee what I have seen.

But what have I seen? And what do I do about it?

She’s beautiful, indisputably. She doesn’t need the heavy makeup and false eyelashes, but she suits them nonetheless. In another life, I’d ask her for tips; read it not as a mask, but a warrior’s pledge. Will you still love me when I’m no longer young and…